Wednesday, March 11, 2015

A Peek into the Nearer Present

As I tell this story...

a glimpse of spring appears, and touches of ruby-tipped cocoons emerge upon newly hatched ruddy leaves. Petals wrapped safe in blankets of green test the slightest glow of the sun and begin their dance of unfolding. Each fragile layer emerges, one after the other, until the rose opens radiant. 

And so it is as I reveal my story. The beginning... the only place to ever start any telling. 

Yet, I'm reminded, today is decades beyond, and I must interrupt the flow of telling to allow you a glimpse of the here and now. 

Because a few have expressed concern that I haven't healed, that only now the wounds of childhood abuse were opening, I must, for this post, defer to nearer present years, to tell a story of restoration. 


It's true. She didn't believe me the first time I told her about the touching. And it's true, she dismissed my experience as a figment of my imagination. She did nothing to protect me. Instead, she turned away from her little girl (from me), refusing to hear the ugly truth of her daughter's pain. 

Until many years later. 

I was 29 years old, married, with three children of my own. My oldest, a daughter, had turned eight. Her smile, her infectious giggles... her precious innocence. How could anyone be so cruel as to take that away? My little girl's age triggered the raggedy girl inside of me. 

This confrontation happened months into my healing journey...

"Mom, I have share something with you. You didn't believe me the first time, and you may choose to not believe me again. The choice is yours. But I need to tell you now because I'm doing the work of healing in my life. I've already confronted Grandpa, and he is aware that I am telling you." The words spilled out without pause. Stopping their flow, however brief, could have halted the momentum. She had to know. And I had to tell...

...again. Will she believe me this time? 

"I remember. I'm so sorry. I remember." Her voice raspy through tears. 

She remembers.

Her words, though far too late to change the damage already inflicted through six years of sexual abuse, ushered in an emotional balm of sorts. 

She believes me...

And our relationship healed in time, as I did. Our bond was unbreakable until cancer took her from Earth into Eternity. 

Mom... Do you promise you'll be there when it's my turn? 

I promise. 

She promised. 

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