I was told in a recent email that I need to quit living and dwelling on the past!
Something about giving it up to Jesus and all would be gone away!
I was a wee tyke when Aunt Peg said the words to me…”here comes your sister”. We we’re sitting on the stoop at my grandparents house in Pottstown (PA) waiting for JoEileen.
The thing that imprinted me the most was the hearse that carried her casket-it was a Coupe Le flora (and I may have the spelling incorrect). A hearse designed to carry the casket in the open air-draped with the flowers.
They drove by very slowly-you know I can see it in my minds eye exactly. I must have been no older than 7. I have never gotten the sight of that hearse out of my head.
I recollect so much from that time. It is always vivid-I hope always to know it in my memory. I sit at my desk and my sister smiles at me from a photograph-my grandmother Wickie is there too. I love them-and I guess you could say that I dwell on them too. They have been dead for a long long time.
Forty years ago today I was made to rise earlier than usual. There were five others-we were all marched around various buildings around barracks D signing papers and the last building was a warehouse of civilian clothes-all in piles. Piles of pants-and piles of shirts. The only thing we kept were the shoes we wore. We dropped our blue jean uniforms into the other piles and selected civilian clothes from the civilian piles and changed.
It was just daylight when we were marched to the entrance of the base and handed our discharges and final pay. I remember taking my shoes off and leaving them-walking off in stocking feet. I can nearly clearly remember in my minds eye that moment 40 years ago. On the opposite corner was a place that hooked sailors in with offers of credit and the best of civilian clothes-and on the corner across from that was a place that sold shoes-I finished my civilian dress with a pair. Beatle boots-I can never forget them,the most useless shoe I ever wore.
I can look out the bedroom window-just this very moment-at 4604 Bel Pre Road. Vividly I can see my brothers out on the lawn playing. Carl was not even six-just barely. I see the green Chrysler New Yorker and the guy driving it-his black go-tee beard on his face and yet he was turned looking behind his car through the window at a house for sale. He and his wife never saw Carl run out in front of the car. Only me-only our brother Joey-and only the little girl with Down syndrome from across the street.
I remember it vividly-the memory will never go away…the red jacket my mother had his small body dressed in-or how the people at funeral home treated us with such kindness. I’ll never forget following behind the hearse on the long drive to Pottstown. I will never forget that.
The remarkable date of 40 years is easy to keep track of. 14,600 days ago.
The violence of the dreams that are continual parts of my life since barracks D help me keep track.
The moment I wake in the morning time-I think of the place and the memory of it seems to always be waiting for me…somewhere. I rise up and the trip to the toilet is my next reminder-and then the shower my next…40 years,the memory cannot evade me. The damage is too intense-just as the dreams and just as the shadow of barracks D the physical damage is a daily reminder too. Don’t dwell on it, you say? As the toilet paper disappears up my ass….don’t dwell on it? As it takes extra care to wash when finally in the shower…don’t dwell on it? You explain how not too!
Jesus Christ did not die for nothing-He died for my sins,so I am taught to know. But , being raped was not my sin. Spending nearly two months in the presence of my attackers-being abused all that time…never changed,and never ended. And never has been my sin-only my torment.
a males life after rape 