My name is Jetta Johanstien. Ever since I can remember, I have been the only person in my family with black hair. Everyone told me that was how I was given the name "Jetta." One issue has troubled me since I was a child. I kept having a reoccurring dream about some woman I had never seen before. For the longest time I always pushed the dreams aside and after awhile, I forgot about them.

About six months ago I had to do a project in school about my family. We were to look up information about our families and construct a family tree. As any decent student, I half heartedly rummaged through some boxes in the attic searching for any information about my parents. That day was the day that changed my life.

As I flipped through some papers I had found, one box across from me on the floor caught my eye. At first I thought nothing of it and continued to look through the papers I had. Then I suddenly stopped. For whatever reason, I put down the papers and pulled the mysterious box towards me. When I opened the box, I found numerous newspaper clippings from December 1981. There were even a few old polaroid photos in the box. After flipping through a few photos, I gasped and dropped the pictures on the floor. With a shaking hand I picked up the top photo. There was an average height woman standing by the rails of the San Francisco Bridge. She was smiling and had long, deep black hair, just like mine. As I stared into the picture, I looked into her eyes. They were exactly like my own eyes, same curve and almond shaped. This was the woman from my dreams.

After that day, I constantly made various trips to the public library and researched all the newspapers from 1981. I found a few articles about a woman who had disappeared. Many people believe she committed suicide, but no articles gave any names.

After three months of secretly searching for answers, I found an article in a newspaper the library had misfiled. Upon scanning the paper on microfilm, I found what I was searching for. "Local Resident Disappears, Leaving Husband and Baby," the headline read. Below the headline, a picture similar to the polaroid photo showed the face of the woman from my dreams. The only difference was this woman was not smiling. Beneath the picture was the name "J. Haunust."

After many hours of research, I learned the story of this mysterious woman. The story is a sad one. Apparently she had a wonderful life and was married and had just had a daughter. She had been diagnosed months before her pregnancy with a list a mental illnesses. She wanted a child so bad that she disregarded the warnings of her doctors. They had told her if she were to have a child, the baby would surely inherit some, if not all, of the illnesses the mother possessed. Despite the warnings, she became pregnant anyway, hiding the doctors warnings from her husband until after she had conceived.

After her husband found out about the warnings, he became extremely upset. There had been reports of yelling and screaming from that household on the night of January 25, 1981. When neighbors stopped by to make sure everything was alright, the husband answered the door, assuring them everything was fine, but the wife had never been seen right after the disturbances. After that night, neighbors recalled only a few more nights of yelling or screaming and after about two months, they heard no more from the house ever again. The woman was rarely seen after that night. Some people claim they saw her in the grocery stores with black eyes and bruises, but those reports were never confirmed.

Three months after the woman gave birth, she mysteriously disappeared. Neighbors reported seeing the husband more often carrying his daughter to and from the house, but that was the only time anyone in the neighborhood saw the baby. Later articles doing a follow up of this story said the husband quickly re-married when the baby was only about a year old.

All of this was very intriguing to me. Especially since the names of the family were not given. The papers reported family members of the husband believing the woman to have committed suicide. They family members were ashamed of having a suicide in the family history, even if it was an in-law. Theyrequested the names of the husband and the baby not be given and their request was granted by all the newspapers. About six months after the disappearance, the newspaper reported the woman to be dead. Since the woman was believed to have passed away, the newspaper put the name of the woman in the paper in the obituary section. The family members of the husband did not object of this because the woman had never taken her husbands last name.

This made me think. Who was this woman that looked so much like me? Even if she had the same first initial, her last name was her maiden name. This made me do even more research. This time I questioned my father and "mother."

When I asked my father if he had ever been married before, even before I was born, he quickly and angrily answered "no." He also said he never wanted me ask such a question around him again. Since he had always seemed to be very strict with me, I delayed in asking my mother any questions until my father was either out of the house or at work.

The big shocker was when I asked my mother if she had ever been married before. She calmly said yes and she accidently let it slip that she thought I was "the cutest child she had ever seen" when she met my father. My eyes widened and she slapped her hand over her mouth. She made me swear I would never question my father about it and I would never ask about it ever again in that house. I swore. But I did not promise to not ask about it outside the house.

The next three months I continued my search for my real mother. I was at the library every day and I was getting into the gothic look at school. Since my hair was black, I didn't have to worry about dying my hair, but I began wearing a lot more black and dark colored beads. When my father questioned my sudden change in appearance, I told him I was just experimenting. He seemed to accept this answer, but he did not know that I was secretly mourning the death of the woman I believed to be my mother when I was merely three months old.

Ever since I found the article I have been convinced that the woman named "J. Haunust." was indeed my mother. And now all my hard work has finally paid off.

I looked up the names of the neighbors who had given the newspapers any reports and I paid them all a visit. They told me more than any newspaper could have told me. The real story lies with my father.

According to the neighbors, and some who knew my mother as a child, it was all true about my mother having a list of mental illnesses, but she had always had them. The warnings that the newspapers referred to were warnings of new illnesses my mother was developing. She was manic depressive for starters, and she also suffered from A.D.D. When she was child, she would have crying fits and then suddenly stop and begin playing again. Her life had always been a mental hell. When she went to college, she met my father and they dated for awhile. She always hid her illnesses from him, scared he wouldn't like her. They broke up and a few years later they got back together and soon got married. She never let my father know about her illnesses. When she became pregnant, the doctors warned her that there was a 50/50 chance the child would inherit her illnesses. Of course the doctors had to let the father know as well. When he found out that my mother had all these illnesses, he became extremely angry with her. Like the newspapers had read, neighbors reported hearing yelling and screams, and after they hardly ever saw her again.

One neighbor I spoke with told me something I never knew. My mother was very fond of flowers. From the beautiful roses to the giant clusters of dandelions. There was a park about two miles from their old house that had many beautiful wild flowers growing near the back. There was a small creek there too. My mother was known to be seen walking to that park when it seemed like things were not going the way they should be. On the night of my mothers disappearance, one neighbor said she saw my mother walking to that park. Concerned, the neighbor followed her quietly and watched my mother walk to the area where the flowers would have bloomed. Since it was December, the snow covered the ground and the creek was frozen over with ice. My mother stood near the creek for many hours, occasionally pulling at her coat to keep the cold away. After about two hours, the neighbor left, thinking my mother would be alright and would go home soon. She was shocked to find out the next day my mother had never returned home.

There had been numerous searches in that area for my mother's body, but nothing had been found. Not even a clue. Eventually the search teams gave up and my mother was officially pronounced dead within the next six months. There was never a sign of her again.

The day I walked to the area where the park had been 19 years before was the day of December 12. This was the day many people saw my mother for the last time. There were new houses where the park had been and there was construction for a new house right next to the creek. Since no one was around, I walked into the yard and down the small slope to the creek. I looked down at the frozen water. It was just freezing, so I could still see the water flowing under the ice. Gazing into the ice, watching the water flow, I got a strange feeling. I jumped over the creek, my right foot slipping and breaking the top layer of ice. This did not stop me. I began jogging deeper into the woods until I saw a small shack. The door was open and I walked inside. The shack was bare with sticks and leaves scattered on the floor. On the other side, right in front of me was my mother.

A woman as tall as I was stared at me with dark almond shaped eyes. She had long, deep black hair that flowed to her waist and she was smiling as in the photo I had found. Her body did not look transparent as the stereotype of looking at a ghost, but I knew that I was either looking at a ghost, or I was certainly hallucinating. Awestruck, I stuttered and finally spit out some words. "A-Are you my mother?" I asked, not truly expecting a reply. The woman nodded. Surprised to have gotten a response, I questioned further. "What is your first name?" The woman looked into my eyes and stepped forward. "My name is Jetta Haunust. And you are my daughter, Jetta Johanstein," she said softly. Her voice sounded like an angel, like no other sound I had ever heard before. It was soft and warm and it enveloped my whole body. "I have brought you here Jetta," my mother continued, "because your father will never tell you the truth."

Looking into my mothers eyes, I had one question I needed to ask her to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. "Please," I began, "Are you still alive or have you passed away?" She was quiet for a moment, but her smile never faded. "I have died, yes, but through you I live. You are all I ever wanted. I always wanted a daughter."

"Are the stories true about your illnesses?"

"Yes, they are, but I knew when I was pregnant with you, that you would be strong enough to fight those illnesses away. That is why your father is so strict with you. He did not want to have a child with any problems or disabilities, so he made sure you would be strong by treating you different from your step-sister. Jetta, I cannot stay long, and I need to tell you something very important. My body has never been found. The reason being I buried myself with all my troubles on this day, 19 years ago. It is now time for my bones to be dug up and shown to the world. It is time to prove to the world that I was abused."

I know it all sounds so strange. I was talking with my dead mother, but it is all true. My mother dug a tunnel under the shack and buried herself with her an airtight box. The airtight box contained several pieces of paper and two photos. Both photos were of my father beating my mother. There was a full piece of paper that was beginning to deteriorate, but all the words were clearly visible. It was my mothers will, and it had been signed by a judge in December 1981. My mother had bought a house in England weeks before her death. She gave me the house in her will. There was another piece of paper that described the abuse she went through. It also stated the photos were not taken by her, but by a friend of hers. She had her friend stand outside and she waited until she could get a good clear shot of my father beating my mother. My father saw my mother's friend and chased outside for her, but my mother's friend ran away with the evidence. After that night, my mother requested the photos never be seen. She took the photos from her friend to make sure they would not be seen until the right time. December 12, 2000 was that time.

As for me, I'm living in England with all the photos I could find of my mother hanging in the house she gave me. My father is currently in jail, serving some time for child and spousal abuse. It was never known before that day that my father beat me as a baby. That was in the second photo I had found. My step mother and I keep in touch. She is with a new man, but she has no intentions of getting married any time soon. She wishes me the best and I wish her the same. It's hard to believe that six months changed my life so drastically, but it did. And this is the life I have always wanted. No matter how sad it is, I now have a life of truth.