For decades a recurring memory haunted me. Or was it a dream?

It’s early evening, and I am in the backseat of a moving car, on the right-hand side. Another child sits beside me, on my left. Is this child a boy or girl? How old is he? What is her name? I am cold, hungry, and disoriented. In front sit two people, but I cannot tell what they look like. Are they men or women? They are asking me questions, and I am answering them. I sense they are trying to reassure me.

The car lurches to a stop. We get out and walk into a large, brick building. It is incredibly clean, and my feet squeak when I walk. I think I am in a hospital. Why have I been brought here? The other child remains next to me. The two of us stand against the wall while my front-seat companions (who exited the car with us) talk in hushed tones to a woman dressed in white and a strange-looking hat. The three of them then approach us, and the other child is led away by the woman dressed in white. This child looks over his or her shoulder one last time at me. I don't know why, but I do not want the white-clad woman to take the child. Still, there is nothing I can do to stop her. I feel a hand on my shoulder holding me in place as they walk out of sight.

Now we are in the car again, driving. The streetlights whip by, fascinating me. Where am I going? We stop again, and I am hustled into another building whose features I can’t discern. Someone carries me into a room and places me on a bed with a pillow. I have never been warmer and more comfortable in my life. Another woman appears, and the three of them keep saying, “You're going to be okay now.” I drift off into a peaceful sleep.

For years these events lived in the gray area between memories and dreams. There were times when I accepted that I was never to know what these images meant and still other times when I believed that if I unpacked them one more time, I would finally unlock their meaning. The sheer persistence of these images haunted me as much as the images themselves. These events have always been with me, part of the poetry of my life, interwoven with first kisses, high school graduation day, college finals, first days on the job, and Lamaze classes.

One day I learned the truth. These memories were from the day I was taken from my mother.

I would never see her again.