HE knew it would not be an easy task, but in his mind he was determined to find the truth. His mother’s family he hardly knew and his father’s family were reluctant to answer his questions.
So he ran an ad in the newspaper his mother used to work for, requesting information on her whereabouts. The responses from friends and colleagues were good, talking about her in glowing terms during her younger days, but no one had any information on her current state. One friend kindly advised him to check the asylum because it was the last place she had been.

Chris had visited the asylum the very first day he had arrived back home but she was long gone. The administrator had told him that no one knew where she was or what had become of her. He had looked at the woman in total disbelief and had asked with controlled anger.
“How could something like this happen? What kind of a poor system do you have here?”
“It happened before my appointment,” the admin had said in defence.

Chris had shaken his head, unable to fathom such negligence from a health institution and stood up to leave when the admin said to him, “Before you go, you should know from one of the reports in her file, she walks around with a little bag and keeps saying, “All the children gone.”

Since that first night he had been awoken by the song, Chris knew in his heart she was somewhere longing to see her children, and as his eyes closed in sleep, he said quietly, “Your son is here, Mother, I will find you.”

Days became weeks with no success but in the meantime, he opened a soup kitchen and shelter for those he had found living on the streets, and in his mind he wished, “I hope someone is also reaching out a helping hand to my mother, wherever she is.”

He was sitting alone at the hotel bar one night, contemplating where else to continue his search, when a tall and well-built man with greying hair approached him.
“Christopher Daniels?”

“Yes,” Chris answered, not sure who the stranger was.
“I’m Leroy King, former Guyanese cricketer,” the man introduced himself, “I knew your father and mother.”
That statement immediately aroused Chris’s interest and he stood up shaking the man’s hand.
“Good to know, I’m interested in speaking to anyone who knew my mother.”
He ordered a few drinks and after allowing a moment to elapse, he asked anxiously,
“How do you know my parents?”

“I was in the same cricket club with your father and your mother being a sports journalist, I became close friends with them until…” he paused, a look of regret on his face, “Things started to go wrong.”
“What things?”
The ex-cricketer took a long drink before answering, “Your father was a very good pace bowler but somehow he started to stumble through drinking and women when on tours, thus, he lost favour with the selectors.”

“And my mother?” Chris asked, his mind grasping every word spoken by Mr. King, “How did she take all of that?”
“Her career was rising but she turned down overseas assignments because of the children and it hurt her deeply when she heard of his betrayal.”
“Why didn’t she walk away?”

“Because she didn’t want her children to grow up in a broken home, so she forgave him but his continued betrayal put her under a lot of stress.”
“Is that why she turned to drugs?”

Mr. King shook his head, a disturbing look on his face, and he answered the young man quietly.
“Your mother was never on drugs, she had been using anti-anxiety medication for stress but years later, I heard your father had tampered with her medication.”
“Why?” Chris asked, holding his breath as he listened to this intriguing story.

“She had had enough and told him she was leaving with the children. He couldn’t let that happen, so he secretly devised a plan to destroy her mind.”
The shocking revelation stunned Chris’s mind and for a long, tense moment, he said nothing, as the truth he had been searching for sunk in his mind.

That night he could not sleep, so angry that the man he had called father all his life was so evil and heartless, causing his family such pain and trauma. He searched for his mother many more days, then one late afternoon as he drove along a desolate area and was passing an old abandoned church, something caught his attention.

It was the statue of the Virgin Mary with the Baby Jesus cradled in her arms, partially hidden by wild, clinging shrubs.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, he knew the place and walking through the open gateway, he stood at the entrance of the church but saw nothing in the dim interior. Chris sighed deeply with growing frustration and he whispered,
“Where are you, mother?”
He turned to leave then stopped at the sound of a soft humming of a song he knew so well. An overwhelming feeling of anxiety filled his heart and he stepped into the church.
To be continued…