I remember my mother and father sitting me down to deliver the news. The last time my parents sat me down in such a fashion was to let me know that I was going to be a big sister. As a middle child, it wasn’t unusual for me to be out of the loop. I thought maybe that I was getting ready to learn that my parents where going on a trip or maybe, could it be? Another sibling? What my parents were about to divulge to me, would alter the course of how I was to view the world forever after that day. A part of my life, that eternal feeling of summer in the soul that you feel, as a child, was gone and so was my big sister. She was my idol, my friend and my tormentor (as any good big sister would be). She was the one who would let me sneak in her room when I was unable to sleep and who would let me sneak out of our parents camper on lake trips for secret late night stargazing. I wanted to be like her in every way. Maybe I should have told her. Maybe things wouldn’t have happened that way. My parents, hesitant to share the news, tried to break it to me easy. They were sure she was just with friends or that she was just being a teenager but I could hear the panic in their tone. I knew they were trying to convince themselves just as much as they were trying to convince me. The truth is, that my parents had no idea. In the days before cellphones and GPS systems, pictures on milk cartons and most certainly before social media campaigns of missing children, all they had to go on was the local rumor mill. Teachers, schoolmates, close friends, family, church kids and even all the old boyfriends were questioned. They felt that she had decided to leave with a new boy she had become acquainted with but were not for sure and definitely didn’t know why. It was hard to get help form the authorities because it appeared she had chosen to leave. Law enforcement did their best but they were also at a loss. Truth is that it didn’t matter how or why she was gone. All that mattered now was where. Where was she? How could we find her?