Dear Evie: The Lost Memories of a Lost Child (3 page)

She put her hand out in a motion that told me to have a seat in the chair nearest the window. The doctor placed a small recorder on the table and explained her need to record all sessions for later review. She then retrieved a folder, thick with papers, from her desk. She placed a coaster on the table for my coffee and handed me a pen and a form she needed me to fill out.

“Could you update your information for me, Katherine? I’m sure a lot has changed since our last visit,” she smiled.

So I was right
, I thought.
I have been here before
. But when was the last time I’d been there? And why had I not remembered it before? It was all beginning to creep me out a little. Was it a little detail my mom had left out when she suggested this doctor? Did she just happen to forget to mention that I had been to this doctor before?

“Dr. Anna. Oh, I mean Dr. Martin! I don’t know what made me call you that.”

“That’s perfectly all right, Katherine. That’s what you have always called me. Most of the children I see are told to call me Dr. Anna and that is just how you remember me.”

The thing was I didn’t remember her, not really. It wasn’t exactly a memory but more like déjà vu. I almost felt a little dizzy. Was I in the twilight zone or something? I felt so confused.

“So I take it that I have been a patient of yours before?” I tried to sound calm and almost dismissive, but I was really kind of freaking out about the fact that I couldn’t remember talking to her.

“Yes, Katherine, when you were between the ages of eleven and twelve, to help you adjust to your new parents. Your mother felt you might benefit from talking to me about the things that brought you to them.”

“You mean the accident that took my parents?”

She mumbled her agreement as she began to write in the folder in her lap. Was that thick folder all about me? If I had talked enough to fill that many pages, why didn’t I remember? I didn’t remember much of anything about my life before the day of my adoption. I remembered some about my days in the hospital. I remembered the kindness of the nurses and doctors as they cared for me. I also have some memories of those awkward first days when I came home to the Tipton’s house. But the day of my adoption was my first vivid memory. I remember sitting in the courtroom when the judge gave the order to legally change my birth record to name Bill and Vivian as my parents and to change my name to Katherine Marie Tipton.

“So, Katherine, what brings you here today? What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

I was unsure where to start. I thought I’d come to ask a stranger if she could help me figure out who the little girl was in my dream, and why I had so many hang-ups when it came to intimacy with my husband. Now there was a flood of questions swirling in my head, and I wasn’t sure where to start. I stared at her as if she was supposed to tell me what to ask, but she just sat patiently waiting on my queue.
Okay
, I thought,
here goes
.

“I’ve been having some very disturbing dreams for the last several months, and I’m pretty sure they are the result of my anxiety about my little girl starting school. But my mother and Jason, that’s my husband, well, they felt I needed to seek help in dealing with the dreams.”

There it was out in the open, and now the doctor could give me some advice on how to stop them.

“Why don’t you tell me about these dreams? Is your daughter in the dreams?”

“Not exactly, but I assume the girl in my dreams represents my Gracie because they favor, except that the girl in the dreams is a blonde with blue eyes, and my daughter has brown hair and brown eyes.”

She made a “hmmm” noise through closed lips and continued to write. I didn’t see how this was going to help me at all. I had received more response from my mom and husband, and their advice had been free. Now I was paying this professional to say nothing and write in a book. I was getting very frustrated and might have just said never mind and left the room, but suddenly Dr. Anna asked me a question, and my answer was all I needed to realize I needed to stay.

“Katherine, does the little girl have a name in your dream?” I wasn’t expecting her to ask that, but what really shocked me was that I had an answer to her question.

“Yes, her name is Evie, which is a nickname, I think.”

Dr. Anna had to have noticed the look of shock on my face when I answered the question with such confidence and then gasped at my own unexpected answer. Where had that knowledge come from? I didn’t know anyone named Evie. Did I? My head seemed to be spinning and my stomach was in a knot. It made no sense. Maybe this was a dream. No, a nightmare! I just stared at the stranger I seemed to know so well. In my eyes she had to see I was pleading for an explanation.

“Did she tell you her name was Evie or did you just know it was?”

That was a very good question. How did I know the little girl’s name? In my dreams she had never uttered a sound, never told me anything, and if I was so sure it was about Gracie, why had her name not been Gracie? Where had I ever heard the name Evie before? But I knew her name was Evie as surely as I knew the names of any member of my family. And as if that wasn’t strange enough, I also felt a connection with her. The child in my dreams felt important and familiar.

I proceeded to tell Dr. Anna about my almost nightly dream where the little girl ran from something and then hid in the bathroom closet. I told her of the sick fear that caused me to break out in a sweat and tremble almost uncontrollably. I also told the doctor that on several occasions Evie had wet her pants out of fear, and I, in turn, had wet the bed.

“Is Gracie afraid of going to school? Is that why you feel it is about her?”

“Actually, she is very happy about going, even excited.”

Once again she was writing. I was sure this was going to get on my nerves if she continued to write everything I said in her folder. Had she done that when I was a child in her care? Could that be why the book was already so thick with papers? What could I have said back then? I remembered every inch of the house the doctor used for her practice. I remembered her cat for goodness sake! But try as I might, I had no memory of what we’d talked about. I could not pull the memory of our sessions together from when I was a child.

We talked back and forth for the remainder of my hour-long session. I told her all about my little family. In spite of my embarrassment, I told her about my intimacy problems with my husband and my obsessive overprotective tendencies with my daughter. Mostly we talked about my dreams. It actually felt really good to talk to her about all my issues. But could she help me figure out the reason behind them?

“Katherine, I want to see you again in one month, but in the meantime I would like you to keep a pencil and paper on your bedside table, and when you have these dreams I want you to write down everything you can remember about them. I think you may be forgetting details of the dreams that could be important. Perhaps if you write them down the instant you wake up, you will have more clarity and remember more of the emotions you were feeling while dreaming.”

I started to get up from my chair when I realized that Sophie had curled up in my lap, and I had been stroking her fur while I talked. Somehow this seemed not only completely natural but familiar and comforting to me. The old cat remembered me too. Of that one thing I was positive. I headed back home after my session with Dr. Martin, or, as I apparently know her, Dr. Anna, feeling a little confused but also a little relieved. I had stopped by the pharmacy and purchased a tablet of paper and several new pens. I was almost expecting the doctor to write me a prescription for something to help me relax, but she’d said unless I insisted on it, she would rather my mind stay unclouded.

“If your emotions get to be too much to handle, I can always prescribe something for you later,” she assured me.

Did she really think it could get to be too much for me to handle emotionally? What did she know that she wasn’t sharing with me? After all, with a book that thick there had to be something she wasn’t telling me.

I kept procrastinating about going to bed, finding things I needed to get done before turning in. Jason had been sleeping in the guest room for the last two weeks.

“Just till you stop the dreams, sweetheart. I am too exhausted to work from lack of sleep and, well, I’m tired of the bed-wetting.”

I tried not to be hurt, because I really did understand. He’d promised he wasn’t angry, but he just needed sleep and would come to
visit
anytime I wanted him to. Finally, when I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, I crawled between the cool sheets and allowed sleep to come. My handy notebook and pen were beside me if needed them.

Chapter Three

I hadn’t had a dream about the little blonde girl in almost three weeks. I was feeling foolish for having talked to a doctor about it, but I had every intention of keeping my next appointment with Dr. Martin to see if I could find out more about myself as a child. It was something that remained a mystery to me.

The dreams were probably exactly what I’d said they were, anxiety about Gracie going to school. She was an official kindergartener now and loved it. Her teacher, Miss Short, was wonderful. She was young and had only been teaching for two years, so she had enough experience to be a confident teacher but was new enough to still have that contagious excitement that comes from feeling you can change the world. She had those kids following her like the pied piper, and my daughter loved her more than ice cream. Gracie came home every day with stories of the fun projects her wonderful teacher had them do, of her new friends, and of the fun she was having. She wanted to be a teacher when she grew up for sure. At least that was what she was telling me on a daily basis.

“See, Kat, I was right, and you were worried for nothing,” Jason had bragged.

I hated to admit he was right; but, after all, the dreams had stopped and Gracie was happy, so I had to give him that one.

Jason had moved back into our room, and we had enjoyed our share of victory sex. He said it was victory sex because I had won out over the nightmares.

“Can’t call it make up sex because we didn’t fight,” Jason concluded.

I had missed our time together, and I had to admit it was nice to have him beside me again. Despite my unexplained hang-ups about intimacy, I loved lying close to him and just being together. When we were alone in our own secure little world that never went beyond our queen-size bed, I was free to love him. Now maybe I could just concentrate on remembering my childhood. Filling in the blanks was my new goal. I couldn’t help but wonder if the past held the key to why I feared intimacy.

In an effort to find some answers, I went to see my mom and dad to try and get more information about my childhood visits with Dr. Anna.

“Why exactly did I need to see her, and why don’t I remember it?” I grilled.

My mother seemed hesitant to talk about it. She just kept telling me I needed to let the doctor help me remember the things that happened before I came to live with them.

“Mom, I know you remember more than you are telling me. For one thing, you always start cleaning like a crazy person and avoid looking at me when you are trying to keep from talking about something. That’s how I always knew if I was about to get a really great gift on my birthday. You avoided me as much as possible, and the kitchen literally shined like a diamond.”

I grinned and gave her my most persuasive plea, and then stuck my lower lip out in my best pouty face. “Please, Mommy,” I whined.

She stopped and stared into the sink for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke in a quiet tone without looking up.

“Like I told you the other day, we were so thrilled when you came to live with us, sweet girl. We had always wanted children, and Bill and I knew the minute we saw you so tiny and frail in that hospital bed that you were our little girl.”

She turned to look at me. The smile on her face was forced, and her eyes were sad, as if she were begging for understanding.

“The doctors told us you would need a lot of help adjusting and asked if we were up to the challenge.” She released a breathy laugh. “You were in a state of shock. You would not speak to anyone except for this one nurse you seemed to trust. You would just sit and stare out into space as if trying to figure it all out. When you were ready to leave the hospital, they assigned you to us as a foster child and told us you needed to see a psychiatrist weekly for a while. They gave us Dr. Martin’s number and said she was one of the best children’s psychiatrists in the state.”

She is a children’s psychiatrist? Why would she agree to see me now if she only works with children? I would have to add that to my growing list of questions.

“Katie, you seemed so fragile when you came to us. It took us days to get you out of your room. You seemed to feel safe in your bed with the covers tucked in around you. In the beginning, I would bring your food to you on a tray. I would sit on the edge of your bed and talk a blue streak as you ate.”

She took my hand to her mouth, and then held it against her cheek. I could see that her eyes were wet, but she held back the tears.

“You slowly started to open up and talk to me. Eventually you were ready to leave the security of your room, but the bathroom continued to be an issue for you for a long time. You almost seemed afraid that something was in there. You were adamant that the door be locked and no one should dare enter.”

Well, apparently that hang up about the bathroom went farther back than I had thought.

“Bill could tell you were especially nervous around him, so he tried to keep his distance, but at the same time he didn’t want you to think he didn’t want you here. It was a stressful time for all three of us.”

She stroked my hair and looked at me, hoping I understood how difficult it was to balance everything at first. Knowing what a wonderful father Bill Tipton had been to me, I couldn’t imagine being afraid of him. He was as gentle and sweet as a lamb.

“You and dad did a great job, Mom. I have always felt loved and wanted in this house… really.” My dad had been listening in the next room. He walked in and gave me a kiss on the top of my head while patting my shoulders.

“You were loved, Katie, and still are,” he said.

“I love both of you too. I hope you won’t take it as a reflection on the life I had here with you, but I need to remember my birth parents and my life prior to coming here. I need to do it for me. There are so many unanswered questions. Having no memory of my life before the age of ten makes me feel very unsettled. There are times when I feel like part of me is missing.”

“We understand, Katie, and we will help in any way we can.”

They both hugged me and assured me of their support, but I couldn’t help but notice the look of concern that passed between them. I knew in my gut that they were keeping things from me, but I would let it go for now.

***

Despite the emotional unrest, it seemed life had returned to normal for our household. Gracie was keeping us on our toes with all the new responsibilities of having a child in school. She had assignments every night to practice her letters or work on recognition of words in preparation for learning to read. I had no memory of my early school years, but I knew from listening to my peers that things had come a long way. My mom had made the comment that the days of “See Spot run” were long gone. Gracie seemed so young to be doing that type of work, but she was astonishing. I wondered if I would be able to keep up as she progressed through the grades. Jason suggested that we may both have to return to school in order to help her in the future with homework. I knew he meant it as a joke, but I was seriously considering it. I had passed up college to marry Jason and had worked the first few years of our marriage while Jason took classes. By the time Jason got his degree, I was pregnant with Gracie and was unwilling to let someone else raise my child. I didn’t want the sitter to be the one to see her first steps or hear her first words. But now that she was in school and doing so well, it was the perfect time for me to go back to school as well.

Why had I been so afraid for her? She was amazing me daily with her intelligence and independence. I sat and watched her pretending to be a teacher with her dolls one afternoon. This was her new favorite thing to play, and I was glad school was so much fun for her. I hoped she would keep that love for learning as she grew older. I loved to listen in as she corrected her “students.” She was asking her pretend class questions as she pointed to her little chalkboard.

“Susie,” she said, “why are you talking when Miss Hunter is talking? Don’t you want to be a good girl?”

I gasped at the question as if she had said a four letter word. For some reason those words sent a shock wave down my spine. Fear surged through me, and when those words left Gracie’s mouth, for the first time in weeks a flash of the little blond girl appeared. I saw her in the corner sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs, hiding her face in her knees. It was only a split second, but in that second I noticed every detail about her. The little light green dress she wore was dirty and wrinkled as if she had worn it for days, even while asleep. Her hair was still as tangled and matted as it had been in the dreams. And when a voice repeated in my head the words my daughter had said, I could see the fear and sadness in the little girls blue eyes.

“What’s wrong, Mommy? Why are you crying?” Gracie was staring at me with concern and confusion. I touched my cheek and confirmed there were tears; but I had not realized that I was crying and I had no idea why I would be. Did just seeing this little girl really make me that upset? With so little knowledge about this child, how could just seeing her image cause such a reaction?

“I’m fine, sweetie. I guess my eyes are all itchy and watery like they get sometimes from the grass and pollen. Remember, your daddy mowed the yard yesterday.”

It was a total lie, but she seemed satisfied, and I couldn’t tell her the truth.
Well, baby, your mom is going crazy. I just saw a little girl in your room that isn’t really there, and she was sad so I guess it made me cry
. I had never seen the little girl other than in a dream, and her image suddenly appearing like that frightened me. This completely demolished my theory that the dreams had been my concern about Gracie starting school. Why now? Why not in a dream this time? Did this mean that she was a ghost and lived in my house? Had Gracie ever noticed her? I was almost dizzy with the questions that whirled around in my head. I had always heard that children could see spirits when adults could not.

“Gracie, what are the names of your students,” I asked while pointing to her invisible classroom. She simply shrugged her shoulders and continued to play. My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt panic. The panic became confusion when I realized it was not panic from seeing the child but panic I felt for her. I was frightened for her. Afraid something would hurt her.

Okay, Katherine, pull yourself together here
. How insane was it to worry about a dream… or a ghost… whatever she was. I realized as I started to analyze my reaction that I was feeling what she was feeling; just as I had in my dreams. Don’t ask me how I knew that, but I did. In my dreams I had always felt as if I was seeing inside the child or feeling what she felt. We felt the same emotions. It had been no different during the vision of her in Gracie’s room. The vision had lasted for a second but filled me with an overload of emotions that had caused me to cry in front of my daughter for no explainable reason. I wasn’t going to tell Jason about it. After all, he was so relieved the dreams had stopped, and we were absolutely blissful in our relationship at that time.

That night, however, it became necessary to tell him when the dreams came back. I had fallen asleep easily enough, exhausted by my busy day and by my emotional afternoon in Gracie’s room. I didn’t realize it when I fell asleep, but it was going to be a very emotional night as well.

Evie was sitting at the kitchen table working on her letters. Her mother was busy in the kitchen preparing a meal. They were both singing along with the little radio that sat on a shelf on the right of the kitchen window. Evie would hold up the paper occasionally to show her mom the letter she was working on, and her mom would clap and boast about what a wonderful job she had done. When she’d finished, Evie put the papers in her little backpack and pulled out her word list. Her mom would come over to help Evie sound out words, and then kiss her daughter on the head and smile at her with overwhelming pride.

But despite this happy interaction, it was clear that not all was well. Her mother seemed to be nervous about something. I could feel that Evie was anxious as well. Both were watching the clock in the kitchen as if waiting for a bomb to explode. Evie couldn’t tell time yet, but she knew when both hands pointed straight down things would change. The ticking clock, as it counted off the seconds, became louder as the tension seemed to build.

Evie’s mother would look out the window, searching the dusk of early evening for… something or perhaps for someone. Both of them would look at the front door which was visible from the kitchen, and then at each other before returning their attentions to the task at hand. Her mother was trying to hide her concerns, but as the clock struck six, the tension began to grow. Both of them looked up often to watch the long hand of the clock make its journey to the bottom when it would be time. Evie’s mother reached up and turned off the music, and both of them seemed to be bracing themselves for something. My own stomach was in knots, and my body tensed up as the dread multiplied in Evie. Her mother started talking to her in a gentle but pleading voice.