My daughter texted my husband to let him know that the woman who fostered me in the children’s home died on the 17th. She sent along a link to the funeral home’s memorial page, where I find an unintentionally ironic final validation of the status of myself and other children once more set forth:
“…plus many foster children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.”
Because of course they never meant it when they said I as going to be a part of their family. Because of course they won’t actually include me anymore. Because of course they will never accept and will keep the silence about David’s sexual abuses and the violence and abusiveness of the older kids, the visiting dentist, doctors, and psychiatrist; all the things they can pretend never happened.
I departed in 1977 and conveniently, they were gone within a year because she finally got a chance to adopt her sister’s child and so, didn’t need us anymore. I should never have looked back. But I did my grieving when this woman cut me out of her life in 2016. 2015? I can’t recall exactly. It was the visit I thought she was making to spend time with me, but instead, I was to drive her back and forth to Yelm so she could spend time with her “real family”, among the other things I was informed of as I silently drove her back to pack and then to the airport to disappear from my life forever.
I knew she was to pass any time. She’d had heart and other problems for years. It’s funny, really. I always thought I was going to help her in her old age. But she cut me out before I could. As a direct result of someone else informing her about all the abuse and, apparently, a decision that I was to be disbelieved.
I was far from the only girl child David molested. I should never have kept my silence. Thank you for that lesson.
Thank you for the illusion of you when I was younger and couldn’t tell the difference. I’m glad I had the facade of you until you just couldn’t manage it anymore. I’m glad I had the opportunity to experience even a simulation of what I’ve missed my entire life.
But I am also glad the charade is over; that I no longer have to engage in the farce.
The blunt erasure of all that so many of us thought we had and the clumsy glossing over of “…plus many foster children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.”
But you mistake me. That pain no longer lives here. I know my place, the place of no place, and in it, I remain serene. I understand your mask of lies and to good degree, why you maintained it. I also know this recanting is an unintentional cruelty wrapped in a farewell.
All things pass. So too, this.
All is well that ends peacefully, wouldn’t you say?