Grandma Henke

When we were raising our children, Ivins was considered very small town even though it was deemed a city.   There was a lot of empty land around us that was full of volcanic rock, red dirt, desert brush and cottontail rabbits.   At night you could hear the coyotes yipping and it wasn’t unusual to have a strong skunk odor in the back yard that would cause you to run through the house closing windows.   The next city to us was several miles away and down in a little valley nestled along the Santa Clara Creek that went on to join the Virgin River that then wound its way down to Nevada.   Many empty fields beyond Santa Clara you came to St. George.   In the middle of St. George, about 10 miles from our home, was the police department that serviced all three cities..    (Now all of these cities are connected by homes that have filled those fields.)

One afternoon I had a spunky little five year old daughter who for some misdemeanor or another had been sent downstairs to bed for a nap.    I don’t remember where the other four kids were but the house was finally quiet!    About an hour or so later the phone rang.   Here’s what I remember of the conversation:

Me:    Hello?

Male voice:   Is this Mrs. Henke?

Me:   Yes it is.   Who is calling?

Male voice:  This is the St. George City Police Department.   Do you know where your little five year old girl is?

Me:   (Rather shook up as you can imagine … heart begins to race)   She’s downstairs taking a nap.

Male Voice:   Are you sure?   Would you like to check?

Me:   What?   Why are you calling?   (Wanting to run downstairs but stuck to the phone by only a 20 foot coiled cord).

Male Voice:   We have a little girl here who we think is your daughter.  She was picked up on the Santa Clara road by a local man and his wife and refused to give them her name or tell them who her parents were so they brought her to the police station.   She said her mother’s name was Edna.  One of the officers here thinks she might be your daughter.

Me:   (Almost passing out)   Oh my gosh!   That’s impossible?   Kimi is downstairs taking a nap!

Male Voice:   (Speaking away from the phone)  “Is your name Kimi?”

Male Voice:   (Spoken sternly)    She said her name is Kimi.   I think you better come right in to the station and talk to us.

After hanging up the phone I dashed down the stairs and into her room, which, as you might guess, was empty except for a hand written, phonically spelled note, that read something like this:

DER FAMLY,

I  H AV  RUND AWAE BEKUZ YOU MOM HAVE SPOELD MY LIV.

LUV KIMI

I burst into tears and ran outside to find her father.    “KIMI IS AT THE ST. GEORGE POLICE STATION” I blubbered.  “WE HAVE TO GO RIGHT NOW!   HURRY!  HURRY!”   I wept all the way into the city wondering if she was okay, if she was frightened, how I could be such a failure.   Would they think I was unfit and put her in a foster home?   How had she, a small for her age 5 year old girl, gotten out of the house and clear to Santa Clara without me knowing? 

We found a dirty, tear streaked little Kimi sitting in a huge chair looking very unhappy when we were ushered into the police chief’s office.   She practically leaped into my arms and we both cried more. Thankfully, the officer was understanding and kind and saw there was no need to chastise us further and we were soon on our way home.    She’d been angry at me and had slipped out the back door so she could run away from home through the fields.   By the time she’d decided she’d rather be home she was lost in the high sage brush and became very frightened and worried about coyotes and wild animals.    She wandered for quite some time before she remembered she could say a prayer and she knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help her get home.   Afterwards she came to the edge of the crest that looked out over Santa Clara and somehow made her way down the hill of black lava rocks onto the main road, where she was picked up by some concerned parents (thank goodness).

I remembered when I was about her age and decided to run away.   I packed a little suitcase full of my doll, a pair of undies, and a book, and faced my family and told them I was leaving.    They all looked at me and said, “Oh?  Where will you go?   We’ll miss you.”      

I said, “So, I’m leaving.”   

“Goodbye,” they answered.  “You can come back whenever you want.   We love you.”

I left the house rather deflated and carrying my little suitcase walked down the driveway to the side of the road.   Tears started streaming down my face as I tried to decide which way to go, up or down.   Woefully, I turned to the left and started up the road, keeping so far away from the pavement I was almost walking in the weeds that lined the empty field.  Before I was more than a half a block away I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see my Dad.

“Do you mind if I go too?   I’ve had a rather hard day myself.   Or … we could both go home and see if Momma would like to go for a ride and get an ice cream cone.   What do you think?”

“I want to go home,” I sobbed.   “I don’t want to run away”

Dad took my little hand in his and we turned and walked back home.   I have always remembered Dad’s strong, big hand holding mine as he told me how glad he was I’d decided to stay.

I held Kimi on my lap in the car on the way home from St. George (before the days of seatbelts) and told her how happy I was that she was my little girl and that she was safe.  She snuggled into my arms and fell asleep.

My little girl is now the mother of four … one of which is a spunky little five year old girl.    Uh Oh …