“DETOUR” signs rarely lead me to where I want to go. Too often they act as tour guides to someplace I never knew existed. Following other cars hoping their drivers know something I do not, usually lead me to someone’s home in the middle of a neighborhood consisting of a complex arrangement of streets no easier to navigate than a maze
in a cornfield.
My plans to “make my statement” against one of my abusers followed just such a course. I started with intensity and determination. I knew exactly what I thought I needed to do. And ended up in a very different place.
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Fortunately for them, all my abusers are six feet under. They would be a lot deeper if it were up to me. But it is not. That is up to God.
Were they still alive, I would probably be the one to end up in jail instead of them. Or in a psych ward somewhere because I would most likely scream at them uncontrollably until *dissociating. Which is a very frightening thing to experience. Anyway, conjuring up a fitting plan called for a lot of research and even more creativity.
1. It all began disrespectfully enough during an **ASCA support group meeting. I referred
to priests as “sewer rats” which those present found amusing. I decided that would be a
suitable outlet for some of my anger.
2. I then put my unsophisticated drawing skills to work and started drawing pictures of
rats complete with Roman collars.
3. I depicted my earliest abuser as a rat in an appropriate setting. One of the factors
illustrated by the drawing reflects his propensity to victimize young children and his age.
At the onset, I was 7 he was 53. The “uncle” on his shirt reflects how priest abusers
identify themselves. He wrote “Uncle” with his signature on my 8th-grade class
graduation picture.
4. When I write in my journal, I let my thoughts flow without interruption. What follows is
an example. Over time, it became my epitaph for him.
5. Then, I decided I wanted to post the epitaph on his tombstone.
I was now on a mission!
Since I already knew a lot about him, I thought it would be a breeze to find the additional information I needed.
1. “Google map” provided the directions to the church/cemetery. Hmmmmmmmm, a two
hour drive each way.
a. Moral support would be very much appreciated. Who can I get to go with me?
b. My therapist suggested I let him know when I was going. He was willing to make
himself available to talk to after.
c. The senior center I belong to was planning a trip to St Michael’s. Which is a few
miles past the church/cemetery. Maybe I could meet up with them after.
d. It was winter at the time. Maybe it would be better to wait until it warmed up
some.
e. I was not confident my car would make it down and back safely. Should I use a
rental car?
2. Exactly where was the grave?
a. I was pretty sure it was in the parish's cemetery but did not want to look
suspicious. How close was it to the church, church offices, or the school?
b. If you have ever tried to find what should be “public information”, you know what
an almost impossible task that can be. Companies like “Ancestry” and “Public
Information” have somehow grabbed up ownership and you have to buy a very
expensive subscription to gain access.
c. So, I went to the parish virtually. Church bulletins were easily accessible on the
internet at the time. So, I checked there. I was appalled to find that a
scholarship had been established in his remembrance.
I also, saw how much the “little old church ladies” gushed over him and how
enamored they were by him. Again,
That reminded me of how my parish’s Sodality (aka an organized group for little old
ladies) would fill three school buses each year and make their annual pilgrimage to
St. Michael’s (his home parish and where he had retired) to visit him.
I also located a list of people who were buried in the parish cemetery, but nothing
about p. Stomach twisting and body clenched, I called the parish office. It was
recommended that I call the office of records for all the church cemeteries in the
area. My third attempt resurrected a voice. The voice said it did not know where in
the cemetery it was located, but it should be easy to find. There is a monument for
him.
a monument?
a monument?
At this point, I had decided to:
a. make the two-hour drive to the church alone.
b. I was still uncertain about the car. Rentals can break down too.
c. It is a monument, not a tombstone like normal people have. So, I decided to chip
off a piece of the horrendous structure below the ground so it would not be
noticed. Hopefully removing a potential “desecration of a grave” charge.
Though my therapist expressed his doubts and made it clear he would not bail
me out.
d. How do I avoid getting caught? I could wear all black and go in the dark of night.
Maybe use a miner’s helmet with a light attached.
e. What do I do if I am caught? I wonder if Dr. K. would reconsider?
About the epitaph...
a. Maybe it would be better if I put it in an air-tight jar.
b. I could use a bulb planter to remove a clean cut of the soil. Then it will not be
noticeable that the ground had been disturbed when I replaced the surface
layer.
c. No, maybe I should plant it deeper so no one will get curious and dig it up. I
wanted it to be found during an archaeological dig centuries from now. I
wanted people to know about at least one of the skeletons hidden in the
Catholic Church’s closet.
Now, about the jar...
a. I could use a canning jar and seal. To make sure it did not leak, I guess I should
use some waterproof glue.
b. But it could easily break under any amount of pressure. That will be sure to
happen over time. Ground settles. It is not like putting a note in a bottle and
tossing it into the sea.
c. I started checking out time capsules. They are really expensive!
d. Then not to be damaged by weather, I found out they need to be buried three
feet or more deep. I imagined renting a backhoe. Hmmmmmmmm.
It’s about now when the swelling undercurrent of reality broke
through to my trauma-addled mind.
Who in their right mind would make a four-hour drive, risking an accident, potentially being stranded on a road in the middle of nowhere, adding mileage to a car I am not certain is capable of withstanding the drive, or risk getting a ticket for going a version of “one mile over the speed limit”?
Why do I want to put myself in a position where I may need to explain myself calmly and politely to someone who surely will not share my sentiments for the wicked old man?
Is the victory of a chip of stone worth ending up in jail?
Do I really want to undergo the expense of a time capsule that will need to be buried at the impossible depth of at least three feet? And then there is the need for a backhoe…
Why do I want to do this to myself?
This process has taken about a year’s time, frustrating detective work, appalling discoveries, a lot of energy, and a lot of patience on behalf of my therapist.
But I guess this is what healing looks like. Being able to make my way from acting solely on my emotions to being realistic and considering how effective those actions would be.
This was a detour I will be forever grateful to have encountered.
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*Dissociation is a mental process where a person disconnects from their thoughts, feelings, memories, or sense of identity. Dissociative disorders include dissociative amnesia, dissociative fugue, depersonalization disorder and dissociative identity disorder.
When I have experienced dissociation, it is like being a spectator to my own actions and words. I feel “different” and have no control over what I do or say. I feel like someone else takes over my body.
**ASCA, Adult Survivors of Child Abuse, is a resource that I would highly recommend to anyone ready to do the hard work needed to identify the methods that helped them survive but have become obstacles to functioning successfully now that they have become adults. For more information, please go to ASCAsupport.org and download “The Survivor to Thriver Manual”. There, you will also find a listing of support groups. No group in your area? There are several groups that meet virtually at the end of the list.