A sad update on a story we first brought to you here.
She was sitting in the car with me. We were chatting. She was snacking. We were waiting for the call. The call to go into the courthouse and talk to the judge about her horrific experience. The next moment I saw her sitting, sobbing on the sidewalk with her mother. Her mother trying to explain why she had to go and live with her father. The man who molested her.
There can be no form of betrayal than being molested by your father. She was so brave. In therapy she has disclosed plenty. Not surprisingly she has been diagnosed with PTSD.
The judge didn’t want to hear from her therapist who was there in court and ready to testify. The judge didn’t want to hear. Mom lost custody because she irritated the judge.
When Beth got to the courthouse there was no pre hearing. All hands were on deck to take Grace and place her with her father or Beth was going to jail. Beth had ten minutes to get Grace out of my car, sat down with her on the sidewalk, and explain that she was going to have to go with him.
It’s something no parent should ever witness. The look on my baby girl’s face as she explained to Grace that she was going to live with that monster…
As bad as that was the look in Grace’s eyes… Our carefree, perpetually hopeful, precious angel was shattered… That look will be burned in our minds forever. She was still holding her sticky granola bar. She shook her head and in complete desperation said, “No, no, no I can’t.” She didn’t scream and wail. She just gave up.
And then she was gone…
There are things I reach for to move or put away, then stop. They are remnants of her last visit here. I hear her laughter, humming, constant chatter, and …”I love you Grandma.” We were her safe place. “He can’t find me here, right Grandma?”
We love her. Constantly, we think of her fear, her suffering. We told her we would protect her. Will she ever trust anyone ever again? I wonder what she thinks about in the darkness of the night and hear her sobbing herself to sleep. My emotions can’t do this, but we HAVE to do this! Drawings on the frig remind me of her carefree spirit and happier times. We live to go back there and undo the blackness in her life.
Domestic violence claimed my hearing about 30 years ago. My former husband walked away shortly after that and has had no contact with my four children and I since. My current husband and I are in our 21st year of marriage, and we have leaned into the wind and not accepted a generational lie that abuse must be endured. You can read more about Grace here.
Authors express their own opinions which do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Stop Abuse Campaign.