Reflections

It is common knowledge that the collective events of our past help shape who we are. Some of these events are forgotten, others burned into our memories forever.

I'll never forget the day I told my parents I knew about the abuse.

I had recollection for a long time before I told them. I dreaded the conversation because I feared the reaction. I didn't really want to have these memories, I didn't want this to have happened to me. It was much easier for me to not acknowledge the past.

I had sought counseling a few times. When the memories first surfaced went to a catholic counseling service. They didn't charge very much and had to keep it confidential even though I still lived at home with my parents.

After I started university I stopped going to see the nun, but before long found college life overwhelming and began to see the free counselor on campus. I had a habit of seeing her for a few weeks and then stopping only to start again when another catastrophe happened. The last time I saw her I had been binge drinking the night before at a party and woke up next to one of my friends with my underpants around my ankles.

Needless to say I was in a bit of a state. People were gossiping. He told me that yes we did sleep together, but I didn't remember any of it.

This wasn't the first alcohol black out I had experienced. This counselor must have weighed what to say to help me very carefully in her mind. In the end she told me that she didn't feel she could help me and that she recommended I seek professional help.

I left her office feeling worse than when I had arrived. Was she calling me crazy? Why did she say she couldn't help me?

Because I couldn't bear the burden of my abuse any longer and thought that if I opened up to my parents they may assist me in getting this "professional help" that the counselor was so certain that I needed, I decided to do it.

I spoke to my mother first and told her what the counselor had said. I told her I had been having a lot of emotional problems due to memories I had of something bad that happened to me when I was a child. She immediately took a defensive stance. Instead of being caring and supportive she began insisting that nothing bad could have happened to me because she wouldn't have allowed it.

I let the conversation drop there because I knew it wasn't going to be easy to tell her the truth.

Then in the car riding with my mom and dad she decided to bring the conversation up again. I said pretty much the same thing again for my dad's benefit and his response was a bit different. This time I was asked who did this "bad thing" to me and I said it was my dad's father. For a moment there was silence and then he said to me, "We thought that may have happened."


This was just as we were entering our drive way and my mother began raising her voice to my father telling him that they did not know anything had happened, that he was lying. She told him to go inside and I was left there alone with her.

There was nothing she could do now though. The truth had been spoken.

She kept telling me how they never left me alone with him, although there are a few scattered memories from my childhood when I distinctly remember being left to stay overnight in the care of my grandparents and then not being picked up until I screamed and cried. Screaming and crying was the only way to get them to call my mom and dad. You see I believe my grandmother was in complete denial about what my grandfather did to us when she was not looking.

After that day I began harboring an anger at my mother for the way she reacted. She told me she would get me help if I wanted it, but then never spoke about it again. She acted like I was accusing her of wrongdoing. I never blamed my parents for what happened until that day. She made me aware of their role as my protectors and how they failed me. I later discovered that my father himself had also experienced what I had at the hands of his dad. The fact that this man was able to know me at all completely baffles me.

Luckily today I've come a long way in the forgiveness area. I don't hold my parents responsible for their mistakes. I know they did the best they could, even though it wasn't always the best thing to do.