The Longest 30 Hours
Monday morning, my 21-year-old, mildly autistic brother Richard was missing from his bed. He didn't mention to anyone that he might be leaving. All we knew was that we said goodnight at 10pm and he wasn't in his bed at 6am. As far as we knew, something terrible could have happened. There were police officers, detectives, inspectors, bloodhounds, helicopters, guys searching through our whole house, including my room. A dozen police cars in our street. Questions asked again and again. It would have all been very exciting if it wasn't so terrifying. As it started to get dark out, I had to remind myself to breath. I felt constantly nauseous. I felt petty and shallow for bawling my eyes out about missing my husband just one week before. My best friend Kelly stayed the night. We finally decided to rest our eyes a little after midnight. It was strange to go in and out of sleep, having to remind myself that the nightmare was real. I worried for him being out in the cold every t...