Gone

Our nanny Michelle had come with gorgeous references, having spent several years with a family who had moved out of town.  She had come to the United States from Jamaica, and her lilting speech and huge grin cheered us all.  She had a 5-year-old son of her own, and she loved my kids.  She was shockingly dependable, even showing up with a fever one day, knowing I had a big meeting.

One June morning, when Jesse had just turned one year old, Michelle took the bus to our house and arrived at 7:00 a.m. as usual.  I took my shower and got dressed, but when I left to drop Rob at pre-school and go to work, I couldn’t find her.  She knew that I never left without saying goodbye to Jesse, but I imagined she had taken him for a walk around the block on the beautiful spring morning.  When I drove to the park and playground but didn't see her, I thought she was in a neighbor’s back yard.

My husband was taking the afternoon off to play golf, and had decided to work at home in the morning, so I asked him to call me when Michelle returned with Jesse.  I dropped Rob at school and expected a message when I arrived at work, but there was no word.  Jesse always went down for a nap at 9:30 every morning, and when they had not returned home by 10:00 I knew something was wrong.  I told my husband to call the police.

           Driving home, I tried to imagine where they could be.  Even though I was anxious, I still thought there was going to be a reasonable explanation. I knew in my heart that Michelle loved my boy, and she would not hurt him.  I also knew, from my experience with babysitters, that there was still a small chance that she had just done something stupid.

          There was a police car in my driveway when I pulled up.  After checking the house, the police informed us that the nanny had not taken anything with her. She had left her purse and the stroller. She had not taken the diaper bag, so she had no bottles, no baby food, and no diapers.  The police thought that an experienced nanny caring for a one year old baby would never do that on purpose, and that there were two possibilities:  either they had been hit by a car and were lying in a hospital, or someone forced them into a car and they had been abducted.

          The police delivered this unbelievable news in quick calm sentences.  It was like a physical assault that I never saw coming.  They called the hospitals, but no one matching their descriptions had been brought in.  They called Michelle's house and found that her phone had been disconnected.  They checked her son’s school, and her boy was there.  The police asked me if I thought she would leave town without her son, and I said no.

         The police left our house to go search for our son, and told us to stay home and call them if we heard anything.  We didn't want to call our families because we didn't want to alarm everyone, so my husband and I sat in our house alone.  I couldn’t think of anything to do but pray, and that’s what I did.  I had already made many promises to God when Jesse was born with a heart condition.  But then he was fine, and I had forgotten my promises, and now I spoke to God with my hat in my hand, and I was ashamed.

          This was my fault.  My son relied on me to keep him safe, and I had failed. This would not have happened if I had been home with him.  I felt incredibly foolish for going back to work after he was born.  I had failed at the only job I had ever wanted.

          My husband and I sat in our living room, staring out our front window.  We hardly spoke.  We each replayed the policeman's words in our heads, not wanting to say out loud the horror that we each imagined.  Hours passed. Finally, my husband, who had been calm and reasonable all day, began to cry.  He said to me, “He’s gone.”

          This, I finally understood, was the meaning of despair.  I had no words of comfort.


          At 3:00 the phone rang.

          Michelle’s first words to me were, "I can’t believe you sent the police after me!”

          I said, “I thought you were dead.”

          An unfamiliar white car pulled up in front of our house.  Michelle got out of the back seat with Jesse, who was not in a car seat, and came to my front door.  I was sobbing when I took my child from her.  He was hungry, and his diaper was full.  He slept for 14 hours.  But he was fine.

          I will never know what happened that day, because Jesse wasn’t talking.  Michelle's sister had contacted her and told her she was in trouble.  Michelle said she had been at the park, which we all knew was a lie.  The police said that she had not broken any laws, and so they drove away.

          Over the years I've tried to imagine what happened that day.  I think that Michelle's friends in the white car pulled up in front of my house while Michelle was in the front yard with Jesse.  She didn't want to come back into the house to get anything because she didn't want to answer any questions.  She assumed we'd go to work and no one would ever know.   I have no idea if this was the first time.

          But it was the last.  I was never the same mother after this.  I was never the same at all.