Hey there baby girl. I just wanted to come and say happy birthday to you, just in case you are out there somewhere, in case you remember that today is your birthday, in case you might be checking in here. It was forty years ago today you were born, at 8:13 p.m., the first time I held you in my arms. From that first moment, loving you, taking care of you, nurturing you, protecting you, were the most important thing in the world to me.
I spent today taking care of your nephew, Theo, who is three years old. He kept me busy and distracted. In recent years, it has occurred to me that it’s time for me to have some “me” time, to do things I want to do, go where I want to go. But the day you were born I fell under this spell, where nothing mattered but you. You were so small and innocent, so helpless, and I couldn’t look into your eyes and not do everything in the world I could for you. It was the same with your brothers and sisters, and now my grandchildren. I guess this is just who I am.
I want you to know, Michaela, that we are still looking for you. Not just the police, but other people are well. Some are looking for your body. Some are looking for your body, but some are looking to find you alive. Along with so many others, those who are searching are also praying for you. I know if you are out there alive somewhere, you gave up long ago on rescue. How beautiful would it be if one day someone walked in, and maybe told you a name you may have forgotten. Michaela. You are Michaela. You are loved. You will never be forgotten.