Rebecca has been an amazing therapist to me, and now I count her as one of my friends and mentors. I sometimes wonder what if she had said to me in the beginning of treatment, “Jaycee, you are suffering from Stockholm syndrome.” Would I have believed her? At the least it would have limited my recovery. Would I have questioned her diagnosis? She taught me that it’s so important not to label people. I truly believe it would not have helped me but, rather, hindered me. I like to think I would have had the wherewithal to say, “Hey, stop saying that. No, I don’t have Stockholm syndrome.” Now on the other hand, if Rebecca had said to me, which she did, “You adapted to survive. You did what you had to do and at times you make the best of what life hands you.” This is a positive statement, and victims need positivity in their life, not hindering labels.
Okay, I will get off my soapbox now, but don’t let me catch you or anyone else using the term Stockholm syndrome again. It feels so nice now to shout what I believe out loud. No one will tell me again what to say or not say. Okay, maybe they can tell me, but I won’t listen. I choose to keep my life filled with people who want to hear what I have to say. They don’t mind when I speak up.
The other day I was out with a friend, and the waitress brought me my soup. When I tasted it, it tasted like burnt socks with maybe a touch of my hated cilantro. At first I thought, Just eat it and keep your opinions to yourself. But you know what? As soon as the waiter came over, it just popped out of my mouth. I said, “Excuse me, but could you bring me the other soup? This soup tastes strange.” It just came out just like that. My friend laughed as the waiter walked away. She said that she never expected to see me speak up like that. Now, it seems silly—like why wouldn’t you send soup back if it tastes gross?—but guess what. There was a time I never would have done that.
Me, Abigail, and Rebecca showing off our shirts in New Orleans.
Me, Abigail, and Rebecca sharing a moment in George and Martha Washington’s tomb.
Hope Is a Four-Letter Word
* * *
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all.
—Emily Dickinson
Few things in life say love more than a “death by chocolate” cake. My mom happens to make a delicious one, and it’s what I ask for every birthday we have been back together.
I think my mom is one of the bravest people I know. I don’t know if I could have retained so much hope after eighteen years of waiting for my daughter to return to me. But that is exactly what my mom did. She told me about how she would talk to me throughout the years on nights with a full moon and tell me all about her day. I like to believe that I felt this love and it gave me the strength I needed to endure each day on my own without her much-needed guidance.
Since my miraculous return and the introduction to her new granddaughters, whom she had no hesitation in accepting, my mom has sacrificed much of her life to us. Although she would never say that, she has because that’s the kind of person she is. She splits her time and energy to be with both me and my little sister Shayna.
Being in my thirties living with Mom has not always been easy for either of us. I’m not the same eleven-year-old I was when I was taken. She has always let me express myself and accepted that I’m not a kid anymore, even though I know she still worries every time I leave the house. Some memories even time cannot erase completely.
We have both worked really hard in therapy on ourselves and with each other. We have both shared many stories and memories, and she was so proud of how I raised the girls in the backyard. I think learning about each other has helped with accepting who we are now as opposed to who we used to be. My mom has shared some of her awful dreams she endured while I was missing. She told me one that happened in 1992; it went like this:
She was very busy in the kitchen at the house we had lived in in Tahoe. The lighting was very dim and dark. She was worrying and searching for something, trying to find something, going through cupboards and shelves, tearing out stuff, making a mess trying to find something. Then in I walked through the front door, and she could feel it was warm outside. In the dream, I was tapping her on the shoulder, trying to get her attention, and I said, “Mom, can I have a drink of water?” She was preoccupied, frantically searching for something, not realizing I was home, and she started to say “No, Jaycee, I’m busy, I’m looking for something” and then she suddenly realized I was what she was looking for and all she could do was hold me and cry. “You’re home!” She says she woke up crying and clinging to her pillow, because I really wasn’t.
I cannot even fathom the torment of dreams such as this, and she had them for all the years I was missing!
I have always known I am special in my mom’s eyes; she always called me her number one. During therapy it helped to be reminded of her love for me, and it also helped to know she did all she could to find me. At times I lost hope of ever being rescued and found. I thought I would rot in that backyard and nobody really would ever care or even remember me. I told my mom my fear of being forgotten, and she hugged me and said, “Never! Never ever, Jayce. I looked my hardest for you and I never doubted for a minute that we would one day be together again.” And we are!
My mom also told me about the garden that was planted for me in Tahoe and the memorial rock. Ten years after I was taken from that street in Tahoe, my mom wrote this:
Jaycee’s Rock
There is a rock, quite steadfast by nature, located in a small town nearly five hundred miles from here. A single spruce grows next to the rock, reaching up to touch the ostentatious sky. The rock and the spruce are like many others in this quaint, little town; yet they are quite unique in my mind. Nearly eight years ago, these two were placed in this spot. Why? It is here that I go to remember the good times, mourn my loss, and renew my spirit. As I add to the flowers surrounding this sanctuary, I remember a little girl who loved nature. My fingers dig into the rich, dark soil, and I feel her warmth radiating throughout me. My tears mix with the water that I sprinkle upon these blossoms. They are a reminder to me, as well as others, of a lively and cheerful little girl, my little girl, my baby. Just like this rock, my love for Jaycee remains steadfast and solid. Some say that as time passes, memories lose their sharp focus. The growing spruce is a reminder of time passing and also of something that will not die as long as it is nourished. The rock withstands the elements of time and so will she if only in my mind.
Since my return we have had many fun adventures together, building new memories and reliving old ones. She took me by the old house we lived in with my grandma and grandpa. I was amazed at how much smaller the property looks now than when I was little. I learned my mom has a terrible fear of water, but when I asked her to go on a kayaking trip down the Rogue River with Jessie and her family, she agreed even though she was afraid. This trip ended up being really fun for both of us. She stayed on one of the bigger boats and loved to soak up the sun each day, but on the last day she got in one of the little kayaks and realized it wasn’t as scary as she thought it would be. That’s the strength and courage my mom has in all things.
My mom is a fabulous designer and fixer-upper. She has put her talents to good use and helped with making our JAYC Foundation house feel homey and inviting for the families that come for reunification therapy. She also helps Chef Charles with food prep and planning.
I can honestly say I know my mom better now than I did when I was younger. Even though I loved my mom dearly when I was little, I love her so much more now. Age makes you appreciate people in your life with so much more than you could ever give them as a kid.
Me and Mom.
Me and Mom.
Mom baking me a cake.
Lil Sis
* * *
There were so many days in my sister’s life that I wanted to be there for. In fact, I should have been there. I would have if two psychopaths hadn’t decided that their lives were far more important than mine or my family’s. I could on
ly imagine what her birthday parties were like, what she wore to her first prom. I would have liked to have been there for all the moments of her life. I think I would have made a really good big sister. Despite not growing up together, I think we have a lot in common. One time she texted me a picture of the color she painted her nails, and I sent her an “LOL . . . me too” text. I had just had mine painted the same shade of purple. What are the odds we would both pick that color for our nails in the same week? We also share the same sense of humor and laugh at the same jokes.
So you can imagine how happy I was when she asked me to come to her wedding. That’s right: I was the happiest girl alive! It was going to be small, she said. Just me, our mom, and her husband-to-be’s dad and stepmom.
My mom renewed her ordination so she could marry them. She also hand made Shayna’s dress from a pattern that my sister loved. We went out hunting for the perfect spot the day before. Finally found one by a little lake. Later that day we went to this drive-through animal park. It was so fun feeding the animals straight out of the window. An ostrich got a little too friendly for my mom’s liking, but Shayna and I thought it was hilarious as the giant bird tried to stick his long neck in the car to get at Mom’s goodies. That was the first time I had been through a zoo like that. I loved how all the animals were basically free to roam around. There were bison, emu, sheep, zebra, deer, elk, and so much more. That was a fun day, and it just got better when Garrett took us to the best rib joint in town.
The morning of the big day I remember thinking, Gosh, look how beautiful my little sister looks. She’s the only person I know who can look this good so early in the morning. How amazing this moment is for me to be here and witness her special day with the man she loves and who obviously loves her, too. The morning was foggy and chilly, but the setting turned out to be so perfect. The water was so calm and shining and reflective in the morning light. Steam was rising from the lake. There was an egret perching on the shore opposite where we were. As we pulled up, there was a police cruiser by the boat dock. I almost thought he was going to ask us to leave, but he just sat there eating his breakfast and didn’t seem to be interested in what we were doing. Mom conducted the ceremony down by the beach. I tried to keep the tears of joy from overflowing, but I admit some leaked out. It was a short but sweet ceremony and before you knew it we were off to breakfast. My heart felt full. It was so nice to be part of a shared memory for a change.
A few months later they visited, and we had a fabulous, rocking party at my barn. Complete with a band and moonshine! The band was really cool because it was formed by a friend that’s a real judge and his court staff. The band was called Courtin’ Disaster and they played really awesome country songs. I’ve always been too shy to dance in public, and although I was surrounded by friends and family, I still felt that way when it came to dancing. I really wanted to dance, though, and we had an awesome live band. My friend taught me the secret of dancing. She said I needed to “crack the cage” and demonstrated what she meant. She said if you let the bottom part do the movin’, the top part can just hang out and be cool. For some reason this made so much sense to me and I had no problem dancing the night away with everyone in my cool cowgirl boots complete with pink flowers on them. We had the whole event catered with delicious barbecue ribs, chicken, and baked beans and veggie burgers for vegetarians like my daughters. The whole night was a blast and a fun way to kick off their married life together.
I know it’s okay to feel resentment and anger over the past. The key for me is moving past all that and living in the here and now. New moments and finding the joy in them is what makes me stronger every day, and a little help from family and friends never hurts, too.
Since the start of the foundation, Shayna and Garrett have been lifesavers. When we first came up with the idea to sell pinecone necklaces to raise money for the JAYC Foundation, I thought it would be easy to package them and ship them out. Well, thanks to the many orders we received—over 10,000, from all over the country—that turned out to be a daunting job. The necklaces came all tangled together and it was so hard to untangle them to be able to put the pinecone charm on.
I should have listened to my friend when asked how I would handle the orders that would come in, but I didn’t think that far ahead. I just have the ideas, people. I didn’t really have the ability to see beyond that and plan these things out. I think I’m much better at it now, but back then I just saw a good idea. It did turn out to be a good idea and lots of money came in for the foundation. There were so many details to think about, like how to package the necklace without it tangling in the mail. How to even get enough charms to fill the orders we were receiving, too. So many details that I had not even thought of: shipping labels, post office trips, notes from me thanking them for their orders, donation receipts—so many things.
I enlisted the help of relatives and friends, but it was just too much. When Shayna and Garrett offered to take over, I was so thankful. I felt bad, though, too, because I thought I was putting a burden on them that they didn’t want, but it turned out they really wanted to be involved with the foundation and help any way they could. I was overjoyed. Shayna and Garrett streamlined the process and were able to take over the job, much to my relief!
Feeding an ostrich.
Me feeding a zebra.
Where’s the Rage, Jaycee?
* * *
At Yale University, Rebecca, Abigail, and I were presenting our critique of Stockholm syndrome paper to a panel of mental health professionals. When it was time for questions, I was asked, “Where’s the rage, Jaycee?” It came easy for me to say to her, “I choose not to be angry and let Phillip and Nancy consume one more minute of my life.” The woman who said this to me felt like she was the angry one and perhaps was looking for someone to reciprocate her anger.
Why? Why do I choose to believe that, act that? Do I ever get angry? Yes, I do. I can be angry at Phillip and Nancy, I can be angry at the incompetence of law enforcement and the government and its role in my daughters’ and my further imprisonment. I even can be angry at my daughters at times; they are quite normal and therefore, like most teens, very frustrating for a single mom. There’s lots in this world to be angry about. The world is a very angry place, and there are some very angry people living here on this planet we all share. However, I don’t choose to live in an angry state all of the time. I don’t live there. I don’t wallow in self-pity and think of all the “what ifs” of life. It’s a waste of my time and energy. That’s the choice I have made. It doesn’t make sense to me to get angry and stay that way. I don’t want to be a mad, angry person.
I have lost friendships over anger. Someone I genuinely cared about and thought was a supporter of mine turned out to be a very angry person and ended up making many assumptions and judgments about me, which never feels good. I have encountered this feeling before but directed at what happened to me, not at me.
The American Legion Child Welfare Foundation had given my foundation a grant. We were asked to come to their annual conference in Baltimore and talk about how we used the grant and how thankful we were. We also had a booth manned by my sister and her husband, Garrett. I sometimes sat at the booth with them to help out. You really find out who remembers you and who doesn’t at things like these. A lot of people thought I was Elizabeth Smart and some even thought I was one of the Cleveland women. My sister’s husband was great at explaining the foundation and its founder, me. At times I would introduce myself and people would be surprised I was there.
One group came over and listened as the foundation was explained, and when Garrett got to the part about me, a man became visibly angry at what he was hearing of my story. He didn’t realize I was sitting there. He said he would like to get ahold of Phillip and put him in a room so the family could have at him. And then he’d like to have a chance. He was so upset for what we had been through it was actually quite touching for me to see. The man finally asked Garrett one question: “How can she be okay? Is s
he doing okay these days?” I felt a little shy to stand up and make my presence known after all that, but I did stand up and I said to him, “Hi, and yes, I’m doing quite well, thank you.” He was embarrassed for his conduct, but I told him not to be. I understood that he just felt rage for what happened to me and my kids. I appreciated his support. I told him that my girls and I were actually thriving now. There is life after something tragic happens. Life doesn’t have to end if you don’t want it to. It’s all in how you look at it. I hope that man doesn’t let his anger consume him and that he felt some relief in seeing how well I was doing.
There was a big orange tree in the backyard of my grandparents’ house. When I was little and before the world got scary, I would sit under that tree and look up to the sky and wonder what my life would be like when I grew up. I think we all have those moments as kids. I never imagined I would be kidnapped, imprisoned, and have two kids by the age of seventeen.
I imagined I would be a great writer of fiction and travel all around the world. Or perhaps I would have been a great veterinarian and by the time I was the age I am now, I would have saved the lives of hundreds of animals. I guess the point I’m trying to make is we never know what life has in store for us. Sometimes it’s bad and sometimes we win the lotto. Life hits hard. It’s the small memories that I hold dearest to me.
Freedom Page 14
