Sweetest Casey. Another year has passed without you. Another year lost to us, twelve long months. Eleven years total. Funny, but I keep looking for signs—some whisper of fate to tell me this is the year, this is the month, this is the week I’ll find you.
Poor Tati. She must grow tired of my fretting. But if she does, she never lets on. In fact, whenever I feel like giving up, she’s the one who nags at me not to lose hope. She decided this year we should celebrate your birthday somewhere special, so I’m writing this on the beach on the Big Island of Hawaii, wearing leis and drinking pi?a coladas, which are way too sweet for me, though Tati loves them.
Have you been to Hawaii? For all I know, you might even live here. Then maybe you’d be a surfer. Do you ride? I’ve covered some surfing events. They’re intense.
Speaking of intense, my love for Tati has grown in intensity. She had a little skin cancer scare not long ago, and the idea of losing her freaked me out. It was okay in the end, but we spent several anxious days until we got the good news.
How I wish I’d get good news about you. I watch the heave of the ocean, listen to its crash and moan, hoping to hear that message from the ether. Will this be the year? Will this be the month? Will this be the week I find you?
September 11, 2013
Happiest birthday, Casey. I wish I could reach out and touch you, or at least pick up the phone and call to let you know not a day goes by that I don’t think of you, if only for a brief moment or two. I imagine how you look, what you’re doing. I imagine the joy of hugging you, wish for more than attachment by the slenderest thread of memory.
To move or not to move? That is the question of the day. Tati and I have been in San Diego for five years now, and I feel like it’s time for something new. I was offered an anchor position at the station, and have been considering it. It would mean more money, but a lot less freedom, and money isn’t everything.
So I’ve put out a few feelers, looking for work in different cities. The problem is, San Diego is a great market, and I love California. Plus, there’s Tatiana to consider, though she thinks it won’t be hard to find a job wherever I might end up. We’ll see.
How many times have you moved? I think it must’ve been many to have kept you so well hidden. Are you still with Jason? Sometimes I wonder if maybe he gave you away. Anything to keep us apart. The man is a monster.
September 11, 2014
Sweet sixteen. I guess you’ve probably been kissed by now. I hope whoever he—or she—is, that person treats you right. Don’t settle for less than the best partner, Casey. Don’t allow yourself to be used or abused. And never glom onto someone you don’t really love, thinking it’s a means of escape.
The person I escaped from is gone for good. My mother passed away last June. You know how I found out? I happened to read her obituary. She was living right here in San Francisco. Just as well I didn’t know, but I have to wonder if she ever saw me on TV, and if she did, whether she even recognized me—her daughter, sixteen years since we’d last seen each other. And that brings me right back to you.
I’m in San Francisco now, where it’s cooler than San Diego, and more expensive. Tati and I live in a little house near the beach, south of the city proper. I don’t cover much surfing up here, but there are sailing events, and I’ve discovered how much I love the sport. Not just watching it, but experiencing it. Skimming the water, powered by the wind, is pretty darn close to heaven.
We’ll sail together one day, you and me. I’ll show you the ropes. Ha-ha. I wonder what you can teach me.
September 11, 2015
Oh, Casey. Every year on this day I wake up and almost immediately see some kind of 9/11 tribute. A responder’s untold story, or a where-is-this-survivor-now article. The first thing I think of is you. That unimaginable event will forever be linked in my mind with my little girl’s disappearance.
That’s good and bad, I suppose. The World Trade Center destruction was an immense catastrophe, but to me, losing you was the greater tragedy, one I’ve never been able to reconcile because a huge piece of my heart went missing.
You know what I do? I get a cup of coffee and turn on my computer and do a web search for your name. I’ve found thirty Casey Baxters, but none of them is you. They’re either too old or too male.
Do you ever look for me? Do you even know my name? What has Jason told you about me? Oh, how I wish I knew. If I did, it might lead us to each other.
September 11, 2016
You’re eighteen years old today! All grown up, and on her way. You must be a high school senior this year. You’ll graduate in the spring. Do you have plans for college? Oh, you must! Don’t be a late bloomer like me. And don’t get married. Not for a while. Find out who you are first.