Listen to a Child

I am not sure why I am writing this right now, but something inside of me insisted that I needed to write this. So, if you are reading this and need to help a child or you are the one that is seeking help, please get the help now. If you feel you are afraid or no one will listen, go to a church, hospital, or to someone that you can trust.

Photo of Donna(top) and me, 35 years later. Photos taken at Sarsh Fisher. Their doors are closed and a private business bought the property.

Our parents told us to "pack our things". Of course we were confused and afraid, because we had no idea of why we were packing our things. (Imagine coming home from school and your parents are telling you to pack your things. You do as you are told and no one is talking or telling you why. Imagine that feeling....)

We drove down this long driveway and arrived at the doorsteps of this huge building that we never saw. Our mother got out of the truck and demanded that we follow her with our bags. We were still confused and afraid. We got out of the truck and followed our mother.

Next, we saw a nun walking into the "waiting room". Without a word, our mother turned away from us and left. Donna and I stood there in panic and wondered why we were there! The nun said NOTHING to us, but only to follow her. (Imagine your mother walking away from you. No hugs or no words.)

I remember walking down this long hallway. It was empty and all we heard were our footsteps and the plastic bags moving in our arms. Donna and I kept looking at each other with fear in our eyes. We had NO idea to WHY we were there and what was going to happen to us.

We arrived at the end of the hallway, where there were two shorter hallways. Two Ladies join the nun and each of them instructed us to follow them, but in opposite hallways. At that point we started crying and begging to know what was going on. I was being separated from my twin sister and had no idea of what I did to deserve this. We started screaming and crying for each other. Those ladies pulled at our arms and dragged us into another part of this large building. (I remember how cold these ladies were. They were mean and treated us like we were nothing.)

We were separated for almost one year... attending different schools and living apart. That was the most horrible, frightening, experience in my life. I felt so alone, afraid, and unloved. I had nobody. That was the start of living in the system for us. Words cannot describe the loss and fear that I had when they took me away from Donna. No one explained anything to me or told me what was going on. I felt like I did something horrible and deserved this treatment.

Unlike others, we did not have a great experience at St. Vincent Sarah Fisher. I could not function and was confused most of the time. It was always in my head that NO ONE told us WHY we were there!

Twenty-five years later or more, my daughter and I went back to Sarah Fisher and spoke with a nun. I pleaded with her to give me some type of answer... She told me she would look into it... When I first met her, she was kind and sweet, however, when I went back to see her, she look at me like I was some type of dirt from the streets.

She handed me an envelope and walked away! In the envelope, it stated that we were there because of US! It never mentioned the abuse or torture. Our parents blamed EVERYTHING on US! Back in the 1970s, NO ONE listened to children. EVERYTHING in the report were LIES. We were left there to rot. No one was allowed to visit us. Our parents wanted us to hurt, so they separated us and told these people from this home that our grandmother was not allowed to visit us. NO ONE came to visit us.

Reason for my story: Listen to a child. Open your eyes when a child is screaming for help with their eyes, because they are afraid to open their mouths.

I don't know how many times I came to school beaten and could hardly move and NOT ONE of the teachers came to help me or ask if I was okay, (One teacher did when I was older). I posted little notes around the neighborhood for help and those notes were given to my step-father and I got a beaten for it. The owner of a local party store (Bob's Party Store, that used to be on Fenkell in Brightmoor) knew ALL about our abuse and did NOTHING to report it.