Years ago, I was told that my father, a successful, kind, and generous man, never returned from an adventure trip. “It was assumed he was killed by a bear during his outing in the Rockies. His body was never found.” My birth certificate recorded my father as “unknown”.
Growing up, Mom always had “prestigious” employment…being a cleaning woman in small neighborhood offices wouldn’t exactly be prestigious in most people’s eyes, but she always kept a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and good food on the table.
She had “dates” on weekends. On occasion after those dates, she would treat me to a new book, or a movie, and sometimes a new outfit. It was close to my high school graduation that Skip Malone in front of various classmates called my mother a trampy toilet bowl cleaner. “Don’t worry about what he said…he doesn’t know the truth. The truth is…,” Mom had paused for a few moments and then simply stated, “I love you, my little angel.”
Arriving home one evening, I found Mom in the process of cleaning out her closet and bureau. “Can’t get new unless you weed out the old,” she quipped. Even the tightly taped box kept on the top closet shelf was gone. I was always curious about what was in that box but I never dared disturb its wrapping.
Slowly over several weeks Mom made adjustments to her appearance. A new hairstyle, makeup and clothes did wonders. New found confidence I thought. She explained,
“Abby Gibson, my dear daughter, sometimes a change helps you see things so much better.”
***
Marcia Gibson, traveling as Misty Jones, crossed over two state lines to see Stephan Edwards, a star quarterback, practice for the upcoming season. He so much resembled his father. As she approached him in the parking lot, she calmly spoke, “ I knew your father when he was young. You have a half sister whom you’ll never know because she had never known her father.” Then…One shot to his heart, one shot to his head, and finally one shot to her temple. The cause for Stephan Edwards’ murder remained a mystery as there was no identification found on the perp’s body. The gun used was a German WWII trophy pistol.
***
After two days of not hearing from Mom, I took her note to the Police to file a Missing Persons Report. The note only said, “Gone to help my dying Uncle Stephan. Love you always,now and forever. Mom”
I had never heard anything about an Uncle Stephan. To this day he remains unknown to me. And I never again heard from my Mom. Perhaps she, too, was killed by a bear. The only truth I know for certain is that my Mom loved me.