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Standing Graveside...There are times in my life when I clearly can see God's hand at work in my life. There also was a time when I looked Heavenward and cursed God for standing by while a little girl was sexually abused... that little girl was me... and this is a portion of my story. My journey began with a partial memory in the early morning hours of March 4th. Until then, I had very little recollection of childhood prior to the age of 10. I remember having "the memory" as a child, but the memory seemed to be attached to a feeling of shame... that I had been "caught" doing something that I shouldn't have been doing... Eventually the memory was buried. The nightmares began at least five years ago, and have a reoccurring theme. I am in the house, afraid to walk down the hallway... afraid to walk into his room... afraid he is there... even though he died two months prior to my fifth birthday. The journey has been hell on earth. Nightmares... sleep deprivation... the voice that tells me that I would be much better off if I just couldn't feel... anger... fear so great that if I do sleep, I have to sleep with a light on... fear of remembering more... anger at God for allowing the memory to resurface... anger at the adults who should have protected me... hatred toward the monster that robbed the little girl of her childhood... denial... grief... fear... rage. For nearly forty years, the little girl has been held hostage in that bedroom...the one with the white choir robe hanging behind the door. She has spent the past forty years paralyzed by fear...enshrouded in darkness. She quietly waits for someone to open the door, take her by her small hand, and lead her out of this room...to lead her into the brilliant sunlight. To wipe away her tears and reassure her that he can never hurt her again. The person who leads her out of that room will teach her to trust again... The person will not shed tears for the loss of his life, but rather will shed tears for her lost innocence. It is late afternoon... August 6th... and my brother and I are walking through the cemetery looking for the name. The area seems vaguely familiar, but not enough to be absolutely certain that we are in the right area. I hold within my hands a four page letter, written just a few hours earlier. In the back of my mind I am asking God to give me the strength to do what it is I have come 1200 miles to do. I fear finding his grave just as much as not finding his grave. Please God, give me the strength to face him this one last time...to let him see that I am no longer that scared little girl...That I have returned forty years later to confront him...to tell him that he no longer controls any portion of my life...that he has taken from me all that he will ever take. My innocense...my self esteem...my childhood...my happiness... my identity... my will to live... my faith... my marriage... my hope...my job. My brother and I walk in separate directions, searching for the name. I am lost in the solitude... the peacefulness. I sense the little girl's fear as she trembles. I think of the one and only time I ever slept in his room. He had been dead no more than a few years, and I had been invited to spend the night. I think of how the little girl and I slept with the covers over our head that night, afraid to open our eyes...afraid that he would be standing beside us. Finding the marker, my brother calls out to me. I am now standing beside his grave. I remember being here then... all those years ago. Just as I remember being forced to touch his lifeless body in the casket. The memory that has haunted me most of my life...the memory that, until this year, I have never been able to understand. The smell of the floral arrangements...the veil...the grief...the coldness of his skin. Memories that to this day, come rushing back when I linger too long beside a casket. I stand beside his grave holding four pages of notebook paper carefully folded in fourths. I stand at his grave emotionless... unmoved...unable to weep... unable to curse... unable to understand why? I stand at his grave silently thanking God for erasing him from this earth, so that he could never touch another little girl. Thanking God for my family... for the wisdom and strength of the survivor before me... and for the friend, who many months ago, selflessly chose to accompany me on this path. I thank God for my brother who stands quietly beside me. He has no idea that at this moment, I am drawing upon his strength. The strength that was evident during his recovery from a near fatal accident. His determination to return to active duty so that he could be deployed to the Middle East with the rest of the Marines in his unit. The strength that was evident in our father before us. I think of my father and his demons...the ones that crept into his sleep causing him to scream out in the dead of night. As a child, I didn't understand my father's torment... what memory could be so horrific... I now understand. If it weren't for the fact that my brother is standing here beside me, I couldn't do this. I fight the urge to drop the letter, turn around and run from this place...but my brother's presence reminds me of his courage...of my father's courage. The courage that many times, I struggle for. I lift the urn from his marker and, with trembling hands, roll the papers up, tucking them carefully inside the urn. I turn the urn back over and attempt to lower it back into the earth, but something stops it midway. I lift the urn once again, and turn my gaze downward into the urn's cylindrically shaped resting area, half expecting to see the final resting place of other letters. Instead, I see the remains of an artificial flower... evidence that during his time on earth, he was loved by somebody. Once again, I attempt to lower the urn back into the marker. The urn disappears inside the marker, but refuses to rest flush with the marker...just visible enough to remind me of it's contents. As unreasonable as it seems, it causes me to wonder if this is his way of rejecting my letter... of denying me the closure I seek. My brother steps on the urn, forcing it back into it's receptacle. My brother with his once broken and shattered bones steps on the urn, forcing what lies beneath to accept my four page written letter. My baby brother with his once broken and shattered bones stands on the marker...protecting me from the evil that lies beneath. My brother...my strength...my courage...my protector. I look down at his grave one last time with the certainty that the God that I once cursed for allowing a little girl to be victimized, has imposed His wrath on this monster. With a new found sense of Peace, a feeling of Hope, and the certainty of healing, I turn my back to his final resting place...to the fear...to the memory...to the pain...to the tears. Silently reaching for the little girl's tiny hand we walk away...with a new found strength that neither of us could have ever imagined... we leave the darkness behind and step into the brilliant light...03:25 - Monday, August 13, 2007 - comments {2} - post commentConfessions of the Mechanically Challenged : )I hate to admit it, but when it comes to my car, I am clearly mechanically challenged. Anything beyond refilling the windshield wiper fluid is way beyond my basic knowledge of automotive maintenance. It took me more than four years to find the dial on the dashboard that controls the brightness of the dashboard lights after dark. Up until that time, I had refrained from driving after dark because it was difficult for me to see just how fast I was driving... So, imagine my glee when I finally discovered what that "little dial" actually did! It opened up a whole new world for me, as I no longer needed to be home by sundown : ) This summer's epiphany came a few weeks ago when I discovered that my "engine coolant" level was low. The next time I was in Target, I ventured back into the corner of the store that I vaguely realized existed...the automotive section. I stood in the middle of the aisle in amazement. There in front of me were shelves of things that I had absolutely no idea what to do with!! I managed to find my way to the shelf of antifreeze... all brands I have heard of, but which do I pick? No need to mix with water... what does that mean? Can use with any color of antifreeze... you mean it comes in colors, and if so, do they have something in a "tangerine"? 50/50... what's that... a 50% chance that the car will actually run after I attempt this? I quickly scanned the shelves for anything that would instruct me in how to refill the antifreeze... You know, like one of those books... "Antifreeze for Idiots"...no such luck. Once purchased, it took a couple of days to gain the courage needed to embark on my pursuit of greater automotive knowledge. Eventually, I popped the hood. I carefully read every labeled cap under the hood just to make sure that I hadn't mistaken "engine coolant" for something else. Windshield fluid... check. Oil...check. Transmission fluid...check. Engine coolant...has to mean antifreeze. I carefully pick up the jug and read the instructions on the cap. Basic childproof cap...that I can do! Now, standing there holding the jug and looking down at the container it occurs to me... how do I get the fluid from point A, the jug to point B, the container under the hood? Do you mean to tell me that this is more complex that I originally feared it would be? Well, I know for a fact that I no longer own a funnel as I left them at my previous workplace... and for the record, it had absolutely nothing to do with putting the worms in bottles of Tequila! I now am faced with a decision... to pour or not to pour? Given the fact that over the past year I have developed a bit of an intentional tremor there is the possibility that I could miss all together and end up pouring it all over my feet... and if I do happen to pour it within the confines of under the hood, will it hurt anything if I get it on any of the other parts in the immediate area? With my eyes closed and saying a prayer under my breath (at least I think it was a prayer... Does "Oh Jesus, please let this be the right hole" constitute as being a prayer?) I slowly open my eyes. As I begin to tip the jug, and aim for the opening in the container my concentration is suddenly broken by our neighbor across the street commenting on what a beautiful day it is. Fighting the urge to scream across the street "...Holy Mother of Pearl, can't you see that I am in the middle of brain surgery here", I manage to grit my teeth, make eye contact and smile as if I actually am interested in the weather at that moment. I glance down at a cap that reads "engine coolant" and break into a sweat. Oh crap, I've been pouring it in the wrong hole... How in the hell did I miss this cap? You mean there are two places where I have to pour the antifreeze. I reach up to touch the cap, then realize that it is actually the only cap and that after I unscrewed the cap from the container, I had just set it aside on another "car part". Under my breath I mutter "close call", followed by "I wonder if that cigarrette is still sitting on the workbench where my husband left it?". Once again, I refocus my attention to the opening in the container and in the back of my mind I start hearing the theme to "2001 Space Odysey". I resume pouring... and my concentration is broken once again by the neighbor informing me that he has an 11:00 T-time at the golf course. In my mind I am considering one of two replies...One being "Yeah, I have a 3:00 tea time with a shot of Jack Daniels lined up for later" or "If you don't shut the heck up I am going to march over there and wrap a 9 iron around your neck". Considering the fact that he is much younger, and in much better shape than I am, I opt for the alternative... I manage to grit my teeth, make eye contact and smile as if I actually am interested in the fact that he would much rather spend the next two hours sweating while chasing a golf ball around a golf course than stay home and mow his lawn, which is quickly approaching the point of having to bale... as in hay. With his clubs in the back of his truck my neighbor backs out of his driveway and slowly drives away. Once again I refocus my attention to the opening...it's now almost full. I stop pouring, screw the cap back on the container, drop the hood and walking away, I suddenly feel as if I have just saved the world from complete destruction! Now that I have completed Antifreeze 101, I am ready for my next test!09:24 - Wednesday, August 1, 2007 - comments {1} - post comment |
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