A “rules” reminder
Just a reminder. As I noted at the beginning of this memoir series, I will not speak about my siblings. Only my parents, myself, and Ed.
The drumming of the minutes
The doctor was late for the appointment. Our meeting was being held after regular hours, so the office was locked. We stood crowded into a side waiting room, Ed and I at one end, my family across from us.
My father stood silent and clutching his bible. Ed remembers that Dad’s hands were shaking. I don’t. I was eight months pregnant and in full “battle mode,” totally focused on what I was about to do. There was no turning back now. Lives beyond my own depended on this.
Why my father actually came to this appointment, I am not sure. He had to know what I was about to do. But maybe it was still a control thing. Even if his secret was about to be ripped open, maybe he figured he could control the fallout? I don’t know. And, I don’t care.
The second hand on the wall clock was as loud as a drum, and the minutes ticked by like hours. But finally, a car raced into the parking lot. The doctor burst through the back door, offering rushed greetings and apologies for being late.
The reveal
The doctor had already arranged chairs in a side area of his office. We sat in a circle, with the doctor just slightly behind Ed and me. From there, the doctor could observe and manage the conversation if needed.
I don’t remember my exact words, only that I got right to the point, “This is about incest. About Dad sexually abusing me all through my life.”
The admission that shocked me
The only reaction was from my mother. And Ed. His was exasperation at the lack of outrage. Or of anything useful from my father. My mother was busy denying knowing anything about it as she whipped her head from me to my father. Then she started crying.
I was emphatic that he had to be held accountable. That our kids were at risk. Since he’d never done any therapy, he was not safe, and that was not acceptable.
My father, weirdly, was very calm. He almost seemed “relieved,” and he didn’t deny anything. Just kept gripping his bible, which was strategically placed right over his groin.
He even actually admitted to getting great “joy” from giving me a bath as a infant. The doctor pressed him to define “joy,” by which he really meant, “getting turned on.”
That admission he offered freely. We had not even been talking about baths when he came out with that. And for a moment or two, it actually shocked me into silence. Even I wasn’t expecting that. My earliest memory of abuse was when I was with him in the car as a three-year-old. So in that moment, I just sat there and tried to take in that he had ALWAYS sexually abused me. Right from the beginning. So I was in shock. In fact, it has taken me years to fully absorb that one.
But as an aside, every therapist I’ve worked with over the years has affirmed the reality that I was NEVER SAFE. And my trauma specialist now has pointed to some of my trauma responses as being body memories of things done “very, very early in life,” during a preverbal time period…i.e., infancy.
In any event, as to the rest of our discussion that night, it wasn’t a long meeting. My mother cried through the rest of it. I demanded, for the second time in 4 years, that Dad get help. The doctor agreed and provided some resources to my father. He agreed to do this.
The warrior
Totally drained, Ed and I left.
I wasn’t sure what would happen next…except for two things: Delivering my child, and…being a warrior for our kids for however long I would need to be. This was no longer just about me.
P.S.
I need to note a few things here. When I look back at all of this, the question comes up — shouldn’t there have been some kind of followup? Legal actions?
I can only assume a few things. First, for the things done to me, I believe the statute of limitations had long since run out. Why there is even a statute of limitations to press charges in situations of child abuse, I don’t know. That is ridiculous. The perpetrator gets to be free after a certain period of time. The victim deals with the wreckage for life. It is just wrong. But that is how it was.
And that is the second thing. In 1988, things were very different. Laws, followup, whose responsibility things were…any of that was much different than how it would be now. Even my own awareness of what needed to happen was very limited. I was still dealing with the effects of my own trauma. So I was doing the best I could
And lastly, I expect, since there was no new crime, there was no legal recourse that could happen…
But it all seems so “flat” a response for almost three decades of abuse to me.
So…the battle would continue…
Soul Mosaic 
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