When my 20-year-old was 3, he climbed a secured gate, pulled a kitchen chair over to the door, stood on it, unlocked the chain lock & deadbolt, got down, opened the inside door and storm door, to make his way to 7-11 for a Slurpee.

I'll pray for this mom for the rest of my life. https://twitter.com/HelloKennedi/status/1293655982992760833

It was late afternoon on Sunday, August 3, 2003. My husband and I were both home and not under the influence of anything except having had three children in 4 years & 3 months time. I was taking possibly my 1st nap of the 3-yr-old's life. My husband was bathing the older 2.

I wasn't even in bed, or on the sofa, just the loveseat. We lived in an undormered Cape Cod style house. The living quarters only had 5 rooms, so it was readily apparent C was missing. In my sleep, I'd heard my husband & son calling his name, but incorporated it into a dream.

My husband woke me. "We can't find C." It took a second to realize it was a waking nightmare, rather than a bad dream. Husband (H) went to check the (chain-locked) cellar, while I took down the intact gate and went into the kitchen to—I dunno—look in the cabinets and fridge maybe

When I noticed the kitchen chair out of place & the inside door open, I realized C had gotten out. I told my husband I was going outside to look. Our daughter, who was only 4 1/2, appeared in the hallway, crying hard. She had hit her head and wanted me to comfort her.

The Lost Sheep Parable sprang to mind as I examined J's head, told her that she was okay, and that I had to find C, because he might in danger. I can still see her crying there in her blue star PJs, as I had to leave her to look for C. She looked at me like I was betraying her.

The boys across the street were outside playing. They were 7 & 9. They said they'd seen C heading down the street. I didn't wring their necks for not stopping him or at least asking their mom if it was okay for a 3-yr-old to be walking alone. There was no time & boys are stupid.

For year prior, Boston media had been full of the search for Molly Bish, who'd disappeared in 2000. They'd finally found her remains in June. As I turned my back on those boys, I thought of her and froze. I had to make myself continue down the street.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Molly_Bish

I was praying in my head as I yelled my son's name. We lived on a corner of a 4-way intersection. On the other corner of our side of the street, stood a former elementary school. Kids still played in the paved schoolyard. It's where we taught our own kids to ride their bikes.

C, who'd be reading before he turned 4, didn't talk much yet, enough that we didn't do anything about it, but not like my other kids had. I was worried that even if he didn't get hit by a car and someone found him, he might not tell a stranger his name. I thought I'd lost him.

As I headed down the hill screaming for C, a boy of maybe 9 or 10 came out from behind the school building. I didn't know him. In the ensuing years, my memory has re-cast him with a 10-year-old Rico Rodriguez (Manny on Modern Family). He asked if I was looking for a little boy.

When I said I was, "Manny" said he was behind the school. I was so afraid I'd get back there and it wouldn't be C, and I'd lose precious time on my search, while my toddler could be headed toward the train tracks, the lake, and the hellish major roadway beyond.

Right before seeing Manny, I'd yelled up to my husband that the neighbor boys had said C had headed down the street and told him to get the other kids in the car and head out, while I pursued on foot. I don't even think we'd thought to call 911. He couldn't be too far, right?

I didn't want to take Manny's word for it & burn time going behind the school if it wasn't C, so I asked questions.

ME: Is he about 3?
HIM: Yes.
ME: Blond?
HIM: Yes.
ME: In a red outfit?
HIM: Yes.
ME: Is there a firetruck on the shirt?
HIM: I think so.

I flew across the street.

A uniformed cop came out from behind the school, with C on his hip. I ran to them with my arms outstretched, but the cop didn't give him to me right away. I didn't realize it at the time, but I looked exactly how I felt—crazed.

We'd gone to church and out to a late lunch earlier, and I'd been napping (in my church clothes) until maybe 3 minutes prior. My hair is a little curly and frizzes in the humidity. It was wild from sleeping. My matching top and culottes (hush, it was 2003) were rumpled and askew.

I was wearing nylons & had stepped into my old sneakers for my search. The cop wasn't ready to give me C. He turned away from me a little as I tried to take my son into my arms. His judgment was good. I was a sight and am sure I was babbling like I was hopped up on goofballs.

I looked at my baby. "C, where did you go?!"

"I go get a Slahpee, Mommy!"

The "ur" sound is one of the last kids master. Both J & C also said "tahkey" for "turkey" & "Stah-bahst" for "Starburst."

I translated for the cop: "Oh God. He must've been going to 7-11 for a Slurpee."

The 7-11 was maybe 1/2 mile down the hill. He would have crossed a few dicey intersections to get there, but he knew the way. I used to walk the kids past it to meet my husband at the train station, and sometimes we'd stop to in to get a treat. C liked blue Slurpees, still does.

After C called me "Mommy," I think the cop handed him over. My husband arrived on the scene about that time. We learned C had been gone longer than H realized.

An unidentified angel found C walking a ways down hill, figured he'd wandered off from the kids playing behind the school & brought him back there. A family that lived behind it said they didn't know him, but would call the cops and watch him 'til they arrived. The angel left.

It turns out we knew this family. Our 7-year-olds were in Scouts together, but their kids went to the parochial school down the street, and our eldest was in public school, so they'd never seen us with C. They vouched for us to the cop.

By then, the cop was satisfied that this was a freak thing and not child neglect or endangerment. He told us a story that amounted to his kids sneaking down his long driveway one time, then reminded us you can't turn your back for a second.

We already knew that. C was our third rodeo, not first. H had bathed Thing 1 and Thing 2 with the bathroom door open. The front and kitchen doors had chain locks and deadbolts. The kitchen was securely gated off. Even the door to the cellar had a chain lock.

We had one big noisy air conditioner in our dining room. All I can figure is that it drowned out the sound of C's great escape. The next day, H went to work late after buying and installing hook & eye locks at the very top of those 3 doors, where little fingers couldn't reach.

That night, after C had his bath, I took him into the kitchen and explained he must never go out without Daddy or me. He headed straight for that door, so I pulled the kitchen chair in front of it, sat in it, and repeated my warnings.

He started to push the chair, with me in it!

I hate when parents shame their children and never did so. I tried to repeat my warnings simply, calmly, and lovingly. He kept trying to push me out of the way.

I scooped him up into my lap and proceeded to intentionally shame the heck out of him. At last, he seemed to get it.

I felt physically ill for the next few days—headachy, nauseated, shaky. As he got old enough to understand teasing, when we retold the story, I'd tell C I owed him a punch in the nose, which I'd deliver on his 25th birthday, saying I'd be 58 by then and no judge would convict me.

Last year, when he was so thin, so ill, in so much pain, on so many prescriptions, and in and out of the hospital, I retracted my longstanding nose-punch threat.

Since his surgery, C's put on 40-50 lbs (needed), is down to 1 daily acid blocker & short term Vitamin D prescription. Today, he went alone to the facility for the infusion he gets every 8 weeks. You'd never know he has a chronic illness. Retraction retracted.

1715 days to go.