|Michaela, age 2, with her baby brother, Alex.|
Yesterday I was on my lunch break, standing at the salad bar at the little grocery store by where I work, when my phone rang. I looked at it and recognized a number from Hayward PD. So my heart skipped a beat, and I thought, “Is this where I want to be standing, at the salad bar at Trag’s, if I am to possibly hear the news that my daughter is not alive?”
As it is, the detective was calling to give me an update and to discuss some of the other things that were going on with the case. The news regarding the testing is that it will be another week yet … at least. Could be even longer, depending on the results of the next round of testing. But this did inspire me to ask the detectives to please call me after 7:30 at night when they do get the results. I have just decided that there are places I do and do not want to be when I hear the news, whatever it is. And this way, Hayward PD can call me anytime with questions or other news and I won’t be flipping out every time I see the number on my cell phone.
Small sigh of relief.
So I’d tell you how I’m doing, but I don’t really know. Maybe I mentioned this here before, although I think it was on my other blog, but my doctor prescribed antidepressants a few weeks ago. It’s hard to say exactly what effect they are having on me. Let’s see, I went to see “Les Miserables” and I didn’t cry. Actually I left the theater feeling very uplifted, even elated. Is this my little pink pills, or am I just experiencing inappropriate emotions because of the emotional overload? I don’t know. Although it’s not that Les Mis is incapable of causing elation. During Ann Hathaway’s “I Dreamed A Dream” I literally sat there with my eyes bugging out and my mouth hanging open with sheer joy and amazement over the power and beauty of her performance. Same with the finale.
But on New Year’s Eve I watched “Seeking A Friend for the End of the World” with my daughter. She burst out sobbing and crying at the end. I giggled.
I am seriously wondering what I will do if they call and tell me that this bone is Michaela’s, that she is not alive. I have been feeling every feeling there is to feel about this for sooooo long now that my feelings seem to have turned themselves inside out and upside down. I’ve been anticipating it, what will it be like, what will I do, how will I react, how will I feel, what will I be able to do, because I’ve honestly been trying to … well, prepare. I’ve put so much energy into all this, perhaps I have no energy left.
Drained. I am drained.
Anyway, that’s the news from here, folks. Thanks for bearing with me. Thanks for the support. Thanks for everything. I love you all.
And one other thing … this is a p.s. addressed to Wesley … I attended a meeting last week with a lot of people — Cathleen Galgiani, Jeff Rinek, and Joan Shelley among them. It was mentioned that you read my blog sometimes, so I thought I’d try saying hello, because there is a request that I’d like to make of you. At this meeting, there was a brief discussion about your motives in giving the information you have been giving. I can’t remember exactly what words were said or who said them, but I was left with the impression that you were doing this because you thought it was time, even because you wanted to do some good. Well, I’m hoping that’s the case.
I hear a lot of the things that you say — not all of them, I’m sure, but at least some of what you have said about Michaela’s case. Over the many months this has been going on, I’ve also heard you say that you don’t know anything about Michaela. Well, I don’t know what is true and what isn’t. I want you to know that it isn’t my purpose to assign blame. It never has been. My only interest in justice regarding Michaela’s kidnapper is that he not be left in a position where he can do this again to another child, another family, another community, and I think that’s taken care of here. While I was sitting in this meeting last week with all these people who have so much information, it occurred to me to ask how these girls died, what method you and/or Herzog used to kill them. But I didn’t ask. I’m honestly not sure I want to know. Maybe one day, if I know for sure that this is Michaela. Maybe. But I am not after justice, because there isn’t any possibility of justice existing for me or for my daughter after November 19, 1988. And I am not after closure, because this is a wound which will always and forever be raw, with all its nerves exposed for any passing breeze to set off in screaming agony.
What I want is just to know. Honestly, if my daughter is not alive, has not been alive for the last 24 years, then you know what? I can stop worrying about her. I will know she is not somewhere suffering, that she is not being abused, that she is not crying herself to sleep. I will know that she is at peace. I will be able to relax into her presence, if that makes sense. And if she is not alive, I want to bring her home. In other entries in this blog, I have talked about various searches, like that of the Garrido property, and about the fact that I wanted to be there, that I had this desire, if they should happen to find Michaela, to throw myself on those little bones and gather them into my arms. I know that if Michaela is not alive, that she is not in her bones. I know that she has not spent the last 24 years in some godforsaken well or any other impromptu grave. But you have to understand that every single little part of Michaela, all that she ever was and all that she ever will be, is completely precious to me. Even if the only form in which it can be done is in bones or ashes, my heart longs to bring my little girl home, to hold her in my arms even if it is in an urn.
But Wesley, as you can probably see, I am also feeling about as fragile as an eggshell that has been drained of its contents. So I just want to ask you for one thing, and that is for honesty. This is not just an investigation. It isn’t just Kevin or Jeff you are talking to. You are also talking to me. I would be very, very grateful for any help you could offer. I just ask you to please not play any games. I have people who need me. And if Michaela is still missing, I need to be able to muster up the strength to continue looking for her. I can’t afford to break down.
In spite of what I know to be true of your past, I know that you have had a long sober time to consider all those things. Well, I know I get in trouble with my blog readers for saying things like this, but I cannot even imagine how haunting it must be for you to live with the things you have done, and I do believe that you are capable of remorse, and even compassion, and that you can let it guide your actions. I will trust that you will.
And to my readers, I just want to let you know that I will filter comments made in response to this post. You don’t actually have to point out anything to me, because I already know it. However, in this case, it’s likely that I know things you don’t know also. So you can tell me your opinion if you want to, and I will read it, but I will not be approving any comments that consist of flaming accusations. Just an advance warning.
Thanks for your understanding.