entries are his. He said that if it helps bring her back, it wouldn’t bother him one bit. He just wants our beloved Katie back.
Alex and I were mentioned in it as well, on some very personal situations. We don’t mind really, now none of that matters. I truly believe Katie didn’t just leave, because her Peter was coming home. She had been waiting five months for his return. Why on God’s green earth would she leave voluntarily?
The police have done so much; they questioned some people mentioned at the end of the journal. I read the whole journal, and so did they. We were able to figure out where she was going on the weekends, and who she was with. Unfortunately, her friend Kiera has not been located either. There have been flyers and posters all over. I have shared a post on Facebook with her picture, hoping to get some information. All we get is duds, nothing solid to follow.
Peter has been looking for Katie; he went to Mexico to see her family, hoping for some answers. He didn’t find anything that would help us find her. Peter and I went to San Diego, and went to the places they used to visit. We found nothing, not a thing. We placed posters at the beaches we used to go to, and at the strip bars all over town.
Maybe someone has seen her. This is Katie’s story, please help us find her. If you took her, please read this, and get to know the Katie we know and love so much. Please return her to us.
Chapter 1
A life turned upside down
My life just went all to hell in a hand basket. What happened to me? How did I get here? I sit here all alone and feeling like I lost everything. I am left here wondering why I am even alive.
I will write in this journal to keep my memories, if I live through it all, I will remember that I got through it. If I don’t make it, someone will know what was in my heart. If you are reading now, thank you. I am lying on a bed in a boarding school in the middle of Mexico. The summer seems so long, and I have been reflecting on my life while the warm sun melts down in the horizon at the end of each day. I wonder where I will be in 3 years, what will become of me? Will I still be here?
Hello, my name is Katie; I was named after my mother, Katherine. Unfortunately she is long gone, she left me while I was still trying to grow up and figure out who I am. Yes I get it, it was not planned, and she didn’t leave on purpose; she was ripped out of my life forever a few years ago.
I should start at the beginning. I grew up in San Diego, and had a happy childhood. I had a mom who loved me dearly, and my nanny, who took care of me while mom was working so she could give us the best life possible. I was going to school in Imperial Beach and had a few good friends. Mom took me to visit my family in Guadalajara each summer. I had many aunts, uncles, and cousins; it was wonderful to see them all each year.
My mom didn’t believe in acquiring money or possessions. She believed in saving for my future, so I could go to college one day, and become whatever I set up myself to be in the future. She left me something much more valuable than money when she left; she left me some basic building blocks in life. She said I could be whatever I wanted to be, and I should never limit myself. She also taught me not to compare myself to others, I am me, not an imitation of anyone else, and I am unique. There will always be someone better than me and someone worse than me and comparing myself or others doesn’t produce anything positive. I am just me, and I shall love myself as I am, and try to be the best me I can be.
I had everything I would need while growing up and was exposed to learning experiences as she saw fit. We traveled to places she thought I should see while I had a chance. We visited beautiful places, pyramids in the middle of a jungle, a mine deep within a mountain, and beaches of pure white powdery sand. I saw beauty in the world and in people. She showed me how other people lived, ones in beautiful rich neighborhoods and ones that had nothing and lived in a shack. I have been in incredibly beautiful homes, and spent nights in homes that seemed to be dropped at the edge of the earth. I saw so many things and learned so much.
She passed away from a sudden heart attack when I was 12; it happened while she was at work. But I don’t want to remember the sad times; I want to remember her as she was before that. I want to remember the good times, the love, and the time we spent together. We used to spend the weekends together, listening to the music she loved while doing laundry. We always went to church on Sundays, and sometimes I was allowed to pick a different one, just for a change of pace. I want to remember those days filled with golden sunlight that poured in through my window like warm honey. I want to remember the honeysuckle’s scent invading our home in the summer, and the Magnolias set nicely on top of the piano when in the tree was in bloom.
Those were the wonderful times that flashed by, bright like a fireball streaking through the sky and gone too soon, leaving behind only memories. I have always been afraid that memories are like footprints in the sand; and that they will fade away with time and I will lose them all.
When my mom died, I was picked up from school by her best friend and her husband. They talked to me but didn’t go much into detail. I was taken to my house to pick up my puppy, little Sugar, (a miniature poodle that looked like a little playful marshmallow). All I could think is that she can’t stay home alone. I was still in shock and confused about what was going on. I was taken to my mom’s best friend’s home to stay as I was told “for the night”. I stayed awake that night, smelling the blankets that were not mine. I had to sleep alone, since my puppy had to sleep outside. I stared into the darkness wondering what happened, and what would happen next. I was taught to not question God’s will, so I didn’t. I tried to justify what happened, thinking God was teaching me a lesson, or that he needed another angel. I was just still in denial, I kept thinking I’d wake up and it would all be a bad dream. Maybe the next day we can go to my house and find my mom there as if nothing had changed; it had to be a big mistake.
The next day, I was whisked away by my mom’s family. My aunt Martha and my uncle Felix (my mom’s brother and sister) came to pick me up. Aunt Lila took me back to the house. I was told I could not take anything with me, not my toys, not my puppy, nothing. My aunt Martha helped me pack some changes of clothes. She said we were flying to Guadalajara, and I would be allowed only 2 suitcases on the plane. I cried and cried because I just wanted to stay home, to wait my mom and my nanny. It hurt to leave Sugar; she was all I had left. I couldn’t even bear hug her goodbye; I was assured they would find her a loving home. We left for the airport soon after. My aunt took me to Guadalajara, and my uncle stayed behind to take care of “things”.
I stayed at my Aunt Martha’s house for a few months, it was summer, and my cousins were home. I still felt so alone, so devastated. What now? I begged to go back home, I felt so helpless. My cousins went about their lives as usual, going with their dad in the mornings to help him at work, and I stayed at home. I was told a lady helps with the chores at home, and they were doing “boy’s work”. So I tried to help my aunt with the chores and even tried my hand at cooking. Cooking helped me feel like the world was pausing and all I had to think about was that recipe. I could focus on it, and not on my problems. My reward was to watch people enjoy it. It was one of those things that saved some of my sanity.
After the summer was over, I was sent to Guadalajara. I was to stay at my cousin’s house, with her and her husband. My cousin Sofia was a tall redhead, with bright blue eyes, and curly red hair. She was beautiful, and had always been good to me. I was happy to have been sent there, I had no idea how wrong I was. She and her husband Hector welcomed me, and set me up in their spare room. It was to stay almost as bare for the whole year I spend there. The room contained a single bed with an orange bed spread, a plain desk to one side, and a chair. I had a few clothes in the closet and that was it. It was as bare as a hotel room would have been, but I was grateful to be there. I was warned that my only other option was an orphanage. That frightened me, because all I could think of was that movie, Oliver Twist.
