“There would be no passion in this world if we never had to fight for what we love.”
-Susie Switzer
Early one morning my teenage daughter and I sat out on our balcony that overlooked the city and watched the morning sun rise across the metropolis. My husband and teenage son were still asleep; so it was just the two of us. We watched street vendors pushing their food carts down the road and enjoyed the aromas that wafted up to us. The sidewalk was being swept by an old lady with a broom made from twigs and a stick for a handle. Cars went by as the working people headed into the rush hour traffic. You could hear car horns blowing from impatient motorists.
Most people would consider it a typical morning in a big city; the same routine over and over again. But, to me there it was nothing typical or mundane about it. Fortunately or unfortunately, however you want to look at it; I have had some “unique experiences” that has given me a heightened awareness to never take anything for granted and treat each day expecting the unknown.
My daughter and I were talking about nothing in particular; the weather, people passing by, etc. everything was good. Suddenly my daughter’s attitude changed; she had a grave look on her face and I asked her what was wrong. She then told me that she had a bad dream about “them” last night that was bothering her. “Them” is how we all refer to my ex-husband (my children’s biological father) and in-laws. She told me in her dream they had taken her and her brother from us and hid them. There were tears in her eyes as she continued; she could hear my voice outside where they were locked up and was pounding on the walls and screaming, but I didn’t hear her.
I consoled her and told her that it was normal to still have dreams about “them” and they will fade more and more with time. As I thought about her dream something bothered me, I felt like she wanted to tell me something about “them”. I have had a feeling for the past couple of months that she has been keeping a secret from me for a while. I decided that now was the time to ask her the question I really didn’t want to know the answer to; but I had no other choice.
A few years ago I had asked her the same question and I waited with dread in my heart of what her answer would be. I knew that I couldn’t have been wrong all those years; I would have felt it. But still I asked the question; her reply was “No”. I made her swear on my life, her brothers, her dads and all that was dear to her. She swore and I knew that she would not lie if she swore on the lives of her loved ones.
But, something still didn’t feel right about her answer.
As we talked about the past, I summoned up the courage to ask her again. I needed to know that what we had done was the right thing to protect our family. Even though I knew it was, there was still that question that I needed closure to.
Sometimes we all want to forget about something in our past and as time goes on hopefully you can cope with it and push back into the recesses of your mind. I did not want to bring up anything painful from the past with my daughter, but she had been saying things to me that didn’t make sense. Finally, they did make sense; because at one time I had I had said the same things.
But she swore! She would never take a chance with swearing on lives if it was not true. It was time to ask once more.
“Do you remember when I asked you if Michael (her biological father) had ever touched you inappropriately? “ I asked her in a very calm monotone voice.
She nodded “yes”.
“You swore, so you were telling me the truth right?” I was trembling at this point.
She shook her head “yes” again.
I started to shake and was screaming silently to my self “NO! NO! NO!” This can’t be right! How did I not see or feel what had happened. I had radar for that kind of thing, how did I not pick it up!
“If he didn’t touch you……” I paused trying to keep the bile down that was rising in my throat “It was her?” I finally spat it out incredulously.
She sat there and looked at me with pain in her eyes, but did not answer.
“It was her?” I whispered.
“I don’t want to hurt you mom” she finally spoke with tears falling down her cheek.
“I need to know that everything that dad and I have done to keep this family from being torn apart and to keep you and your brother safe was the right thing to do!” I yelled at her. “Did ‘Kevin’ (her paternal grandmother; yes, she is a woman) ever touch you inappropriately?!”
“Yes” She whimpered, then quickly said “but don’t tell dad (her adopted father) it will be too much for him to handle” she begged.
I grabbed her and pulled her onto my lap and held her tight as she told me what her grandmother had done to her. It was a horrible secret to keep to herself and I could tell that she was relieved to finally get it out. I asked her if Kevin had touched her brother (who is 16 months younger than her) and she swore that to her knowledge he wasn’t.
She said the reason that she didn’t tell, was not because nobody would believe her, it was that she was afraid dad and I would have gone insane and killed Kevin. Then dad or I would have gone to jail and she didn’t want to lose us. She remembered when she lost me for about 3 months and said she couldn’t take it again. Unfortunately, she was correct; I would have killed Kevin; if my husband didn’t get to her first.
At first the guilt was overwhelming; I had turned white as a sheet and was trembling so violently that my vision was blurring. I told her over and over again that “mommy is so sorry” and “I will never let anyone hurt you like that again”.
It is inconceivable how a grandmother could be that sick and twisted to sexually abuse her own granddaughter. A grandmother would be the last person you would suspect of being a child molester and if you told someone they couldn’t believe it was true.
Any iota of doubt that either my husband or myself may have had has been completely obliterated by what our daughter had finally revealed about her grandmother. We had made the right decision.
For the first time since making the decision to leave our home, country and life behind there was no doubt not even a tiny minuscule of hesitation that it was one thousand percent the right thing to do.
All I can say right now is that that bitch (my children’s own paternal grandmother) got lucky I left before I found out what she did to my children, because what I would have done to her would have probably put me on death row.
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