When a child goes missing, there is no playbook
By Kristi Ramsay
Most parents have felt the pain of having a missing child, if only
for a few seconds.
They lose sight of their child at
the park or at the grocery store or at the mall. Fortunately for most moms and
dads, as soon as the knot forms in their stomach, they lock eyes with their
kid.
But for the parents of the hundreds of thousands of children who go missing each year,
that pain is much deeper; for some, there is never relief.
Working in the media, I've
followed the cases that get national attention. I've watched the press
conferences and the family statements.
Last week, however, I had the
heart-wrenching experience of finding out what happens in between the media
updates -- what it feels like when this is real life.
A sweet 14-year-old girl who
babysat my son in the church nursery was missing.
She'd left home without her
parents' permission to meet up with a boy she connected with online. That was
on Monday. The boy said he never went to their rendezvous point, a park, and as
of Thursday, the young girl still had not come home.
The days in between were grueling
for those involved in the search. I cannot fathom the depth of emotion her
parents experienced.
Police never suspected
foul play and thought the girl might have run away.
That scenario was both frustrating and encouraging. It was
frustrating because the family did not think she intended to be gone long. She
didn't bring anything with her. No phone, no keys, no money. It was encouraging
because it was the best case scenario. Maybe she "just" ran away.
Maybe she was fine -- angry, confused, and unaware of how loved she is -- but
fine.
The conversations that unfolded were surreal. We talked to a
detective about the possibility she was involved in sex trafficking or abducted
or even worse. We had to avoid focusing on the "what ifs" in order to
stay focused on the search.
When word got out, the community rallied around the missing teen
and her family. We plastered the city with fliers and canvassed her last known
whereabouts. People who had never met the family joined the search. Dozens of
homeless people in the area helped out. As the story spread on social media,
people around the world sent words of support.
Those of us on the ground did everything we could think of, all
while having no idea what we were doing.
Three days after the girl went missing, I was helping plan a
prayer vigil. We didn't know where to begin. There was no guide. We
"guessed" the parents should speak first, before things got too
emotional. But what should they say? How do we get the word out? How long
should it go? We didn't know the answers to these questions.
The prayer vigil never happened. About an hour before it was to
begin, the young girl was located. She had run away, and she was home now.
For the media, that's where the story ends. A quick update to tell
local TV viewers everything is OK.
For the friends assisting with the search, there was a huge sense
of relief. There were hugs, tears, and then the exhaustion and gravity of the
week hit. We laughed -- about how much trouble this girl is in, about how much
wine we planned to drink.
After this experience, I'll never look at news of a missing child
the same.
I will hold this experience close the next time an e-mail about a
missing child crosses my inbox.
I will remember the reality behind the story.
Each missing child poster represents a family in heartache and a
community at a loss.
