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The Vanishing: Chapter Four
When we were girls Mother, Bobe and Our Father always told us to believe in ourselves, the world was ours to conquer, and Bobe told us often that we had come from a history of fighters, those who had fought to survive and those who had died but fought for their last breath.
“You guys have a good life, it’s not free of pain of course, but no one’s is. But we have done our best to keep you girls safe and sheltered.”
We sat listening to Bobe, we appreciated her wisdom, even as children. As children we would listen to the stories Bobe told us, stories of hope in the darkest times. The way those imprisoned in the Concentration Camps would find ways to keep the hope, they tried to break the Spirit of there prisoners they did not want them to be happy.
But things were different now than they were when I was little, I was laying in a hospital bed, our baby sister had been missing for six years, and somebody full of hate had shot me in my own yard, stopping to carve a swastika on the old Oak Tree in the front yard. There was no way this was a coincidence, I knew that.
And now that I was getting stronger, I was doing better at least physically I would soon be released from the hospital and honestly that scared me, because the person who did this to me had yet to be caught, and because my life was different now. I was paralyzed…
