Something I’ve been able to achieve this pregnancy has been a fair amount of peace, dealing with issues that were buried, and not having a lot of melt-downs from PTSD.
I need to back up a little bit before I continue. I wrote this quoted part about 3-4 weeks after the criminal trial against Doctor Horrible:
“The last couple of weeks following the criminal trial against Doctor Horrible (my ex-husband) have been weird. His public defender, who is no longer his lawyer, has been going to my old blog and printing off posts, emailing them off, etc. He was methodically going through my archive history. Honestly, I am not afraid of anything I write about – but I am concerned for Melody’s safety.
Part of the safety issues is that Doctor Horrible is now out and free to victimize again, and with his public defender having already used my past in the criminal trial, I have no doubt Doctor Horrible would use it to regain custody of Melody. I can’t fathom him being in her life to molest her again, or to make her feel horrible for telling the truth to begin with.
There’s been a lot going on in life since the trial. So much of my thoughts and energy have been focused on the ins and outs of the trial, what happened and why, and what comes now.
I still wonder where he is. I don’t want to know his address or anything like that. I just want to know if he’s in town, or in another one. I want to keep my daughter safe and wish there was a way to keep every little girl safe from him.
I wonder why his criminal record wasn’t revealed at the trial, of which he is still on parole for. One would think that murdering your son and sexually assaulting your daughter do have some small thing in common.
My sleep is disturbed every night with nightmares. I always, always see the jury in my dreams. I see three jurors smiling as the verdict was read – which really happened – while the other juror faces are blurred out.
Last night I dreamed that I was sitting down with the judge, and he told me he was upset about the verdict and he wanted to help Melody and I. He gave me a number and told me to tell the organization that he had sent me. Through the whole thing, I saw the three jurors in the background, smiling.
One of the jurors sells things at farmer’s market. I can barely stand to go there anymore, knowing she was one of those who smiled. I saw her last week for the first time since the trial, and my body shook with nerves. She whispered to another seller, and pointed at me as I went by. There’s more to that story, but I’ll share it later. The sight of her physically makes me sick. I sobbed through half the time we were at market.
I was discouraged and depressed until a few days ago, about everything. But really, I was allowing myself to continually wonder why the three jurors smiled… what made them think that was an appropriate time to smile, regardless of what their verdict had been. I was fearful about Doctor Horrible coming to hurt Melody again.
This last Sunday morning, I could not get my contacts in before church. I didn’t go. Melodu did go to church with Daryl. I ended up having a much-needed time with Yahweh, that resulted in me giving up the need to know why. I gave up clinging to fear that the man who did so much damage to my little girl, could come back and do more. I will go more into this later, because I think that it will be helpful for myself to go through it in writing and express everything. I just don’t have time right now, as there’s laundry and dishes to do, a meal to prepare, and some playing to do outside with Melody.”
So, flash forward to today. I took the kids to the homeschool park day, planned by an awesome momma at the end and beginning of each school year. I’ve been to 3-4 of them now.
This last fall at Not Back To School park day, I saw the farmer’s market smiling juror there for the first time, and I didn’t go over to where most of my friends were, because I kept having the same overwhelming feeling of shame wash over me that I had when I saw the woman Doctor Horrible messed around with, years before I learned about the molestation. I did nothing wrong, but I felt shame, panic, sick and scared. Why is it that the person who was cheated on can feel like that?
One of my friends came over to me while I was pushing the littles on the swings and asked how I was.
I have deliberately never told my friends who this woman is – she works at farmer’s market most years, she is now a part of the homeschooling community, and they know her. I have not told anyone she was one of the 3 smiling jurors for a few reasons, but mostly because I know I am a human and if I knew they knew and still chose to be with one of the people who smiled as they let a child molester go free, I couldn’t be okay with that. I didn’t want them to have knowledge that I would get sick over if they wanted to spend time with her.
HOW DID SHE KNOW??
I want to be brave, to ask her how she knows, who she found out from. But, somewhere deep inside I feel like I know the answer, and it angers me.
This is our story. It’s not anyone else’s to tell. In every moment, from the assaults on Melody, to the trial no one asked if we wanted, to the verdict… really, every moment in between, no one cared about our power. No one allowed us any. In fact, every person involved in the molestations (and the cover up of them), the trial, the verdict… they all took part in ensuring that we continually had no power, no say, no resolution or clarity for ourselves, or regaining of autonomy.
That wasn’t something on their hearts or minds… what do the victims want or need in this.
To think of any one of the people involved in taking our power and our voices away, taking it upon themselves to share with my circle of friends any part they played… sickens me. It’s not their story to tell, in any way, part, or for any reason.
The one friend who came to me at the park today, once I knew she knew the woman was one of the jurors, I said it through tears, “I honestly don’t know how to cope here. It took me weeks and weeks to not have nightmares about their three smiling faces. And there she sits, unmoving from my friends. I keep thinking I’m better, that I’ve forgiven her for smiling at such a thoughtless, terrible time, but then I realize it’s all fresh and I have to start over again.”
My friend said something like, “Don’t let satan rob you like that. Forgiveness for us isn’t a one time thing. It’s whenever we need to. It’s over and over, if we have to. That’s okay to see that and keep bringing it to God.”
So, rather than bury this crap with a few glasses of wine and try to go on tomorrow morning like nothing happened (the latter part being my default as an all/nothing person), I’m taking this to God and doing some emotional releasing. I’m working on forgiving, 70 times 7, even if no one gets why I feel the need to.