Thank you Jason, oh, thank you. My father raped my sister when she was 15. I found out 11 years later, at 26. I was overseas, otherwise I would have tried to kill him. I wrote a long letter of hate and truth to him, pages and pages of it — of everything he had ever done to me, my siblings, my mother. It was a thick envelope, one of the European light-blue, lightweight airmail ones. I addressed it, stuck a stamp on it ….. and never sent it. One day I found it and tore it up and threw it away — I was concerned about the impact the letter could have on my mother, our ‘family’. The writing exercise was cathartic and yet I harbour incredible grief and anger about what my father, my blood (and therefore a part of me, or I a part of him) has done to my sister, to our family.
As I write this, prompted into action by your words (thank you), I sit blubbering away with grief. And then my grief gives way to anger.
As a larger family, we recently scattered his ashes on a beautiful beach, each of us, in turn, had the chance to hold the box and say what we wished to bid him farewell. I cursed him and told my sister so when I handed the box to her. I wonder what she sent into the wind.
Thank you Jason. Sharing and writing does help. To all of you in the world who have had similar experiences, please do write, share. That can only make this world a safer place.