Mom's missing again

"Your mom is missing", the words resonated through my soul for days, "she ran away" I knew she would be back, I knew she couldn't hide forever. I was at school, sitting in the "cozy corner" a small area covered in sheep skins and pillows. This would be the third day in a row I had spent my recess inside, an act that drew gentle teasing from my classmates. I was not upset because she had abandoned my brother an I again so much as I was aware she would be found, and when she was her life would be incredibly hard.

My bio mom had run away several time, this was not terribly unusual for me anymore, but I was getting sick of rooting for her as she attempted to run from her abusive husband. The primary problem for her was that the cops always found her and returned her triumphantly to his demanding arms. Any time she was at home she was not safe, and thus would likely never experience true safety in her lifetime.

She forever changed my outlook on finding a runaway. Initially I thought it would naturally be good to retrieve any lost loved one, only once I realized the horror some can face did I realize how incredibly damaging it can be. I knew well her pain, and I understood why she would wish to leave. I am now at an impasse each time I see a lost persons poster, for I fear luring them directly back to their abuser, their Prison warden.

I remember days when she attempted to pack us up and leave only for me to find out she intended to leave my little brother behind, in the clutches of the man who hurt my mother and I so much. I couldn't understand why she would fathom to leave him behind, and it horrified me. I chose to stay, causing to to stay as well. I still feel a little bad for that, but in the same breath, what about my brother, who was only about three or four.

Later, I would learn of her casual disappearance and cheer from the side lines. By this time it was established that her husband would leave my brother alone for the most part. Usually leaving him to his own devices, neglected, yet fairly unharmed. I would hope she would simply disappear, never return, never contact me and live out a happy life with someone new to take care of her. I would hope, only to have those hopes crash against the rocky shore of disappointment.

I would find myself weeping for her, the knowledge of the impending hospitalization, the lies that her husband would spout about him caring for her, him taking precautions to keep her safe. All lies. He had no moral compass, and cared little to none about the well being of the woman he was locking away. I can still remember how roughed up she would look after being returned to him, how we weren't allowed to mention it for fear of incurring his wrath.

We spent years in this cycle, and the neighbors would report to me that they were "too scared to call the cops" as though they weren't speaking to a child in much more danger than they possibly could be in. It is not as though people did not know, they did, and they turned a blind eye.

I often find myself dry mouthed, and nauseous when I see the inconspicuous posters plastered across a phone pole or on my timeline as I ponder their circumstances. Am I right to turn them in were I to see them, or would that simply mortally seal their fate. I wonder often about what transpires behind closed doors as I know how ready people are to accept that all is well when not told otherwise.