Joan had driven up from Virginia Beach for a visit and Dave feared the worst, even though his sister was in a relationship with another woman. At one time he might have expected that she of all people would understand, but now he was not sure at all. He was, as they say, selling his sister short. If anyone would understand what he had to say, she would. But after decades of being only half himself, who in his position wouldn't be fearful?
"So what's so damned mysterious that you couldn't have told your baby sister over the phone?
"I've wanted to tell you in person, but I've been scared for so long.... I never told Lauren in all the years we were married."
"Dave, it's been long enough. She's gone, and from my perspective she's probably happier right now that she ever was down here." Lauren succumbed to breast cancer nearly four years ago. Joan stood over Dave at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in her hand, fussing in a teasing way with his hair, like she did when they were kids.
"No disrespect intended, but what gives Dave? We've been close for a long time, and nothing you could tell me could ever scare me away."
Dave just sat there, wishing he had never told his sister there was something he wanted to discuss, and felt almost that since they hadn't talked about anything important for a long time, this part of their relationship was not going to restore itself without some fear and trepidation on his part. Once again he sold his sister short and feared the worst.
"If it'll make you feel any better, I can tell you something about myself you don't know." She continued to fuss with his hair; something he barely tolerated as a child, but made him nervous now sitting down in front of his younger sister.
"Please...Joan, come on...stop that." He made a half-hearted attempt to brush her hand away from his head, and her ministrations continued even as she resumed talking.
"It's something only me and Marta know...." she trailed off, trying to seem mysterious, but the upswing of the pitch in her voice at the end made her sound just like when they were kids; you know, “Davey, you're in trouble...I'm telling Mo-om," with mom receiving the ominous 'you're in trouble" two-syllable inflection.
Nothing she could say at this point could be any bigger than what he had to share, he thought, but the tone of her voice, apart from the "I'm telling mo-om" made him feel that she was being sincere and even vulnerable; something that said to him in spite of his fears, "Listen...this is going to help you." Not her real voice, of course, but the idea of knowing that Joan was putting herself out there for him, that she wanted to help.
He sighed and said reluctantly, "Okay...you first." It was something they had done back and forth since they were little. She would normally follow, "No....YOOOU first." stretching out the "you" playfully. But no back and forth today...she brought it up, so it was her responsibility to lead things off.
"Okay....Dave...I'm not a lesbian." She stopped playing with his hair, making the moment seem almost serious but for the conspiratorial grin on her face that said...."I really do have a secret." She had tried not to grin, but she knew what she said, why she said it, and just what it was that was so funny.
Dave actually stood up from the table, almost as if he was “sangry,” the word Joan made up to say when Dave would get sad and angry when they were kids. He almost whined, but we can forgive him that. He wanted to tell his sister something so important, and even almost so shameful and embarrassing that he had not even told his late wife.
"I thought you were going to be serious. Joan, this is important to me, and this isn't funny at all." He protested, and he walked to the sink, pouring out the remainder of his coffee.
"It wasn't meant to be funny and I'm telling the truth....I'm...not a lesbian." Joan had been together with Marta for seven years. He saw the way they held hands; the soft brush on the nape of the neck. Kisses on the cheek that lingered. Nothing else, but that was enough, he felt, to indicate that they were something more than just roommates or friends.
By now, he was actually getting angry, as well as disappointed and even a little sad, feeling his sister wasn't taking him seriously. He had held off telling her anything on the phone, and a letter or an email would have been worse. He walked toward the back door to go out on the deck, but she grabbed his arm.
"Davey....I'm serious...and I'm sorry if it sounded like I wasn't, but I am not a lesbian."
Why would she even deny anything like that; something they had never talked about, something that was never a subject of discussion before...out of the blue? By now, Dave was torn between storming out of his own house and collapsing in tears. He actually did both. He walked through the door and out on the deck, where he turned his back away from her. Joan quickly followed him out and tried to connect. She put her hand on his shoulder, which he tried to shrug off. She quickly turned him around and hugged him, even as he resisted her.
"Why is he so angry?" she thought, even as he tried to push away. She held on, as if he would run away if she let go, wondering what was eating at him. He would actually have run off the deck and out of the yard down the street, just like when they were little. The neighborhood kids used to make fun of him, like in Forest Gump...you know? “Run, Davey, run!” His face reddened in embarrassment and shame, and tears flowed down his cheeks.
She noticed something she hadn't seen before; something so subtle that most people would have missed. His eyes were closed tight as he wept; almost as if he wasn't just upset...he actually couldn't face her. As he wept, years of frustration and guilt spilled out in a torrent of emotion. And she saw just a hint of something that shouldn't be there....on his lids…copper...or bronze...in the fold of his eyelids.
All she could think to herself was..."Nice color." Her observation was silly and playful, like the accepting adoring sister she was.
All he could think was, "I wish I were dead." Not the altogether self-pitying embarrassed "I really wish I were somewhere else." The color on his eyelids was maybe an indication, but not the cause of the shame and mortification...the absolute despair for his own self that really wanted to die, since the secret he needed to share had nothing to do with her suspicions about his nature or preference as we all might have guessed. It had entirely to do with the secret he held in his heart since they were kids that threatened finally to tear his whole being in two. He thought back to his last meeting with his counselor.
Only a few days before, Dave had sat in Bonnie’s office, her fox terrier yipping playfully just outside the door. She reached over and handed him a box of tissues, trying to help staunch the flow of tears that seemed to have no end.
“Tell me,” she said softly, “What’s that about?” She smiled with a welcome and assurance to give him a feeling of safety, allowing him to continue.”
“What if she’s just here to help me get through this? I’m not sure I could handle it; it would be like watching someone die.” He wiped his tears, but they kept coming. He was convinced that he’d never ever cry this hard again. He was going to find out sometime later that he was sadly and painfully mistaken.
“Let me ask you this…what do you think…when you really think about it…is she going to go away? Bonnie smiled softly, as nice a smile as you might imagine, more like a friend or sister than therapist. She was a friend of sorts, but only just so far. Dave needed understanding friends to be sure, but Bonnie was here, now, more as a facilitator and helper than as a friend; asking questions that hopefully would evoke the answers Dave needed, rather than providing her own answers. Like a caterpillar, he needed to push and pull and tug with his own answers in order to grow; helping him too much would stunt the process and he would never expand his "wings" and fail to become the butterfly, so to speak, staying stuck in the same place. So her questions caused him to really think about how he felt about “her.” Who was she really, and was she going to stay once Dave got better?
“I think she’s a part of me…” He said this hesitantly, as if seeking permission or confirmation. Bonnie could provide neither, nor should she have given the answer. It was his alone; her answer would be her direction and then he wouldn’t own the ultimate decision.
“Go on,” she said, her simple nudge causing him to reflect.
“She is a very important part of me.”
“I think so as well,” she said, only after he came to his own conclusion. “Why do you think she’s important?”
“I’m not sure…” He hesitated once again, wanting to be right but more desperately afraid he was wrong.
“Let me make an observation first and then see if it helps answer that question, okay.”
Dave nodded, finally getting a handle on his crying, wiping the last few tears while hoping that they indeed were the last tears shed in an already too painful session.
“You were telling me about the blog…her blog, right?” She looked at him and smiled, as if to express her acknowledgment of the importance of what she knew he was about to say.
“Yes.”
“She helps…doesn’t she?” She smiled once again, evoking a soft but hesitant smile from Dave, who still feared his rejection as well as Karen’s demise.
“Yes…I think so.” He looked away, as if to seek confirmation for his desperate hope.
“So Karen’s blog is helpful to her readers. Why do you think that’s so? What does her blog do…what does Karen do for others?” Bonnie continued to reflect her acceptance while maintaining neutrality. Again, Dave needed to see for himself how important and vital his answers were to his own questions more than the questions Bonnie asked, as important as they also were.
“I think it…I think she makes her reader feel accepted.” He paused, but still felt nervous enough to begin to tear up once again.
“Dave…Remember…you’re in a safe place… no judgment, okay?” Her smile, while comforting, did nothing to diminish his apprehension. She had provided him time after time with support; he wanted an assurance she could not and should not provide; that Karen would still be “around” once he experienced a breakthrough in their work. He knew he had been molested; five other counselors and his late wife suspected as much because of things he said and did over the course of a life time. It was the “who” that remained unknown, and once that came to light, his worst fears would be realized; he was convinced that once he knew who his abuser was, Karen would simply melt away like snow in the spring; a lovely metaphor but a terrifying thought after a half a lifetime for his closest “friend” besides his sister Joan.
And so he was in a no-win situation. He feared that if he discovered somehow who had hurt him so badly, his lifetime companion, as it were, would simply disappear, leaving him disjointed and all alone, since he lived three hundred and sixty three miles away from his sister and had no friends to speak of where he lived. But if he never discovered his abuser’s identity, would he still suffer the overwhelming guilt and shame that already had risen to crash through the wall that had almost built itself against the pain and sorrow, some of which he was already feeling. And would Karen be enough to help him bear up under the increasing burden of the disgust and shame he already fought. Could they together fight this demon, or would both succumb to it, both dying slow deaths as the man who was the boy perished while his compassionate feminine half stood by unable to help? An answer was soon to arrive in an unlikely way, providing safety and hope and peace, but would it be at the cost of the part of him he loved more than himself. Would Karen have to die for David to live?
Next - The Worst Day of Their Lives
Dave, come on in…please. It’s okay.” Joan pulled Dave back into the kitchen from the back deck.
“Here, honey, sit down. I’ll put on the kettle, and we can have some tea and talk, okay.”
By now, Dave’s sobs had subsided, replaced by a grimace caused by his clenching his teeth. Joan sat down and put her hand on his arm.
“What’s so bad….I’ve never seen you like this before.” She actually had, but then she was seven and he was nine, and someone had just punctured the front tire of his bike in a cruel prank. “You cried when Lauren died, but you never pushed me away. Why now, honey. What did I do? I’m so sorry, Davey, please tell me…I am so sorry.” Joan apologized for something of which she had no knowledge and held no blame.
“I…I’ve been seeing a counselor….she’s great….helping me.” Dave started to cry once again, feeling hopeless. He had no way of knowing how much his sister would understand, but they shared secrets. One a nice secret, the kind that makes you feel like you belong; like when you know you have someone or something in common; a sweet and almost amusing secret; one that would bring them together. But they also shared another secret; a brutal ugly secret...an evil secret; a secret neither should have been asked to keep, but one that when shared would be the means of healing for both.
“I see a counselor myself, honey. There’s no shame in that.” She stroked his arm before getting up to pour the tea. She looked back and smiled, looking more like the older sister than the kid sister she was. She returned with two cups of Green and Blueberry tea and sat down once again.
“I’m sorry about before…I really wasn’t teasing, and after I tell you more, not only will you understand, but I think you’ll really understand.” She reached over and grabbed her purse, pulling out her wallet.
“I think this might help explain things.” She smiled and produced a wallet-sized photo of her with three other women. “I think you’ve seen this picture before.” She pointed to the woman in the photo directly to her left.
“Yeah…I think I still have a copy of this; your two friends and Marta.” Dave recalled meeting Marta months ago when he had stopped by their home in Virginia Beach after a meeting he had attended for his job. He dropped in unannounced to find Joan and Marta looking at wedding invitations. He wasn’t sure about how things worked in Virginia, but in Pennsylvania, it still wasn’t legal for two women to marry, so he figured that they had a symbolic ceremony. He left only minutes after he had arrived, uttering cruel words of rejection as he stormed out. He was mistaken on several levels, and he was about to find out just how much he had misread his sister.
“Now here’s a photo I know you haven’t seen before.” She produced a picture of her and a nice looking man. They were standing next to each other, holding hands. The picture looked much more intimate than what he would have expected, given her long relationship with her girlfriend. She pushed the photo in front of him so he could get a better look.
“Marty Collier…my boss at the time; the picture was taken a couple of years ago.” Dave knew that she had changed jobs that year, staying in accounting, but moving to another firm. He looked again at the picture, and while he was certain he had never met the man, he nevertheless looked familiar.
“Is that Marta’s brother…I don’t recall everything about her, but he looks familiar. Is that who that is?”
Joan smiled sheepishly, like when they were little and she had got caught in her mother’s bedroom putting on makeup and making a big, but predictable little-girl mess.
“Sort of.” She paused and put her hand on Dave’s arm once again. “I said I wasn’t a lesbian, didn’t I?” She smiled and put the two photos side by side. She waited as Dave’s eyes focused first on one then the other; back and forth until he smiled and cocked his head, trying hard not to come to the conclusion his eyes brought him to.
“Is that….no, it can’t be, can it?” A look of surprise, followed by shock, followed by an odd sense of relief, as he said, pointing to the man in the first photo.
“Is that Marta?
Joan smiled almost in an apologetic manner. She owed Dave no apologies. He had jumped to a conclusion a few years ago, and his response was to ignore any and all opportunities to visit and call and contact his sister, believing that she was doing something that he didn’t approve of; something he found troubling until faced with the same conflict in himself.
“Marty and I are going to be married, and Marta is going to be there as well. We couldn’t exclude his sister.” She smiled, and it almost seemed that Dave had been mistaken until she added, “sweetie, they’re the same person.” She actually punched him in the arm playfully. “Marta is Marty’s other half, honey. “ She smiled and rubbed his arm again.
“What? I thought…I thought she was…” He looked confused but his confusion quickly gave way to embarrassment when he saw that his sister was still smiling. She wasn’t angry, though she had every reason to be.
“You thought Marta was a girl…and you were right, sort of. Marty has been sharing his life with his sister Marta since he was in high school. You walked in unannounced, and you just assumed something about me and my life. You don’t know how much that hurt me, Dave. I cried for a whole week…every day…after you sent that letter…You couldn’t understand…You wouldn’t understand.” Joan still smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.
“For God’s sake, Dave, you always avoid; you always run away. Marty has no family and all of his friends have drifted away. He was going to ask you to be his best man. But no, you just had to be right.” She sighed, blinked out some tears and pulled her hand away abruptly before returning it to softly stroke his arm once again, but this time failing to conceal the sadness and loss she felt since her brother abandoned her.
Even now he had no idea how much he hurt his sister, and yet she sat at the table, holding his arm, there and then, instead of paying back his neglect with anger. He had failed to understand just how big a heart his sister had.
Joan, being optimistic and hopeful, didn’t understand Dave’s next reaction. He buried his head in his hands and wept once again. He started to shake and she grabbed him with her other hand. Standing up, she walked behind him and wrapped her arms around her brother; now even more like a mother than a kid sister. She kissed the top of his head, wondering what would cause such pain.
After a few moments she remembered what she had seen when she stood in front on him earlier, and it came together. There was plenty to talk about, but she didn’t need to say anything more than what the photos had told him already. She kissed him on the cheek once again and said softly, just above a whisper,
“What’s her name?” Nothing more; he knew that she knew; she always figured him out; she always found out eventually what was bothering him.
“Karen…her name…” He paused, turning around to face Joan. The look on her face was the same as when he broke the TV after throwing a book in anger when he was ten; the same look that she had when he left the water running in the bathroom that caused the hole in the living room ceiling. A look that said, “Don’t worry…it’s okay…I won’t tell (she never did)….it’ll be our secret.” A secret kept not to lord it over him, but to protect him. She never understood why she felt the need to protect him, but here and now, it was like when they were young all over again. She smiled and stroked his hair. He looked back at her and said softly, in a voice never heard by anyone ever,
“My name is Karen.” He, rather she looked at her sister, only with a little relief, but still filled with shame. Joan smiled through her own tears as she kissed her brother/sister on the forehead. She said softly with the same laugh that everyone found so disarming, a laugh that usually made everyone feel safe and hopeful.
“I guess, we could change our plans, you could always be my maiden of honor.” She almost giggled like a little girl at her clever remark.
Karen didn’t laugh at all, even though it was a sweet moment. Instead, she put her head down on the table, weeping as hard as she ever had, but not nearly as hard as she would a few moments later. Karen had hoped that sharing her secret with Joan would make the pain subside; that her anguish over her shame and disgust would at least lessen with her sister at her side, but she was wrong. This was more painful than anything she had ever felt, almost like any hardship or pain you’ve ever endured. One of those moments you think things can’t get worse, but then they do; much worse than you could ever have anticipated, but demonstrating in the midst of all of it much more grace and endurance than you ever thought you had.
Joan sat on the couch, a throw covering her legs. Dave was asleep in his room, having wept harder than Joan imagined were possible. She had her Bible open in her lap, and tear drops had wet the page, which was opened at the following'
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation…”
She looked down at the page, holding on tenaciously to the words, ‘no condemnation.” Dave…would never have understood her; she didn’t understand for years herself. She was the cutest brightest little girl you’d ever want to meet. But she grew up making so many bad choices. An adorable child, she was rebellious as a teen, out all night, worrying her parents so sick that they couldn’t bear it. She developed a ‘reputation” which sadly from some folks’ perspective was well-earned.
“No condemnation…” she again reminded herself when she thought of what she did with her life…a life spent wasted for years until she met Marty. They fell in love at first sight, but Marty wanted to wait.
“Everything in its time, honey,” he had said. “My way of honoring the best gift God ever gave me.”
They would stay up all hours talking, getting to know one another, sharing secrets. She told him of her past, her “reputation.” He told her of forgiveness and new beginnings. She told him of her loss, the child she left at the hospital in hopelessness and shame. He told her she was a new creation, all things were new. And she met Marta, his other half. Unlike many girls, Marta wasn’t in the shadows. She was never relegated to shame and doubt because she knew that she was more than just acceptable; Marta was an integral and wonderful part of the person God had made her. Joan wondered,
"If only Dave knew the freedom Marty enjoyed. If only Karen were free to be herself, like Marta."
A few moments later Joan stood in the doorway to Dave’s bedroom.
"Still watching over..." She thought to herself, knowing full well why she felt protective and yet powerless to protect. She wanted to wipe his tears away, but not only his tears but the anguish inside, whatever it was must be horrible, she had thought.
He lay atop the bed over the covers. He had wept until he had no more tears or strength and mercifully had fallen asleep. Joan walked to the bedside and covered him with a comforter. What a picture of grace; she was covering him as much as if he were being tended to by God; the one true comforter from her perspective. She wished the same for herself, being caught between death and salvation; plagued by the one secret she felt she could never share.
She was about to walk back out when Dave suddenly screamed in his sleep.
“Nooo!” His mouth formed the words but virtually no sound escaped. Maybe you’ve felt this way in that half-darkened place between light and shadow when overtaken by a horrible nightmare? Screaming but unable to escape whatever horror you saw or felt? Joan saw the terror in Dave’s face and she knew...nothing would have convinced her otherwise; even without knowing his truth, her own truth made her aware. She put her hand up to her face and almost as if mimicking him, screamed her own silent scream. She fell to her knees, sobbing while grabbing Dave’s arm.
“Nooo, dear God, no. Please God not Davey too, please…no, dear God no….” She collapsed in tears on the floor and darkness took her.
Next: Like a Watered Garden
like an ever—flowing spring...
She awoke with a start. The back of her head felt like it had been hit hard. She raised her hand and parted the hair with her fingers, feeling nothing but the old scar. But the feeling was real and painful, the hard daubs of stucco still clinging in pieces to her hair, the blood oozing out of the cut; not big enough for stitches but still painful. But there was no blood, no plaster, and no evidence other than the scar she had found. Her head hurt; that much was real; another daily visit by her migraine friend. And the voice echoed in her head, harsh, cruel, and evil.
“You little cocksucker….I told you to shut up. You and your sister…just shut up.” The voice was accompanied once again by the phantom pain and the phantom blood. She heard her sister crying somewhere to her right. A hand around her own throat threatened to stop her breathing; she felt that now, but she had no idea what it was all about then other than terror and pain.
“Shut up,” she heard once again, and the tears came to her eyes as if he were choking her right then and there, even though she and her attacker were separated by time, space, and death. She felt she couldn’t breathe. Her hands went to her throat, feeling nothing but her own skin. Nothing grasped her neck yet it was like he was still throttling her. Her head banged up against a wall that had been demolished years ago. Her hands ripped open by the splinters on the floor that no longer existed. But that was just the beginning.
“Dave…Dave. Wake up…Honey, it’s okay. It’s me, Joanie…honey wake up.” The voice pleaded from out of the shadows. He slowly came to, trying to focus. His sister stood over him, her hand on his forehead, softly brushing his hair with her fingers. She looked down at him and her face was a mask of sadness and fear that he had never beheld…other than when he looked at himself in the mirror after his nightmares began. She was still crying, but she tried to smile, as if to tell both of them it was going to be alright.
“You were dreaming, Davey, it’s okay…it’s over.” It wasn’t over yet, but it would soon be over for good. And it wasn’t a dream; it wasn’t even a nightmare. It was a memory which had violated his mind and his heart every night since he had heard it….a song his uncle used to play on the piano. He didn’t even know what song it was, but he had been turning the dial on his car radio and the song was on a station he never listened to. In a moment, like being violated all over again, feelings long submerged, came to him. Memories of a horror his mind had protected him from for years; feelings and sensations and sounds and tastes….that no little boy should ever experience. And since then the memories visited him every night; every night a night of terror and sadness that he thought he would never be able to endure.
“Joanie….it was….” Dave couldn’t help himself. He wanted to be strong, especially after seeing his sister’s face. Even as she had recognized her own pain in his scream minutes before, he saw in her face the same horror he had endured. And he wept; shameful tears, bitter tears of helpless defeat. Just as she felt she had never been able to save him, he realized he had not been able to protect her. Decades of guilt and shame over something that happened when they were small and defenseless and blameless.
He sat up from the bed and pulled his sister to his side. He embraced her the way you would if you knew someone might never come back if you let go. He kissed her face, wanting to feel the reality of her presence, fearing that her presence was the dream and the memories were still the reality.
“I’m so sorry….I should have….” Both of them wept; a sad but necessary part of their healing. They both knew that they both knew. No more secrets. The details would follow to be sure. Their talks would be painful harsh reminders, but more like the cleansing of a deep wound before the healing could begin.
“He made me…” Dave tried to pull away from Joan, his face twisted in horrible shame over something that was the act of another, an evil assault that spanned generations and still affected his heart and mind. “Couldn’t stop him…didn’t…I’m so sorry.” Regretful loss was displaced by misplaced guilt and shame for something another should have borne both shame and damnation.
Joan put her hand on his lips to silence him, gently as an attempt to remove the guilt that only God could heal. She looked into his eyes, and her expression said everything he needed to hear without a word. Her tears flowed as she grimaced with her own pain, the memories flooding back to her and overwhelming her as well.
“MMMMeeee….tooo.” Joan had hoped the pain would subside when she confessed…she felt as guilty as her brother. Both of these poor souls felt responsible. She was seven and he was nine when it started. Every summer, visits to Grandma’s house. A lovely quaint thought if you wanted to write a card for Thanksgiving or Christmas but a cruel fate for two children caught the snare their uncle had made each summer when their parents went away for a weekend to show their dogs at the dog show in New York.
“I want to die….I just want to die, Joanie…why did he do that? Why did he hurt you…it wasn’t fair…he shouldn’t have hurt you the way he did…” Dave was still thinking like a big brother through it all. Neither should have had their innocence destroyed. Both had no advocate; forced to endure abuse while a drunken grandmother and absent aunt failed to stop this evil. No one to protect them and preserve them and treasure them. No one to save them.
“NNooo…Davey….noooo….don’t say that. It’s over. We’re safe.”
“Don’t feel safe…it hurts, Joanie…it hurts like it won’t ever go away.”
She kissed his cheek, wanting so much still to protect him from what was yet to come.
“It will get better, honey, I promise. It took me almost a year to get to the point where I felt safe.” She stroked his hair, trying not to cry, more so she could talk than anything. She knew it was healthy for both of them if they cried, here and now.
“Marty and Marta both held my hand through it all.” Marta’s like a sister to me, you know? She…Marty was raped when he was little, and Marta helped him through it…They helped me through this. There were times I thought I’d literally come apart…like someone threw a piece of crystal against the wall.”
Hearing the word “wall” made Dave think again about how his uncle smashed his head against the wall of the apartment. He heard Joanie screaming then even as she held him now.”
“He was going to take you…into his room….I couldn’t…but he did anyway…I’m so sorry…I tried.” He sobbed and buried his head in her breast. It was as if they were singing a sad duet, his melody of shame to her harmony of pain and sadness. The tenor voice leading, then following in a horrific song of pain and sadness that was composed and orchestrated by a man no longer alive. The alto singing counterpoint as their sad lament played out, the long anticipated coda finally about to be sung.
“It wasn’t your fault…my counselor…she…it wasn’t my fault.” It was terrible and wonderful at the same time. Years of guilt and shame were being washed away by the tears of forgiveness and understanding. Innocence, perhaps not yet restored, but being rebuilt; the brick and mortar of overwhelming revulsion and shame replaced as their house was being restored.
“I’m so sorry….” Dave kept repeating it over and over, a plea for forgiveness that wasn’t required. The child wanting to be pardoned for someone else’s evil deeds. The little boy begging for release for something he never chose.
“Honey, look at me….” She grabbed his chin and forced his face to look at hers. Tears streamed down their cheeks in sad unison, but the tears were also like another song; this one composed by the Master Musician. The ugly song from moments before being drowned out in the glorious sound of peace and restoration.
“We didn’t do anything…it was done…” She struggled for words; desperately wanting to say something to help him understand. “It wasn’t our fault. She sounded profane, but the words were true, even if crude in the midst of a prayer. “He fucked us….he hurt…us….he damaged us.” She looked upward briefly, as if to apologize for what she had said. “We were children…I was eight years old, for God’s sake….” She saw his face. The older brother in him was thinking, hating himself; condemning himself.”
“Davey…you were only ten…you tried.” She wept at his misplaced shame and guilt. She wasn’t far down the road to her own recovery; it was still a painful process that she and Marty were walking through even now, but she was at least further down the road than Dave.
“I love you so much….I know you tried….he hit you all the time when Grandma wasn’t around.” She stroked his hair, trying so hard to comfort him, but by deflecting his shame with her own misplaced guilt.
“At least he didn’t beat me.”
She forgot for a moment just what she was saying to her brother; he raised his head with as much grace and strength as he could and said,
“Joanie….he raped you….you….oh God…” Words flowed from them both; finally at a place of safety, finally at a place of peace. Beset still with horrific memories that they would tell their counselors, overwhelmed with emotion from evil done to the little boy and girl years ago. But in the midst of this maelstrom, they had arrived at the eye of the storm, nestled, not in comfort or ease in location, but in the peace that does pass all understanding as they rested in the palm of God’s hand.
Joanie was shaky in her faith, but her faith, as shaky as it was, was still based not on what she believed, but in Whom she believed. She wasn’t confident in herself, but she knew and held fast to her faith in God.
“No condemnation,” she said. “No condemnation.”
She looked at her brother, wanting to comfort him even as she desperately sought for the same comfort herself. She looked again and felt the need; no the responsibility to say,
“Karen…honey…it’s over…we’re free.” Other than Bonnie, no one had ever used that name. Karen never could explain why, but the name was like a new beginning for her; perhaps the beginnings of the answers she sought. No one had to die; no one would have to depart.
Karen looked at her sister, her eyes still filled with tears, but now tears of release and forgiveness; comforting tears that replaced horror with peace; sadness and grief replaced for both her and Joanie by hope and faith and renewed life. Hearing her name…Karen felt for the first time acceptance, the absolute certainty of God’s love as demonstrated by the one person in the world who knew her and loved her for who she was.
“I think I know why you came to be,” Joan said as she wiped her tears from her eyes, still crying but with a sense of peace that she had not known for a long time, perhaps never in her life, but with a realization that everything truly would be alright. She used her sleeve to wipe away Karen’s as well.
“I think you are here as a protector for Davey, someone who helped him withstand the pain…Just like Marta was for Marty.”
A faith that was shaky only moments before became confident as she said,
Honey…Karen is….you are supposed to be here.”
Joan embraced her sister/brother as never before, wondering in awe of God’s grace that they both had weathered the storm of their abuse. She looked upward in gratitude for the grace they received, thankful not only for their deliverance, but now also for the gift God had given them both in the form of the newest member of the family.
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.
"It sounds like you feel stronger, Dave...like you feel more confident." Bonnie sat across from him, leaning forward in support of his expected response.
"It's still hurts like hell...I still cry every day." His eyes began to mist up. No longer assaulted daily by disgusting and horrific memories of his and his sister's abuse at their uncle's hands, Dave nevertheless still felt vulnerable. Bonnie had him writing in a journal all that he felt and sensed; not so much a documentation of the abuse, since the details didn't vary much now from memory to memory. Joan had joined them for a session before she returned home, and their time together was "productive."
"Go ahead, Dave. It's alright. Look at Joan. Is she judging you?" Dave lifted his head from his hands, his tears ran like a stream down his face and his nose was running. Bonnie handed him a box of tissues.
"Davey...come on, look at me." She actually reached over and grabbed his chin. "You tried, honey...you tried really hard, but he was too big,' he being their abusive uncle. "There was nothing you could have done." Joan had said this several times, but here, in Bonnie's office, Dave had started to feel the weight of guilt lift off his shoulders.
"I know," Dave said, choking back a sob. "But...he fucked you, god damn it! I should have stopped him...I wanted to." Dave's fists balled up in anger, which was good. There might be some who expected Dave to forgive his uncle. That's really not for them to say. It might be important in the long run for Dave to release any bitterness that he harbored toward his uncle, but then and there, anger was part of the process of healing. He was moving away from the misplaced guilt and shame; realizing that he had been powerless to stop his uncle from hurting them both.
“Dave, why don’t you share what you wrote in your journal about Karen?” Bonnie said, pointing to the notebook in his lap.
Without comment, Dave picked up the journal and began reading where he’d bookmarked the entry.
“I think I know why I …why Karen’s been around for so long.” He wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve, forgetting the box of tissue next to him on the table. “If…if I look nice, maybe he’ll leave Joan alone….maybe if he wants to…” Dave choked up, and stifled a sob. Karen had become much more than just a way to protect him and Joan, but he continued.
“I can remember him looking at us…trying to decide.” Karen was speaking now, her voice soft and tentative. “I stood up and said…take me…take me.” She wept and looked at Joan, who was crying now, almost as hard. Karen looked at her and said,
“He made it a contest….like we wanted him to…” Karen’s voice spoke Dave’s words.
“Like we wanted him to fuck us.” She wiped the tears from her face and said,
“I…didn’t….but he would have….Had to be me….” Dave and Karen together expressed the shame of it all; the irony being their uncle hurt Joan anyway.
“No….” Joan cried out. “Davey….you didn’t have to…he hurt you…” Both Joan and her brother had competed, almost like at the end of Spartacus, where the only way he could save his friend from a brutal death was by killing him quickly. The survivor; the chosen one would suffer the most, so Davey/Karen had been sacrificed to protect Joan.
“You….you….I know you didn’t want to….I know it wasn’t your fault.” Joan looked at her brother and felt so much guilt herself for being the one who was “rescued,” as if less abuse was any better than what her brother went through.
Karen composed herself enough to continue.
“I know why I hated Marta….” she cried but still read the journal.
“I hated myself…I was a fucking pervert…I hated the dresses and the clothes…what kind of man was I? How could I do that to myself?” She and Dave spoke as one. “Then I realized that I liked dressing…that I was just like everyone I ever made fun of….I hated myself…I still hate myself for what I did.” Dave looked at Joan, as if to plead for the forgiveness she had extended long ago.
“Honey….you did what you had to do….and it changed you.” She thought as she said it that it was not a good thing to say, and she quickly added. “But Karen is a good thing…there’s nothing wrong with her…there’s nothing wrong with you, Karen.” Now it was Joan who pled, but not on her own behalf, but for the part of her brother who had a premature, unhealthy birth.
“You are supposed to be here…it’s not just because of Uncle Dave,” she said, uttering that name for the first time since they began to talk. “I think Karen was going to be…she was already in the plans for you….”
Dave interrupted her.
“You don’t know that…she might as well just go away…you’re safe now…”
Joan leaned forward to embrace and comfort him, but Bonnie waved her off softly. That might seem almost callous, but in this process, perhaps, Joan was trying to be protective. A good and noble and sisterly act at another time, it was not helpful here, since Dave and Karen were gaining strength, and her hug at that moment might have caused them to lapse back into a helpless mode. She patted him on the leg instead and sat back slightly, but still maintaining eye contact.
“Oh, honey, no…don’t go away…I love you. You are…” Joan began to weep, worried about that part of her brother who had helped the little boy cope with the horror, but more than just help, she had become a part of her brother that needed to live; a sweet gentle part of the whole person, not sweeter or kinder, mind you, but different in a special way. It’s been said by this author concerning others, but I think it suits Karen especially.
“She was born for all the wrong reasons, but grew up for all the right ones.”
“I’m just getting to know you, sweetheart…please know that. You are just as important and precious to me as…as Dave is. Everything good about Dave includes you…you have to know that…you have to believe that. If it weren’t for Dave and Karen…you both saved me.”
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;
But when you come and I am filled with wonder,
Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.
Years of misplaced guilt don't fade away merely at the acknowledgement of innocence. Rather, it is a process to be walked out with the help of others; understanding family, friends, and people like Bonnie whose sole purpose in life was to help bring clarity, order and understanding to those brought up in the chaos of abuse.
"Was there really anything you could have done, Dave?" Bonnie said. More of a statement than a question, but he answered anyway.
"No...no.' His voice trailed off and he wept, only softer, his tears more out of relief than anything else.
Almost as if she had heard the suggestion that Bonnie only thought, Joan said,
"Dave...I am so proud of you. You took everything he threw at us and you still kept trying to fight him." She was remembering how Dave took a beating for her. That it failed to stop their uncle was almost irrelevant at this point. He needed to know that he did everything anyone could have done, and that it was no one's fault that their uncle succeeded in his evil. And as awkward and unfamiliar as it was for Joan, she had to relinquish own her role as Dave's protector.
"I am so blessed to have a brother like you. You are such a good man, Dave. If you hadn't been there to protect me, he would have killed me...He would have kept doing what he did. You saved me, Dave."
She went to hug him once again, glancing over at Bonnie who nodded. This hug was supportive, in a healthy way that began to restore them both, affirming them both, actually affirming all three, if you will. A small, tender beginning, but a beginning nonetheless.
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up... To more than I can be.
You raise me up... To more than I can be.
You Raise Me Up — Words and Music by Brendan Graham and Rolf Lá¸vland of Secret Garden
For I will restore health to you, and your wounds I will heal, declares the LORD…
Jeremiah 30:17
A very merry unbirthday to you, to you
One birthday every year
But there are three hundred and sixty four unbirthdays
That is why we're gathered here to cheer
A very merry unbirthday to you, to you
It's great to drink to someone
And I guess that you will do
A very merry unbirthday to you
"Got everything ready for Saturday," the voice came from the kitchen. Joan came walking down the hall carrying a fair sized box. It was filled with pictures and mementos and such.
"Almost. She thinks "he's' coming down for the weekend to get better acquainted with his new brother-in-law, which is true, in a manner of speaking." She giggled almost like a little girl, thinking of the plot she and her partner in crime had hatched. This was going to be the party of all parties, celebrating new freedom for the sibs, who had much to rejoice in after both had endured what some might call the "dark night of the soul"
"I for one am looking forward to meeting my sister-in-law," the voice once again said from the kitchen. A moment later, a fairly attractive brunette entered the living room carrying a tray with a pot of tea, and such. She placed it on the coffee table and walked over to Joan, who was just putting the box on the window seat by the front window. The two embraced, followed by a long, loving newlywed kiss, which might have seemed odd unless you knew the couple. Joan was a new bride, having been married only three weeks, two days, four hours, twelve minutes and God only knew how many seconds. She kissed her...bride, Marta, the love of her life, and the other half of her husband Marty, who was also the love of her life.
"Do you think they suspect anything?" Marta said as she nibbled on Joan's ear. The two of them playfully referred to Dave as the "two of them," as Joan had just discovered a few weeks prior to the wedding that her brother had a femme side to him. This was not a pleasant discovery, but not because of the discovery itself, but because it had come out in the midst of both siblings recalling within months that they both had been molested by a since-deceased evil excuse of an uncle. The two both had subsequently talked to their own counselors and Joan and Dave and Karen, Dave's alter-ego had worked through some of the guilt and shame with Dave's therapist Bonnie. Both still were in therapy...not something that goes away merely by revelation. There would be much more work for both of them to do, as individuals and as siblings.
"Is Rachael available on Tuesday?" (Rachael being their counselor) Marta asked, as she sat down on the couch. She patted the seat next to her, and Joan sat down.
"Yes," she said as she picked up her cup of tea. "She had a cancellation, and we'll all meet with her Tuesday afternoon...she's blocked out two hours for us, and that will help, since I don't think an hour is enough.
"I agree." Marta said as she sipped her own tea. "But for now, let's just keep this weekend as fun as possible. I'm looking forward to giving Karen the best day she's ever had, and I'm sure you are, too."
"I know...but..." Joan looked away. She started to mist up, which would seem odd if you were planning a party for your favorite sibling.
"I know...you're worried about how she's going to react...it is a big step for her. But we won't be having anything more than a regular...well, even if we don't get to follow through with our plans, it will still be an "unbirthday," won't it?" Marta leaned over and kissed her wife on the cheek, right next to her right eye, her lips brushed Joan's eyelashes and she tasted the salt from Joan's tears. Odd to think, but it was one of Marta's favorite things to do. She loved Joan so much, and it was almost as tender a thing that anyone can do, almost divine, to kiss away someone's tears.
"If after we tell her what we want to do, and it's just Dave we're celebrating, then so be it. But we have to at least give Karen the opportunity to say yes, don't you think?" Marta continued to focus attention on her wife's face, which was still tear-stained. Joan wanted this weekend to be special; a welcome home party for her brother and a coming out party of sorts for her newly discovered sister.
"I'm still afraid that Karen is going to feel like she can't stay." Joan wasn't thinking about Karen's visit. She was worried, along with her brother, that since the secret of the abuse was out, Karen's role as "protector/gate keeper" to the horrible memories Dave had understandably but unknowingly harbored...that role was no longer necessary, and he had said more than several times that he was sad that Karen would just "go away." A thought not uncommon in situations as his.
"You're really are convinced that Karen is more than just a protector....After talking with Dave, I have the same sense. You told me what a different relationship you had with Dave even before the abuse started, being closer than most brothers and sisters. And didn't you say Dave always felt....that you felt he was almost as much like a sister to you?"
"It's funny...we both have a hard time remembering a lot of things for those years." Those years being the summers they spent at their grandmother's house where the abuse took place.
"I can remember little things...like when I was six and he was eight, and he would always stop by just before he went out to play with his friends. He would sit down at my tea table and pretend to have a cup of tea with me." She smiled, as if the moment were just minutes before.
"She didn’t have a name back then....I think that's one thing for sure I'm going to ask...Why Karen...Karen Anne,” She smiled again and cocked her head, as if she was looking for the answer that Dave might give when they talked next.
"But it was like "she" wanted to enjoy a time with me before "he" went out to play...does that make sense?"
"The question or her act?" Marta teased before answering. "It makes perfect sense since that's what happened. Honey...Dave...Karen may never know why she did that, but she did. And Dave was a part of that, since he was there also, obviously. Something inside her wanted to be a sister to you, so the real question is, does Karen want to be your sister still. And Dave wants to know if she can be....All we can do is support them as they decide for themselves what's best and what comes next'
"I want her to stay...oh God it sounds so strange. I never knew that part of my brother, but now that I'm beginning to know Karen, I don't want her to leave, either."
"Then the best thing we can do is give her an opportunity to be who she is this weekend. Maybe that will help her make up her mind what to do next. As much as I agree with you, it really isn't up to us, so no worries, okay?" Marta looked at Joan, who had begun to cry again.
"No worries, sweetheart. If it's to be, then Karen and Dave and God will figure that out in time. We just have to have patience and give her time. And the best party she ever had, okay?" She kissed Joan on the cheek again.
"I know....give it to God...okay." She smiled through her tears before adding, "Promise me one thing...."
"For you...anything I have in me to give is yours, of course."
"That we pray that Karen will be as happy as we are?"
"Now that's a promise I can keep." Marta smiled and kissed her wife once again, but not on the cheek this time, but lovingly and fully on the lips, as only newlyweds...okay as only all lovers can do."
Dave had hardly had a chance to put his bag down when Joan pulled him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table.
"Wait just a second....I'm still not sure about this,” he argued, but with an almost half smile that seemed to concede control to his sister even while his words protested her plans.
"You promised to try...if you don't like it, you can always change back. The party isn't for another four hours, so we've got plenty of time to try this out."
Marta came into the kitchen carrying a small case and sat it down on the table. Her presence was somewhat disconcerting to Dave, who had expected his brother-in-law Marty to welcome him. It really made no sense at all to ease into the plans, so Marta was really needed more so than Marty at this point.
"Now I'm going to leave you two alone and go to the store for some groceries and other stuff." She smiled and kissed Marta before kissing Dave's forehead.
"We've got plenty of time, but I want to see someone else sitting in that chair when I get back, so no dawdling” She waved goodbye quickly and walked out to the garage.
"I'm not so sure about this? Do I have to?" Dave's voice seemed to soften, but it was still his voice and not Karen's that continued. "This is weird."
"I know it is, but I think you know it's something you at least need to try...to see if it's what you want." Marta smiled and did something that surprised Dave.
Leaning over, Marta kissed Dave on the cheek. It felt odd, but Dave realized almost immediately it was not odd but a good and altogether encouraging moment as Marta demonstrated a support for her new "sister-in-law."
"Okay....Karen, honey...let's get started."
Joan walked into the kitchen with a few bags of groceries, saying,
"There are a few more bags in the car; can you two give me a hand?" She looked up after placing the bags on the floor next to the table. Sitting down, drinking tea was Marta, her lovely bride of three-plus weeks, and a very sweet looking blond who bore a striking resemblance to her brother, and yet...
"Hi..." the woman said softly. She was sitting almost demurely, drinking tea with Marta, as if they were old friends enjoying a nice visit. She wore a simple burgundy silk blouse with a matching bandanna around a graceful neck. Had she stood up, Joan would have noted the cream colored silk pants and open sandals. Her face was adorned simply, with a bit of mascara and eye shadow, along with a nice deep burgundy lip gloss. Her hair was short, but nicely styled, and revealed Onyx clip-on earrings. Joan looked away, as if to make sure her vision wasn't playing tricks, and turned again. A moment of joyful recognition immediately followed with Joan bursting into tears.
Marta reached over and grabbed Joan’s hand and said, more Marty like than Marta,
"Pretty cool, huh?"
Joan choked back her sobs, which were entirely joyful and wonderful, but still was unable to speak. She looked at the woman sitting at the table and her eyes sparkled through joyful tears, her smile seeming to ask, “Is this...do you..." Even her thoughts found little coherence as her excitement and wonder took her.
"Yes,” the woman said, her own tears beginning to play havoc with Marta's handiwork as her mascara began to run.
"I think I'm here to stay…and it’s Karen Anne because I just liked the name.”
As awkward as it promised to be, Karen was determined to follow through with her promise to try this out all the way. She was going to meet some of the folks that were friends with her sister and "sibling"-in-law. The party was in full swing, and Karen had already met a nice couple from across the courtyard at the complex. Charlie and Beth were nearly newlyweds themselves, having been together for several years, but recently had a commitment ceremony. Charlie, some may remember, was the daughter of Michelle and her step-mom Diane. Beth was her long-time lover and new bride, a post-op girl for those who might want clarification, but a beautiful young lady with a heart bigger than the State of Wisconsin, as some might say for those who require no clarification.
Karen was standing in the kitchen with Charlie and Joan when Beth walked in accompanied by a lovely woman about Karen's age. Her face was round and adorned by one of the sweetest biggest smiles you'd ever want to see. Her hair was long and straight and Jet-black, and her expression was exotic, owing to her classic Asian features. Karen became uncomfortable as her face betrayed her embarrassment. She immediately recognized the woman, even if the context were out of place and far away by almost 250 miles. She was prepared to excuse herself quickly until Beth spoke
"I wanted to introduce my step-sister Nancy Ling. She's visiting from the Philly area, and I didn't want to leave her home while I came to a great night out"
Beth swung her hand out in a broad gesture and said, "You know Charlie of course. And you met Marta outside when you arrived. This is Marta's wife Joan, and I'd like you to meet...
"Karen...Karen Atkins, isn't it. Oh, Karen and I already know each other. Small world isn't it. We both work together in Philly, isn't that right?" It would almost have seemed a huge setup for embarrassment and shame for Karen, meeting a co-worker dressed not as Dave, but as his "sister," until Nancy said,
"I'm so glad I met a friend down here. You know I love you Beth, but you also know I don't make friends easily, so to find someone I actually know and like, what a nice surprise." She walked over to Karen and placed her hand gently on Karen's arm and smiled. If you don't mind, I think I've got some catching up to do with my friend here; will you excuse us for a moment?
"I....I don't know what to say.....I'm....."
"It's okay, Dave....Karen....really." She smiled at her once again. "You've got nothing to fear from me."
This was all too much for both Dave and Karen, and "they" stared to mist up, mostly over embarrassment, but the shame she had endured and had thought had been conquered began to surface. Fear actually felt like it was gripping her heart until Nancy touched her arm once again. She reached up and put her hand gently around Karen’s neck and pulled her closer, she softly, warmly and with a smile kissed her on the cheek.
"Karen...It's okay. My stepbrother...sorry...step-sister is transgender. Why wouldn't it be okay. We've worked together for three years. You have been such a help to me, encouraging me, supporting me since I started working in the department. You are such a nice person, and I'm glad to know you. Don't worry; you have nothing to fear from me. Quite the contrary...this changes everything." She smiled once again and pulled Karen closer. She kissed her again, this time on the lips, and not quickly either.
"But...." was all Karen could get out before Nancy shushed her with a finger to her lips.
"It's more than just okay...do you understand?" She smiled playfully and looked Karen straight in the eyes.
"You have been so kind and caring, and I have to confess I've been falling for you for some time....We never see each other than work, and there's never been an opportunity...Beth told me that Joan's brother was going to be visiting, and I knew you had a sister Joan in Virginia Beach. When I saw you standing in the kitchen with Charlie and your sister, I knew it was you even before Beth said anything. I'm not promising anything, but this does change everything and nothing at the same time, do you understand."
"You know nothing about me...my past...who I am...what I am..." Karen started to protest, but it was with Dave's voice.
"And that's why people date...silly." She giggled, her eyes twinkling and a small scar over her lip made itself known with her adorable smile.
"I tell you what...since you've already shared a secret with me,” she said as she used her hand in a broad gesture to indicate...Karen.
"I'll share a secret with you. That way, we'll be even, and we can start on equal ground okay?
"Okay..." Karen said uneasily.
"Come closer....let me whisper this so no one else hears," she said playfully. They were standing alone on the back deck, and the door was closed, so no one would have heard anyway.
"The secret is.....now don't be too surprised....I....am.....Chinese." Karen had leaned "too" close, and Nancy pulled her quickly to her and kissed her again.
Not since Dave's wife Lauren had died, and actually for the first time in both their lives, Karen and Dave felt...close to someone. A first kiss for both of them, and they both enjoyed it and they both kissed back. And Nancy embraced and hugged and kissed them both, so to speak. Something unexpected, something quite nice and delightful. It was turning out to be a very merry unbirthday....indeed."
A very merry unbirthday to us
If there are no objections
Let it be unanimous
A very merry unbirthday to us
THE UNBIRTHDAY SONG
From the Walt Disney film "Alice In Wonderland" (1951)
(Mack David / Al Hoffman / Jerry Livingston)
Epilogue - 2011
Author’s note: This is a novelization of the serial I wrote in 2009. I have grown so much and come so far thanks to the help of many; the following is a thank you for three of those who remain now but a part of my family here.
A nice ending to a not so nice story. Thank God for imagination; clever and sweet and perhaps somewhat whimsical. If only life were as kind and wonderful. This story is important for a variety of reasons.
First, I would like to think it provides hope and encouragement. Dave and Joan (and Karen) certainly are atypical characters in the realm we like to call home here. We love fanciful stories and wonderful tales, since they provide us, not only with entertainment and fun, but give us a sense of wonder and hope that things don’t always have to be bad or discouraging. We love the stories that provide the hero(ine)s with the change they desire. We grow fascinated with the tales that provide change to the hero(ine) even when he/she was not expecting it or really wanted to change deep down inside. God bless Heather and Angharad and Saless and Erin and all the other authors whose adventures bless us with joy and magical fun.
We love the stories that show us girls who find themselves in awkward circumstances, but overcome with resourcefulness and bravery, daring to be different and be themselves even when discouraged; Thank you Susan and Lilith and Topsy and Joanne and Jill. We marvel at the adventure from a story of intrigue by Nancy or a clever turn wit by Angela or Laika
But we cringe at stories like this, even as we may be drawn to them. Because they hurt …bad…so painful and wrenching because they remind us that not all endings are happy, and not all boys get to be girls, and not all girls get to be safe. Room for all in this wonderful place we call home, there’s room; sadly I should say, for this tale.
But this story is important for one other reason. It is true, apart from the ending, which is entirely made up and fun and hopeful and romantic, which I know many of us like. But that part never happened. The rest of the story did, however, and that’s what I want to touch on only briefly.
I am "Dave" in the story, though that's not my real name. Not nearly as pretty as any of the pictures I display. A few close friends have seen my picture from when I was in middle school. I’d like to have you remember me as Andrea or ‘drea, since that is who I am here, and she’s just as much a part of me, even if she doesn’t get out nearly as often if at all as he does. But this is her story in a way, as well
When I was about six or seven years old, my parents would visit another city to show Persian Cats. A hobby of theirs as well as a small source of income when they sold a cat or provided it for breeding. Each summer for about three years, my sister Joann, who was eight or nine, and I would be left in the care of my grandmother.
She lived in an apartment not too far from where we lived. My older brother was old enough to stay at home as a teen, and my younger brother was too young to stay with my grandmother, and stayed with another relative. That left Joann and me with my grandmother, my unmarried aunt and my unmarried uncle.
The horror portrayed in the story above happened in much more unspeakable detail than I could ever inflict on my reader; my uncle molested both my sister and me. Joann was also a victim of sexual abuse later when she was in middle school, and twice tried to end her life, unsuccessfully thank God. She grew up damaged and insecure, and while she sought help, she never really recovered from the abuse until she found a therapist not only willing to listen, but able to ask the right questions and provide the right answers and support for her only after decades of shame and guilt.
I never knew how badly things were for her or myself until recently. As a result of some other treatment I have been receiving for my tremors, my memory center was jogged, as my doctor and my counselor both identified, and I started having flashbacks so vile and vivid as to cause physical pain and illness. The incident I described about the sensation of being slammed against a wall is real; my wife discovered an old scar at the back of my head that we never knew existed. Physical memories of acts I never before remembered "performing" became so invasive as to cause me to be ill. I am not being graphic but even the allusion to what happened is disgusting enough to want to end this here.
I suffer, as so many of us here have reported, from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Every symptom described in the texts and manuals have been a part of my life for decades, but it’s only now that I have something to point to in order to understand what happened.
My sister passed away in 2004, only months after she was finally able to get adequate help for herself. Conversations recently with her widowed husband confirm exactly what I described in the story. Tragic, I suppose, perhaps even unfair in some eyes, but she was free and happy at the time of her death. I miss her to this day; when I am sad and my depression overtakes me and my wife cannot find the words to accompany her wonderful hugs, I often lapse quickly into,
“I think I’ll call Joann, she might be able to help…” only to remember that she isn’t taking any phone calls these days, preferring I suppose to talk to her creator instead.
I have a great counselor, and I am in the best of hands. My neurologist practices in the best hospital for my ailment in the world, so I am well-taken care of. It has been my desire from start to finish for this story to encourage those of us who have been through this that there is hope in the midst of this vile storm. That help is available. At the bottom of the page, I have included the links to two of several helpful websites that explain both PTSD and dynamics of being a victim of sexual abuse. I hope you will take advantage of these resources, if you do have a history of either or both of these issues. And perhaps if you don’t, you might know someone dear to you who has dealt with these, and would benefit from them.
http://www.kalimunro.com/article_survivor_memories.html
http://helpguide.org/mental/post_traumatic_stress_disorder_s...
Finally, a few final words:
First and last; my story is dedicated to the memory of my sister Joann (June 15, 1949 — February 4, 2004), my closest friend and ally growing up and an irreplaceable part of my heart.
I would like to thank my friends here, of whom I have many…increasing in number and too many to name…every day as I have and continue to receive compassion and care. Thank you so very much for your support, your care, and your love.
Finally and not in the least, I also dedicate this story, Three Sisters, to three special sisters, of whom this story refers. Marta and Joan and Karen are three sisters of a sort, and are very special characters as they helped me tell my story. But the three sisters I speak of are the ones who helped me and continue to help me, along with my wife and son and family and you dear ones, to live my story.
In no particular order —
To the one girl who is a True Image of friendship, encouraging, supporting; laughing, crying and such. You are such a girl!
To the girl who is like a daughter to me and yet like a teacher she is also, kind, compassionate, caring, and not seeking anything for her own sake. A Pearl of a girl and a blessing seven times over.
And to the girl who is like a daughter as well, the heart of my heart, as if God has blessed me with another daughter I never had; like an emerald; the symbol of love, youth and rebirth. Mo stá³irán
Since the writing of this story, I have had some setbacks and some major advances. The biggest change is that my previous therapist, a simply beautiful woman, had to take a medical leave, and I have a new therapist with whom I am making great strides. But the biggest change is that my wife now at least in part knows this side of me. We still struggle with this and how it has affected our relationship, even if only in how she understands more of me. But we are still deeply in love and have enjoyed the best time of our lives together. For all of you who have followed my progress through my writing and have encouraged and supported me, I say thank you so much. To my dear online kids and nieces and sisters and cousins, I love you all the more. And I thank God for bringing me to BCTS and especially to Erin for her hospitality, her kindness, and her encouragement!
