Today, I drove out to the lake to see where my father is living. The house is… lacking but sufficient. It’s barely a step up from where we came from. But, it’s temporary and it’s by the lake. While I was there I was able to do some yoga by the lake which was nice.
But then, while talking to my father the conversation took a turn I couldn’t emotionally handle. Or, at least, it felt that way in the moment. He started talking about my aunt and the man she had been married to, the man who sexually abused my sister, my cousins, me. But, aside from small glimpses of memories I’m free from that burden. I don’t remember much. So, when my dad asked if the uncle abused me too, I said honestly, “I don’t remember much from my childhood.” But, the real truth, my first concrete memory is of my cousin, the uncle’s son, molesting me under the guise of playing Dr. I know where he learned that.
Can I begrudge him for his actions? Can I blame him for my being thrown almost every Easter? Can I be mad at him for reminders like today that pop up just before the Holiday, when I’ve got no one? I feel like that’s unfair. I want to place blame but maybe that is self-serving. Maybe it doesn’t serve any purpose. Maybe we were both victims. Abandoned by God. Taught adult lessons as children.
I want to love Easter. But when a day becomes associated with such violation, it becomes soiled. Soiled by a dirt that doesn’t enrich or nourish. Just filth. Nothing can grow there. The day has become a reflection of my barren, wasteland of a body. Where do I go from here?
I want to focus on the beautiful day, the beautiful lake, the beautiful yoga. But I’m shook. I’m unhinged, unnerved. I’m thrown back to Easter 20+ years ago. I want to be here, be present, but I’m not.