All language subtitles for T.G.I.M.C.S02E03.The.Wild.West.and.Tribal.Quest.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

He said he had
to go out into the forest.

She told me
her family got killed.

At first it was cute
when she was telling us

about wagons in
California, but then it

started taking a dark turn.

I wasn't so
concerned about his stories

until he had to have a knife.

There was more
going on with my daughter

than I had realized.

And he
looks over at me,

says, you know, you
weren't always my mother.

I had another family before you.

How was I going to
help my youngin' get past this?

Because I wanted to
help my daughter.

Trying to
be strong about it.

Could all his stories be true?

Is this
actually happening?

Was he
remembering another life?

My name's Annette.

I live in Brooklyn, New York.

I'm a writer and the
author of a novel.

Brooklyn is a wonderful place
to raise a family because there

are so many opportunities,
and so many places to see.

So many things to do.

There's lots of culture.

There's a very low boredom
factor here for children,

so it's been a great experience
raising the boys here.

My boys are Auguste and Hayward.

Hayward is the first-born.

He's 22, and Auguste is 17.

When Auguste was born, I
was completely shocked.

I thought that I was
going to have a girl.

And I remember just staring
at him for several minutes,

because I just
couldn't believe it.

That was probably the
only time in my life

where I've ever been completely
surprised by something.

Auguste, he was very quiet.

He's a boy of few words
because he sucked his thumb.

And he wouldn't
take his thumb out

unless he had something
important to say.

My name is Carlyle.

And Auguste is my son.

Auguste was always
very affectionate,

and I think the biggest
thing that I always

remember is that he was
always very physical.

He always threw the ball well.

He was always very strong.

We had him in a
gymnastics class,

and he was the only kid
who could, like, really

hold himself up.

He had that real strong,
intestinal strength and sort

of like a warrior mentality.

He has this very
strong sense of honor.

And he was always a very,
very good and loyal friend.

One time, I was
reading a story to him

early one morning about a bird
who falls out of his nest,

and doesn't know
where his mother is.

And he's not sure
who his mother is.

He goes around asking a bunch
of animals, are you my mother?

Are you my mother?

I get to the end of the book,
where the little bird does find

his mother, and he's very happy.

And the mother is
so glad he's safe.

And he looks at me, and he says,
well, I know who my mother is.

I know that you're my mother.

Because I saw you from
up above the clouds.

I look at him and
I said, really?

You saw me from way above?

He says, yeah, before--

before I came here.

So I said, well, how did you
get to me, then, if you saw me?

He says, I had to jump.

And I had to slide
down on a string.

And he says, it was a
little scary, but I held on,

and I came all the
way down to you.

And I said, where?

How did you get into me?

And he says, well, I came
through the top of your head,

the crown of your
head, all the way down.

And he traced his little
hand down to my stomach.

And he didn't break
his sentences at all.

Like, he-- he didn't break
his thought the entire time

that he told me.

He says, I saw you.

I can see everything.

And I chose you.

He's not somebody
who fabricates.

He's not somebody
who repeats things,

and he doesn't believe in it.

He'll say things,
and he'll say it

looking at you dead in the
eye, and say, Dad, X, Y, Z.

He was so
factual about everything.

That's why when he told me the
story about how he chose me,

it stopped me and
made me pay attention.

Because he would only talk about
things meant something to him.

It was strange.

Auguste was a
different type of learner.

When we
started reading to him,

and he was learning
his ABCs, and colors,

and things like that,
he was completely

oblivious to that
kind of understanding.

He didn't care about it at all.

As a toddler, it
was like, what color is this?

He'd say yellow, and
it was actually green.

And he'd just kind of go--

OK.

That's OK.

So he didn't stress over what he
viewed to be kind of irrelevant

to him and to his peace
center, his happiness.

Actually, the way that we
got him to understand math

was to play blackjack with him.

So he really got the
whole concept of math,

and adding things up
by playing blackjack.

And that speaks to his
competitive nature.

Auguste is very
quietly competitive,

and he still is today.

Same thing
with days of the week,

and months of the year.

They didn't have
any context to him.

That wasn't interesting to him.

He was more fascinated
with being outdoors.

He was just very different
than other children.

I wasn't so concerned until he
told me something that really

surprised me.

My name is Jeannie,
and we live in Starr, South

Carolina, and we have six kids.

The oldest is our son,
and the youngest is five.

And that's Olivia.

She's the baby.

There's only one
red light in Starr,

and the population's
right at 190 people.

Everybody knows everybody.

And we're just, like, a family.

You will definitely feel
like you're in the country

because it's real quiet, and the
only time you'll hear any noise

is usually when the
roosters are crowing,

or a hen laid an egg,
or something like that.

We live in an old peach
orchard plantation.

We have horses,
chickens, cats, dogs.

We have a creek in the back.

And I love it here.

You couldn't pay me
to live in the city.

My husband's family is pretty
much the dominant resident

on this road.

Our family, as far
back as I can remember,

has been Southern Baptist.

We stick with our religion.

Being a stay-at-home
mom is a nonstop job.

You don't get paid for it,
but it's well worth the time.

I couldn't ask for more.

I told my husband,
Douglas, that I was not

gonna have no more
children after age 30,

because I wanted to be
able to enjoy my children.

But apparently, God
had other plans.

I had Olivia at the age 30.

I had no trouble
with that pregnancy.

She was like a
perfect pregnancy.

But when she came out,
she came out with a bang.

Because she was
here in 13 minutes.

Olivia has always
been very motherly.

She takes care of
the other children.

Out of all my sisters,
I'm closest to Olivia.

She likes to help when
nobody's asking her.

And if she can't do it,
she'll do it, anyways.

Her teachers even told
me Olivia was so motherly--

I mean, she would run to the
child if they fall or get hurt,

and she'll try to help them up,
or she'll run to the teacher,

and she'll say, such
and such just got hurt.

We need to take care of them.

I see her trying
to take care of me.

I can be crying.

She'll come up to me and pat
me on the back and hug me.

And she'll tell
me, it's OK, Mama.

Even though she was motherly,
she's still a Mama's girl,

no matter what.

I mean, she wouldn't
cling to nobody else.

There was this tight bond.

She didn't want to
stay with nobody else.

Like, if I go to
town or something,

she would run and get in
the car before I could.

No!

No.

Can I go?

When Olivia hears
keys rattling, or Mama,

she hears her pick up her
pocketbook, she flips out.

She starts screaming,
and she starts

running towards the door.

She runs to the car,
and tries to get in.

No!

No!

It's really extreme,
as far as I seen.

No!

I think Olivia thinks Mama's
never gonna come back for her.

None of my other children
ever did anything like that.

It's very hard for me to see
her, or hear her pitching a fit

to go with me.

I feel like I'm
abandoning my daughter.

No!

- All right, come on.
- No!

But I'm not.

I'm just going to the
store to get some food,

so I can feed he.

Or, you know, get
gas, or something.

I ain't going nowhere.

It's-- it's just not easy.

As Olivia got older, the fear
of abandonment escalated.

I felt like I was
at a dead-end road.

I didn't know where
I was going, what

I was doing, how was I gonna
help my youngin' get past this.

I soon recognized there was
more going on with my daughter

than I had realized.

My five-year-old daughter,
she's normally a mature child.

But whenever I'd try to leave,
she would go hysterical.

It made me sad.

But that was only the beginning.

One day, my husband brought home
a guitar from where he worked.

And Olivia just picked it
up, and just started playing.

Olivia has never, ever played
a guitar before in her life--

never.

I was surprised she even
knew how to hold a guitar.

She's never played one before.

She adjusts the knobs,
and she just started singing,

maturely.

And the song she was singing
wasn't, like, "Old McDonald,"

or "B-I-N-G-O."

She knew what she was singing.

She was in rhythm
with the guitar.

And I've never actually
seen her sing before.

But when she did it, it
was like she was a natural.

And I looked at her,
and I said, where'd

you learn how to sing like that?

She said, Mama, I
used to be a singer.

I used to live in California.

Then I moved to New York.

I had a family before
I came to y'all.

And I said, who
was in your family?

She said, I lived with Indians.

I said, was you an Indian?

She said, no.

I was a white girl.

She's got quite an imagination--

a little more advanced than
a typical five-year-old.

I asked Olivia, I
said, well, how did

you get from place to place?

Did you drive a car or ride
a motorcycle, airplane?

She said, no, Mama, we had
wagons, and we had horses.

That's how we got around.

It blew my mind.

She has only been on this
Earth for five years.

How would she know anything
about the 1800s, 1700s?

I know I never taught it to her.

First, it was cute
when she was telling us

about wagons in California.

But then, it started
taking a dark turn.

She told me her
family got killed.

My 3-year-old
son, Auguste,

told me that he chose me to be
his mother before he was born.

Not too long after he told me
about how he chose me, and slid

down on a string into me,
it was another night--

this was when I was
putting him to bed--

and he looks over
at me and says,

you know, you weren't
always my mother.

I had another family before
you, and you weren't with me.

I thought that was
kind of strange.

He said that my
family sent us out.

We had to go.

I remember him saying over
and over again, we had to go.

We had to go out
into the forest.

And I just listened to him.

And he said, in the
forest, we had to look for,

and I had to get my animal.

When he'd start looking back and
forth as if he was walking back

and forth, or pacing, it
seemed like he was acting it

out a little bit
right in front of me.

I was concerned that it could
have been frightening for him.

I remember him
saying, I was a boy.

He said, I wasn't a man.

Auguste told her that he
went out into the woods.

And they had a specific task
that they had to complete,

that all boys had to go through.

There was danger involved.

There was skill that
you had to use in order

to complete your task.

And he went out and did it.

That would be a
rites of passage.

We knew that we'd never talked
about a rites of passage,

a quest, or something--
going out into the jungle,

into the wild, and
completing a task.

We didn't have
that conversation.

And as far as I knew, he didn't
see things like that on TV,

and definitely
not in the movies.

Because we were at every movie
they had gone to at that point.

So it was just something
that did come from--

from nowhere.

When he was about four
and a half, one evening,

just before bed, again, he
jumps up on top of the bed,

and he says, this is the
dance that we used to do.

And he jumped forward and back,
step forward and then step

back.

I think it just came
upon him sometimes.

And then, that was it.

It just, like, blew through
him, and he would stop.

Auguste loved to
collect things, whether it's

at the beach, he
would pick up rocks,

whether it was in the park, he
would pick up a little piece

of glass, string, anything--
whatever he thought

had some sort of significance.

We had to spend a lot of
time waiting for Auguste,

who had to inspect everything.

He would test out sticks.

We'd have to go
deeper into the park.

He didn't really want to
just stay in the meadow.

He'd want to walk
and stomp on stuff.

And then he would
pick up these sticks,

and he'd drag them
back with him.

He was displaying this sort
of hunter-gatherer kind

of behavior.

And we would always have to dump
out his pockets every night.

It was, like, you know, with
the sticks and the feathers

and the stones.

And they were important to him.

In the beginning, they seemed
like just a kid's rambling,

just I'm picking up stuff.

But it was consistent.

And it was consistently
the same things.

I didn't know what was going on.

I wasn't so concerned until
he had to have a knife.

My son, Auguste, remembers
choosing me to be his mother.

And he remembers saying
that he had another family

and that he had to go out into
the forest to find his animal.

First he collected all those
sticks, and that was fine.

It was like, OK, fine.

You can collect the sticks.

But then, there was another
level to it after a while.

He says, well, I
need to sharpen them.

He kept going on and on.

And he says, I used
to have knives.

He says, I know
how to use a knife.

We don't own guns.

We don't own knives.

We don't go hunting
on the weekend.

We'd say, you know,
obviously, you're too young.

And what are you going
to do with a knife?

What are you going
to do with it now?

You're just going to
be able to look at it.

Because we're not going
to let you use it.

And he says, no, I won't use it.

I'll just hold on to it.

I just want to look at it.

You know, he'd try
every angle he could,

just to get the knife.

So we said, OK,
well, if you're just

going to get it just to look
at it-- it's decorative-- then

we'll just get you
some little knives.

OK, we'll get it, only if--
only if you never take it out.

You never show it to anybody.

We keep it where you can't
get access to it all the time.

So we got him several
little knives, all different

kinds.

And he would look
at it, be excited about it.

And I felt that he was
appreciating the workmanship.

After about the
fourth or fifth night,

he came home from school.

And he said, Mom, I really
want to go out in the yard

and sharpen one of my sticks.

We'd never let him
do that before.

Maybe if I let him
do it one time,

he'll get it out of his system,
and he'll leave me alone.

He won't ask me anymore.

So I said, OK.

You have to go
outside, and I have

to stand right next to you,
and I'll see how it's going.

And then, we'll stop, and you'll
come inside and have a snack.

So he said, OK.

And we go outside, and
I sit down with him,

and he just stripped
the whole thing down

to a point in, like, no time.

So then, he just looks at me.

I'm not bleeding.

I'm fine.

And I know how to
use these knives.

But he was only, like, six.

I was surprised that
he even knew what to do with it.

And I was impressed, as well,
that he knew that this was

a tool, and not a weapon.

He was very
proud of himself.

And he held on to that
stick for a long, long time.

Some of the things he told me
might point to a vision quest,

the way I understood it.

So I started to do a
little research about that.

Because I didn't know
anything about native rituals,

and what were some of the
things that boys or men did.

And I did find some
records of some tribes

on the border between Panama and
Costa Rica that had what I felt

were some similarities to the
story that Auguste was telling.

Something that was a bit more
mystical than just a ritual.

I kept thinking of this
thing very logically,

but I still had a
lot of questions.

Just before his eighth birthday,
we were out in Long Island

at a small beach, and he was
playing with his brother.

It was a bay beach, so
there were lots of shells,

and lots of different
kinds of polished stones.

He picks this one stone
out, and he runs over to me,

holds it up, and says,
this is an arrowhead.

I look at it.

It looked like a rock to me.

And I said, really?

And he says, no,
this is an arrowhead.

He was positive.

So we all gather around him,
and everybody's looking down

at this stone.

He turns it over, and he says,
something's wrong with it.

This is not the kind
that I used to use.

This one's different.

I didn't know what was going on.

My five-year-old
daughter was very different

from my other children.

She had an attachment to me
that I did not feel was normal.

No!

But at the same time, she
had a maternal side of her

beyond her years.

And what was more surprising
is when she started singing

and playing a guitar, and
she's never, ever had a lesson.

That's when I became worried.

She said, I had
brothers and sisters.

They got killed.

And me and my sister would
live with the Indians.

I said, were the Indians nice?

She said, some were
nice, and some were mean.

Well, which ones did
you live with, mostly?

She said, the nice ones.

She said, I didn't
like the mean ones.

They're the ones that
killed my family.

When she told me
her family was killed,

I was like, your family's here.

We didn't die.

Was this a dream, or it's real?

She would look like she
had a burden on her shoulder.

And she'd look down, and
then she'd look back up

at me, real sad-like.

Her face got real long.

It was like a replay
in her mind, I reckon.

It made her sad.

Me and Olivia, we're,
like, really close.

And she'd let me play with her
hair, rub her face, you know,

stroke her little nose.

But when I get to her chin,
she would draw back, like,

don't touch my chin.

I have never seen my
daughter like this, never.

She was always, you
know, smiling, happy.

But now, she was starting
to get more emotional.

It made me feel
emotional for her.

I do remember asking
her, I said, did you

have any children?

She said, yes.

I had a bunch of 'em.

How many did you have?

She said, Mama, it
will go from 13 to 100.

I said, how is that?

She said, I cared
for all the children.

So I'm assuming she
helped take care

of the children in the tribe.

But then, I asked her,
I said, specifically,

how many did you have?

I had three.

She said I had two Indian
boys, but I couldn't take them

with me.

But I had a little girl.

I would have never believed
it, or had any interest

in trying to learn anything
about it until I realized

that my daughter, she knows
too much for a five-year-old.

But then, again, I had
another thought in my head--

is this actually happening?

Was my daughter a part
of a reincarnated life?

Reincarnation is something me
and my husband never talked

about.

Because we wasn't
brought up around it.

Growing up Baptist, you have
one life, and when you pass,

you either go to heaven,
or you go to Hades.

But our daughter is trying
to tell us something,

and we need to help her with it.

I called my friend that is
very familiar because she

is a member of a Indian tribe.

They do believe
in reincarnation.

And she was explaining to
me how I could help Olivia.

She told me how important it
was to help her identify who she

was to get past the
trauma of her past life,

so she could move on
and enjoy this life.

It started seeming more real.

More and more of the puzzles
were being put together.

It was important for
me to do the research,

because I wanted to
help my daughter.

But the more research I did,
the more frightened I got.

And what I learned about
brought tears to my eyes.

My son, Auguste,
was obsessed with knives

and had the skills to use them,
even though he hadn't been

taught.

He believed he had
found an arrowhead,

and I had no idea
what to make of that.

He turns it over in his palm
of his hands, and he says,

something's wrong with it.

This is not the kind
that I used to use.

This one's different.

And I said, well, what's
different about it?

And he didn't even say a word.

He gets a piece of paper, and
he draws me a little sketch.

He says, this is the
kind that I used to use.

His arrowhead had more
of a notch at the bottom.

He said to me that night,
we have to go to the museum.

And I'm going to ask them
about this arrowhead.

So I said, OK, fine.

We'll do that when we
get back to New York.

When we get back to the city.

But every single day, he would
sit and stare at the stone.

Every night, he's staring at it.

He's feeling it.

He's turning it over and over.

He's talking about it.

He says, I know what this is.

I need to know who
used to use it.

Where did it come from?

And who was around here?

I had no idea.

I had no concept of
the indigenous groups

out in Long Island.

And still, I was a
little skeptical.

And I, actually,
was wondering how

he would feel if they said it
wasn't an arrowhead, that it

was just a rock.

Then I didn't want him to
be brokenhearted about it,

so I was like, OK, we're going
to have to go through this.

So I took him one
day after school.

I walk up to the librarian.

I said, is there anyone here
who could look at this rock

that my son found and perhaps
tell us something about it?

He takes it out of his pocket,
and he hands it to the man.

And he takes it over to a
desk, and he looks at it.

And we're all wondering
what he's going to say.

Auguste was right.

This really is an arrowhead.

Looking back on many
things that happened,

I know that there's no
mistaking what he said to me.

This was the physical proof
for him and also a way

to bring it full circle, that
it wasn't just his imagination,

that he was just dreaming,
or making up a story.

He's a little boy from Brooklyn.

And he was also an Indian boy.

Now that I've got this
piece of information,

there's no doubt in my mind
that he lived another life.

One day, my
five-year-old daughter

came to me and told me
her family was killed.

She said it like she was
recalling the memory.

A friend of mine brought
it to my attention

that my daughter was
talking about a past life.

And it stopped me in my tracks.

It woke me up.

Olivia had a lot
more to tell me.

But her family being massacred
was just the beginning.

Olivia told me that her sister
was in her arms, and she died.

And she was telling her,
stay with me, stay with me.

And she didn't stay with her.

My name is Olivia,
and I'm five years old.

It's just heartbreaking
to know that my daughter

remembered-- sorry--

that my daughter remembered
that her sister passed away

in her arms.

It was so detailed, and
it is very emotional.

At first, I didn't
know how to help her.

But the more research I did,
I didn't have nothing to lose.

I just wanted to help her.

I was trying to find the
pioneer teenager that

was taken by Indians.

I looked at, like,
over 60 females.

And the only pioneer
female I could

find that matched all the
details that she had given

me was Olive Oatman.

I was able to find this book
about Olive Oatman's life.

In 1851, Olive Oatman--

and her family was of
a Mormon religion--

they joined a wagon
train, and headed out west

towards California.

And they came to
a river, and they

decided that they was gonna
settle there for the night.

And a group of Indians came up.

They raided their wagon
and killed Olive's family,

except for her and her
little sister, Mary Ann.

She told me her sister's
name was Mary Ann,

and that did match.

They took Olive and
Mary Ann to their tribe.

They tortured them,
mimicked them, spat on them,

and treated them like slaves.

That's exactly how
Olivia said it.

She said they were very
hateful, and very mean to her.

I mean, I just couldn't
believe all the stuff

that Olivia had told me was
pretty much the same thing.

When I read about Olive
Oatman's family being killed,

I realized that was
the part where Olivia's

having the abandonment issue.

It made me angry, but
that was the past.

Now that's what
I'm dealing with,

is I'm trying to help my
daughter with her past,

and move forward.

After a year, Olive and
her sister, Mary Ann,

were traded to a group of
Indians called the Mojave

Indians, which,
they were very nice,

and treated them
with love and care.

Olivia did say she lived with
some good Indians, as well.

And that did match.

The Mojave Indians gave Olive
and her sister, Mary Ann,

a tattoo on their chins.

That's their sign of
representing that they

are a part of their tribe.

They're a part of their group.

It made the complete connection
why Olivia is very sensitive.

She does not like nobody
touching her chin, because she

will literally draw back.

The more and more I did on
the research of Olive Oatman,

I was excited.

I wanted to know more.

It was like I was
feeding off of it.

I want to know more.

I want to know more.

But I have never
been more afraid.

My son,
Auguste, believed

he had found an
arrowhead, and I had

no idea what to make of that.

We went to the museum, and he
hands the arrowhead to the man.

And he says, you're
right, young man.

This is an arrowhead.

In this case, I was
happy to be proved wrong.

Because it just confirmed
all of the stories

that he had been
telling me for years.

Auguste was very,
very proud of the fact

that he recognized something
that no one else could

recognize.

And it was because it was
something that he used to use,

something that he used to make.

So he kept that arrowhead,
which he still has to this day,

in a little pouch on his bed.

He never goes to
sleep without it.

He checks to make sure
it's there every night.

I'm Auguste.

I'm 17.

and I just finished my
senior year of high school.

Getting the arrowhead
authenticated

was one of the last moments of
me remembering past memories.

And in a way, I feel
the arrowhead really

represented my memories.

My mother's mother, I
found out very late in life,

was adopted.

I felt that there was
so much I didn't know

about my grandmother,
so I did some research

and went into this whole
genealogical thing.

I discovered that
Grandma, my grandmother,

was part of a tribe in
either Costa Rica or Panama.

I think it's very
interesting that my family is

connected to a
Central America tribe.

I'm not sure if that
directly correlates

to my personal experience.

Maybe it does.

I think the context
of the research

that I was doing that I
was presenting to him,

he wasn't sure if this
was what he lived,

or if it was this
particular group, or not.

It's just an area of mystery.

Through my mom accepting
my past experiences,

it allowed me to
accept it, in a way.

Because I knew I wasn't alone.

And I guess that
made me feel safe--

that it was OK to say
these types of things.

It was just a feeling
of acceptance.

My mother used to
say to me all the time--

she said, there are no mistakes,
and there are no coincidences.

And when I was younger, I
didn't think that that was true.

But looking back on many
things that happened,

and the stories that
Auguste has told me,

I know that there's no
mistaking what he said to me,

and what it should mean to me.

I've discovered that
Auguste has transferred

his tribal mentality
to baseball.

And he brings that same
warrior-type mentality

to his teammates.

Auguste is, absolutely,
still the warrior.

I use tribe and
family interchangeably.

We're a family, and we always
have each other's backs.

The way that I understand
it, I think he's now invested

in this life, so he doesn't
need to remember that anymore.

I think he's brought
from the past with him

the positive aspects of
whatever he lived before.

And I feel that he's moving
upward with beauty and grace,

and I couldn't be
more proud of him.

My future-- it's another life.

There's pain.

There's beauty.

And through all of
it, it's still life.

I've always been confused about
time, especially when I was

younger.

It seemed like
just a few blinks,

and everything can be over.

Life has already passed by.

And it's what you do in between
the blinks that really defines

you.

And remembering that maybe
there is another chance

for another life really makes me
want to do the best I can now.

And just the main thing
is just love, I guess.

Well, my five-year-old
daughter, she said, Mama,

I used to be a singer.

I used to live in California.

Then I moved to New York.

I had a family before
I came to y'all.

But then it started
taking a dark turn.

She told me her
family got killed.

When Olivia kept
telling me she used

to be a singer, I didn't really
understand it until I read

the book about
Olive Oatman's life,

where her and her
sister, Mary Ann,

would sing for the
Mojave Indians.

They would sing
hymns, and stuff.

And the Mojave Indians
gave them beads and stuff

as rewards, or as thank yous.

And they indulged in it.

They loved it.

And then it just made sense
when my daughter said, Mom,

I used to be a singer.

Another thing that matched
up, you get further

on into the book, it did speak
where Olive did take care

of all the children
in the tribe,

where Olivia kept telling me
she had between 13 to 100 kids

she'd take care of.

And it was blowing my mind.

But we got further into
the book, it made sense.

She did take care of all these
other children in the tribe.

Five years after Olive
Oatman was captured,

the Army had got word that
there was a white woman living

with the Indians.

And they met up with
the Indian chief,

and negotiated to get her back.

I asked Olivia, did she
want to leave the tribe?

She said, no.

But she had no choice.

When the Army made the trade,
Olive Oatman moved to New York,

like Olivia says.

She lived in California
and moved to New York.

It did scare me, I mean,
because it was so true.

I mean, it was like a
five-year-old's story

becoming reality.

I can't say I'm 100% certain
that my daughter, Olivia, is

Olive Oatman, but everything
is fitting in like a piece

of puzzle.

The research was a
little aggravating.

But I eventually found track
of where I needed to be,

and I wanted to
go more into depth

of what I was looking for.

And it all added up,
especially when I got looking.

And I thought, well, let's
see if this Olive Oatman looks

anything like my daughter.

When I showed her the first
picture of Olive Oatman ever,

I filmed it.

I wanted to see her expression.

I did shed some tears.

Because she was looking--

I said, Olivia, does this
woman look familiar to you?

Does this lady you
look familiar to you?

Her face looks like me.

Her
face looks like you?

Mm-hmm.

See that and that?

I looked at her.

I said, does she?

She said, Mama,
she's got my face.

When you look at her, their bone
structures are almost the same.

I think that's when
it dawned on Olivia,

I think we found her match.

I feel like I'm better
equipped to helping her now

that we've made that connection.

Olive Oatman had
many different names

that the Indians called her.

Some was not very nice.

But the one that
Olivia remembers,

they called her Leaf Feather.

That's the name she remembers.

Leaf Feather.

In order to help Olivia, I
would like to memorialize

Olive Oatman's life by throwing
some feathers into the creek

and releasing this
torment of memories,

so she can move
forward in this life.

The feathers would represent
Olivia's life with the Indians.

Olivia has memories of losing
two families, in this lifetime,

at the age of five--

the Oatman family,
and the Indian family

that she became a member of.

But I want her to
realize, in this life,

nobody is gonna take her
family away from her.

We are here.

We are there.

And we are very close to her,
and we love her very much.

And we want her to realize
the tragedy is over.

The heartbreak is over.

Enjoy what you have now.

And I'm hoping that she will
be able to separate herself

from her past life in
this life, so she'll

know it's OK to be away
from me, as her mother.

And then, she could
just be Olivia.

Just be a regular child,
and enjoy her childhood.

She ain't got to worry about
all the torment, and all

the responsibilities she
had to deal with back then.

Well, Olive Oatman having such
a great spirit to persevere,

and I know my daughter.

I know she'll have the
same great spirit, as well.

And I am very excited
for her future.

Separation anxiety disorder
can be pretty severe.

I mean, you can get to the
point where it can cause a heart

attack.

So yes, she needs to be treated.

She's doing real good.

Everything's out in the
open, out on the table.

Everybody understands
where she's coming from,

what she's experiencing.

And now, I feel
that we are secure,

and that we're going to
be on the right track.

It's a slow process.

Each time, I can extend
my time away from her,

where I can actually be able to
be gone, like a normal mother

would be, to go
grocery shopping,

and her know that
I will be back.

I'm looking forward for
Olivia having closure

in her past life, so she can
be the Olivia that I'm supposed

to have in this life.