Status: Never give up. You are enough.
No One Said It'd Be Easy.
Fourteen.
It was 4pm when he left. He said he just wanted to go for a walk. He didn't come home until 3:30am. Withing those 11 1/2 hours, so much happened. We weren't worried until 6. It's not unusual for him to go for a walk. But for him to be home 11 hours later, is ridiculous. I don't really know how to describe the feeling. I came home from tumbling at 7:45ish. No one was home. There was a note on the front door: Bren, if you come home please call one of us. My stomach dropped. I called my mom but she didn't have time to answer before Keith - my step dad - came through the front door with our dog.
"What's going on?" I asked. As if I didn't already know.
"Bren still hasn't come home."
I didn't know what to say. I put my jacket on, and went out to the field next to our house. I sat down. Numb. I didn't know what to do or say. My mom got home about five minutes later, got out of the car, and bawled. I hugged her. She sat in the middle of the driveway just crying. I held her for five minutes: the longest five minutes that have ever passed. Those five minutes felt like forever. Keith called the cops. Two sheriff cars pulled up in front of our driveway. They talked to each other, asked us dozens of questions. Then one left and one came back with a clipboard. He re-asked the previous questions but this time, recorded them on his handy dandy clipboard. Hours passed. When the cops came back, they had many unsuccessful searches. Therefore, they were going to use two police helicopters to search for him from the air. I sat on the porch and watched overhead as one helicopter passed by three...four...five times.
No news. 9pm. 10pm. 11pm. Midnight. Nothing.
Around 10ish, the cops came and searched our house. Why? I don't know.
One cop looked in the fridge, in the shower, and behind the couch.
"He's six foot tall. He won't fit in any of those places. He's not hiding, he's MISSING you abominable twit." I told that to Mr. Officer of the Law.
He just laughed at me.
I guess he didn't get that I was completely serious.
I locked myself in my closet for twenty minutes and called the only person I could think of: Britnee. We've been best friends since fifth grade. I knew she'd understand. And she did. I called her and for twenty minutes we cried together.
"Why is this happening? We're not the kind of people this happens to. It isn't fair. It doesn't make sense. He needs to come home."
"Megan, everything will be alright. It's all okay."
I loved the way she said that. She made me believe it.
And she was right.
I wanted one thing: for my brother to come home safe and ALIVE.
Because of his diabetes, he is insulin dependent and can't go more that 5 hours without eating pretty much. Well he went 11 hours without dying. So, he's really lucky. He should have gone into a diabetic shock. I'm not complaining that he didn't. But he is so lucky. I am grateful for the fact that he is still alive!
My mom let me stay up until 11pm, then made me go to bed. But I didn't sleep. I sat in my room eating Sweet Tarts and watching movies on my laptop. I fell asleep after one and woke up again at 3:30am when I heard my mom say, "Oh my God."
That was when my brother came home. I was so happy.
I don't wish that feeling of not knowing what happened. It is the worst feeling in the world.
"What's going on?" I asked. As if I didn't already know.
"Bren still hasn't come home."
I didn't know what to say. I put my jacket on, and went out to the field next to our house. I sat down. Numb. I didn't know what to do or say. My mom got home about five minutes later, got out of the car, and bawled. I hugged her. She sat in the middle of the driveway just crying. I held her for five minutes: the longest five minutes that have ever passed. Those five minutes felt like forever. Keith called the cops. Two sheriff cars pulled up in front of our driveway. They talked to each other, asked us dozens of questions. Then one left and one came back with a clipboard. He re-asked the previous questions but this time, recorded them on his handy dandy clipboard. Hours passed. When the cops came back, they had many unsuccessful searches. Therefore, they were going to use two police helicopters to search for him from the air. I sat on the porch and watched overhead as one helicopter passed by three...four...five times.
No news. 9pm. 10pm. 11pm. Midnight. Nothing.
Around 10ish, the cops came and searched our house. Why? I don't know.
One cop looked in the fridge, in the shower, and behind the couch.
"He's six foot tall. He won't fit in any of those places. He's not hiding, he's MISSING you abominable twit." I told that to Mr. Officer of the Law.
He just laughed at me.
I guess he didn't get that I was completely serious.
I locked myself in my closet for twenty minutes and called the only person I could think of: Britnee. We've been best friends since fifth grade. I knew she'd understand. And she did. I called her and for twenty minutes we cried together.
"Why is this happening? We're not the kind of people this happens to. It isn't fair. It doesn't make sense. He needs to come home."
"Megan, everything will be alright. It's all okay."
I loved the way she said that. She made me believe it.
And she was right.
I wanted one thing: for my brother to come home safe and ALIVE.
Because of his diabetes, he is insulin dependent and can't go more that 5 hours without eating pretty much. Well he went 11 hours without dying. So, he's really lucky. He should have gone into a diabetic shock. I'm not complaining that he didn't. But he is so lucky. I am grateful for the fact that he is still alive!
My mom let me stay up until 11pm, then made me go to bed. But I didn't sleep. I sat in my room eating Sweet Tarts and watching movies on my laptop. I fell asleep after one and woke up again at 3:30am when I heard my mom say, "Oh my God."
That was when my brother came home. I was so happy.
I don't wish that feeling of not knowing what happened. It is the worst feeling in the world.