Hello this is Officer.... that is all I hear.  

My vision shrinks to the size of a pinhole.  The sound that comes after sounds like a muffled horn.  I can’t feel my body, time slows down; it’s almost as if time doesn’t exist.  I'm standing on an empty highway, the air is thick with dew and fog, red and blue lights flashing in my peripheral.  In front of me there are two mangled cars. I'm surrounded by police officers; I can't hear anything anyone’s saying.   All I can feel is my heart thumping in my chest, filling my ears with such loud thuds it's almost nauseating. I feel condensation start to form on my palms from all the anxiety filling my chest.  

Now come the thoughts.  I only knew her for a year.  I didn't get to see her grow up.  I start to feel guilty for all the times I felt annoyed by her.  I feel guilty for all the times I didn't appreciate how much she meant to me.  I feel the deepest kind of loneliness a woman could ever feel. The loneliness that comes at the thought of my baby being taken from me.  The thought of never being able to see her again shoots through me, creating painful sensations in my body; sensations that I feel deep in my bones.  Sensations that well up in my eyes. It’s as if my limbs are being ripped from body. I feel my organs being pulled apart like they are being operated on with no anesthetic.  These sensations are out of my control.

I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t breathe, I can’t hear anything; all I can see is red and blue lights flashing, police cars everywhere, two mangled cars and a sheet covering what looks like a little body; my baby girls body.   

Again the words start running through my mind.  What have I done? What could I have done to protect her from this?  What am I going to do? I picture myself months from now sitting on the edge of my bed staring blankly out of my bedroom window.  I've barely slept. I've barely eaten any food. I can see the outline of my rib cage and my clavicles look like they're about to break through my skin.  I'm withering away at the thought of never seeing my baby again. I’m almost dead.

Finally the muffled voice now starts to make sense.  “Hello, hello are you OK? You need to come pick up your daughter.”  Just like that all the what if's and the future thinking comes sucking back into my body creating life in me again.  I feel the color rushing back into my face, my vision opens back up and I feel my heart beating so hard in my chest I swear I can hear it through my sternum, it almost hurts.  Am I having a heart attack?

I start to feel my feet and my fingertips.  My hands are still sweaty, my breath is still short and heavy, but she's alive.  

I finally gather my strength to say the words, “Please give me a second, I'm freaking out right now.”  The voice on the other line is so calm and collected, he says he understands and he'll give me a second to gather my thoughts.  The officer explains to me that he's in Bakersfield and that I need to come pick up my daughter.

The 2 hour drive to Bakersfield was the longest two hours of my life.  The phone call I had received moments before keeps playing over and over in my head like a broken record.  I'm still paralyzed at the thought of never seeing my daughter again. All sorts of emotions rush through me; anger, confusion, and the most horrible kind of sadness.   The adrenaline shoots through my veins, pumping blood to every inch of my body. I am more confused than I have ever been in my entire life, yet I’m so awake.

Looking back on this experience, I realize that this was the closest thing to a near death experience that I've ever had.  The moment I got that phone call, I lived an eternity; time slowed down; time didn't exist. I saw an entire life lived in just seconds.  Being faced with the death of my daughter was the thought of the death of me. I don't know if I could've survived if she hadn't.

The moment she makes it back into my arms was the moment I became a mom.  This night showed me a part of myself that had been living in a foggy haze.  This fog cosistened of fear, hidden trauma and protecting facts that I should’ve shared a long time ago.  My baby needs me more than anyone has ever needed me. These words echo in my head, red and blue lights flashing in my peripheral.  The sirens wail as to give me the green light to do the uncomfortable thing: to share secrets that lay hidden deep in my body; each one manifesting as a another wrinkle on my forehead, another tight muscle in my neck, another sleepless night lying there, staring up at the ceiling hoping some voice will tell me what to do.

That night showed me what to do, what my purpose is.  Stop being afraid Molly. Do the right thing, which is not always the comfortable thing.  I keep hiding in my shame bubble and it keeps reappearing.  I can’t share exactly what it is, but know I am not the first woman to experience this kind of wrath.  It’s one of those secrets hidden in my chest, one that’s too scary to share.  

The following weeks have consisted of court hearings, meets with social workers, working out excessively to deal with the pain and anxiety, and feeling more out of control than I’ve ever felt.  I kept having nightmares about the whole situation. In my nightmares I was my daughter sitting in the back of the car, not knowing what was going on and feeling the most horrifying loneliness. All I wanted was my mommy.

My mind wouldn’t let me stop.  The stress was so great, that my body had to jump in and force me to lay down.  My neck and shoulders became so tight, I couldn’t move.

I went to a chiropractor the other day because I was in so much pain and I was desperate.  He cracked me open. With each adjustment and crack of my spine I felt awake. More awake than I’ve felt in years.  I felt sharp, like my instincts were kicking in. I could hear better, see better and my heart was clear. I have been living in a haze, a haze of being told that I was never good enough, that I was a victim of being rapped over and over again, and living in my unhealthy relationship; not only with others but with myself.  

This is what this experience was like.  Hearing the officer on the other line cracked me right open.  I was faced with death. I was faced with my greatest fear; losing my daughter and being completely out of control.    

I am awake.  I see my daughter in a whole new way.  I feel her in every part of my body; my skin, my muscles, my bones, and in all my cells.  I see her. No, I really see her.  She is the brightest light.  I can feel her smile in my chest, I can feel her cries deep in my stomach and I can feel her laugh echoing in my ears everywhere I go.  

I am cracked right open.  Just like my adjustments with the chiropractor, my body has been moved in such a way that it now functions differently.  My mind is foreign to me. I am operating at a level I never have before. I don’t feel young anymore. I feel wiser, I feel aged.  The wrinkles I wear on my forehead are like armor. They are reminders that I made it. They are reminders that I’m doing a good job and that I’m strong.     

I am cracked wide open.  The best advice I’ve gotten lately is: trust the process.  All of these situations have left me feeling out of control, and that is when I feel my most vulnerable.  It goes back to when I was first raped. That loss of control has stuck with me ever since. Everytime I feel out of control, I feel violated, over and over again.  

I need to trust the process.  I need to accept that feeling out of control is okay, I’m normal.  I need to accept that all I can control are my own thoughts and feelings.  I cannot change someone, I can change only me.

I accept that I will be forever changing and that I will never be the same.  I accept that life is full of adjustments and cracks in the rode, flashing red and blue lights, all giving me the green to go ahead.  

My vision widens to the size of the universe.  The sound that comes after that sounds like birds singing.  I can feel my body, time slows down; it’s almost as if time doesn’t exist.  I’m standing on an empty highway, the air is thick with dew and fog, red and blue lights flashing in my peripheral.  In front of me are two beautiful women. I’m surrounded by hot summer air. I can hear everything, I can even hear the wind blowing past my ears.  I can feel my heart pumping in my chest, filling my ears with such beautiful sounds. I feel my daughters hand touch mine and the most intense happiness washes over me.  

Now these are my thoughts.  I love watching her grow. I love watching myself grow alongside her.  Each day, filling up with more and more breath. Each hour filling my chest with the most intense love a human could ever feel.  It feels good making light of the dark. It feels good standing there, on the same road, picturing a different story.