I was caught off guard by how many went to Dallas when my father passed on...from what I can gather, and it may be a false reading, but 9 siblings and my mother gathered at his death.
I know there were various reasons for making the pilgrimage to see his body...as many as there are of individual experiences each hold of him, but yet it still surprised me. It broke the hope I had tucked neatly away...in a place called "For Now".
Many years ago, I put aside our vast differences as being temporary....that at some point we would find a spot to stand on. I left them on a shelf called "For Now".
What they can't feel is how I feel as they gathered in a collective mourning about this man.
They can't know how in keeping the father close and near in their memories that it makes the distance between us grow.
The more they speak of him in fatherly tones, the less I am believed.
The credibility of a victim gets weakened each time.
What I felt today or really late in the night was the crushing blow of the children gathering around the father...how until the end their loyalty was given.
It is their rights, it is their choices, it is what brought them peace and closure....and in doing so closed me out again.
I know it is not their intention, nor is it mine to continually be at odds, but they see a father and I see an abuser...and our actions are clearly saying so.
I am not here to take away one memory or caring sentiment they carry about him, but I am here to tell them how it feels as a child/adult who has suffered abuse by his hands.
Each time they call him dad, I am not believed...the abuse becomes the lie...and I a liar.
And when will they hold him accountable for his actions?
When he is seen as an innocent dad, I am seen as one crazy cold hearted bitch...who rattles on and on about the affects of abuse.
It continues to shock and awe me...as it crushes all hope. He will become an even bigger kinder man now that he is gone. Wow. And I, one who is screaming of his abuse...will get labeled crazy and insane. Wow and Wow again.
I woke in the night with coughs that turned into gags...it felt like my insides were revolting. It was then, the impact of their gathering collided inside of me. It was like the final separation...all hope was heaved out.
This is what drives the abused insane....is the normal treatment of the abusers....how he continuall is not treated as an abuser...and how each time they do, it is another slap of disbelief.
You truly cannot believe he is dad and an abuser....you only get to pick one.
Nor can you see me as a sister and a crazy one....you only can see one.
I am the crazy one and he they hold with kind memories.
Really. He that was on trial for sexual abuse is held in kind memories. And I, who did what again???? I who echoed the voice of the little girl who stood and told the world who he was...am crazy???
I blows my mind....I have a problem and he is a dad.
