When I was four years old, my mother sat me on a bench inside a church and said, “Stay here. God will take care of you.” Then she turned around and walked away, smiling, hand in hand with my father and sister. I was too stunned to even cry—I could only sit there and watch them leave me behind. But twenty years later, they walked into that very same church, looked straight at me, and said, “We’re your parents. We’ve come to take you home!”
I remember the smell of wax and old hymn books. I remember my mother crouching in front of me, smoothing down the collar of my little blue coat as if she were sending me into a school recital instead of erasing me from her life.
“Stay here,” she said. “God will take care of you.”
Then she stood.
And walked away.
Hand in hand with my father.
My older sister beside them.
All three of them moving down the aisle together like they still belonged to each other, while I sat there too stunned to cry. I watched my mother glance back once. She was smiling.
Support group directory
Leave a Comment