That Heart Sinking Moment When You Fear Your Child Has Been Kidnapped

I knew it was coming.

She's not even 13 yet-one more week.

I was going to be so calm, so cool....so reasonable, so stoic....unlike my mother, who was prone to hysteria at the slightest provocation, wildly, inappropriately overprotective. (Imagine living at home at 21, a second year LAW STUDENT, and having to get permission to drive with your boyfriend to Atlanta to see the Talking Heads perform.) LAW STUDENT.

A LAW STUDENT.

Oh, naturally I was going to do it all differently. And, as 13 quietly tippytoes up and taps me on the shoulder on September 14, nothing was going to change.

License? Ask any parent with a disability. You cannot wait to shove those keys in your kids' hands and assign them the task of picking up your drugs, juice, snacks, fruit, yogurt, Atkins bars. That is all I eat these days. The only way to maintain my weight. I cut out all food except a shot of protein and a huge fruit smoothie with yogurt. I am NOT going to be a fat, disabled woman!! Oh..wait...am I digressing? I SAID I'd give up food if I had to maintain the weight that sometimes still makes guys heads swivel......look! A butterfly!!!

Okay...anyway.

The phone rings today. Madeleine. The phone says Irmo Middle School. "Mom, I needed some English tutoring. Come pick me up."

Okay, remember, a 10 minute drive takes as much effort as a 3 hour drive used to. But I cheerfully agreed. English tutoring? Well, turns out she made an 81 on a test and the teacher suggested that anyone who didn't make an A needed after school tutoring. Neither the teacher, nor the school, nor Madeleine had bothered to notify me about this until a surprise phone call.

Three calls. "When are you coming to get me?"" "I'm on the way, I can't FLY!"

I arrive. I text: out front come get me love you mom

Nothing. The school is locked up. It's 4:45. Locks go on at 4:30. Lights are off. Huge iron gates locked everywhere.

I call her phone. No answer. (She forgot it. Kids are allowed to take them to school.)

I call "Irmo Middle School." Answering machine.

I drive to the 8th grade dropoff. Locked and dark.

I drive around to the 7th grade dropoff. A door unlocked. I leave the car running with: 1. One soon to be 11` year old 2. Two hyperactive puppies and I run instead screaming, "MADELEINE!" I'm SCREAMING, y'all. SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. A staff member happens to be walking down the hall, I run to her (She must have been deaf!)

"Please help me find my child."

"Oh, she's probably in the lunch room."

No, she isn't. There are some kids there but not Madeleine. I'm still screaming, I can't stop. "MADDIE!!! MADDDIE!!!! MADELEINE!!!!!!!!"

A sheriff deputy, assigned to the school, comes up.

"She can't find her child," says the rattled staff member.

I am escorted to the principal's office, warmly greeted, and an all-points bulletin issued. Plus, all teachers are buzzed.

"Who is her teacher?"

"I....I......don't....know...she's...in...the....8th...grade....Honors....English I.....class........"

Five minutes later she appears.

"Give her a hug," the principal warmly suggests.

I give her a hug. "Honey! I was so worried!" I say.

"I AM SO MAD AT YOU JUST WAIT NO BIRTHDAY PARTY AND THE NEXT GIFT WILL BE A BOTTLE OF RUM WHEN YOU ARE 21 DON'T YOU EVER DO THIS TO ME AGAIN OH MY GOD I AM IN A FIBRO FLARE I CANNOT BREATHE," I say to myself.

We leave.

We go to the 8th grade pickup.

"MADDIE! THE CAR IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BUILDING!!! RUN TELL YOUR SISTER YOU ARE OKAY!! RUN!!!"

She runs. I hear an iron gate slam behind her. Going around it would mean a long, long walk.

"MADDIE!!!!! COME BACK AND OPEN THE GATE!" I can't stop screaming. I may scream for the rest of my life.

We find the car still there, all is okay.

After I calmed down, I realized that the school has some grave problems with security. If there is a child in the building, ACCESS NEEDS TO BE PROVIDED FOR PICKUP. Madeleine forgot to tell me that she was going to stay in her English teacher's classroom until pickup, but then she assumed that the front door would be unlocked. It's not her fault. A small misstep in communication, but it's not her fault.

I......can't even begin to deal with this.

But give me 48 hours.