The Circle Continues
The summer my daughter turned two marked the turning point in my marriage, and with my family. It was becoming very clear to me my marriage was over. That summer I had taken a job working in the Players booth for ten days during the Calgary Stampede for each afternoon until closing.
It was during this week I met a woman working the early shift. Her husband worked for Players and although I did not know her, we spent a few minutes chatting each day before she went on her way.
Also an abuse victim she recognized the symptoms in my body language and manner. I was surprised when she began to tell me about her issues which were directly related to the abuse she suffered as a young girl. She did not need to hear my story, she just knew I had to get some help and strongly recommended a counsellor who was assisting her. It was a bit unsettling to speak with someone who read me so well, and be so strong in her recommendation. I did think about what she told me and by the next day I made the decision to call the therapist to at least hear what she had to say.
Even while I was sitting in the outer room waiting for my appointment I was scared enough about facing this problem with someone else I almost changed my mind and left before she came out to meet me. I was so nervous I had trouble relating to her the stories of my teenage years with my sisters husband. It would be many more years before I would remember some of what happened to me as a young child of two. I thought these recent experiences were the worst of it. How very wrong I was.
I was thirteen* when my sisters husband first tried to rape me. I had been babysitting and he was driving me home at the end of the night. I started to get worried because he didn’t take the usual route, and probably because of what happened to me in my early childhood, my instincts told me this was a serious problem, not just a simple case of missing the turn. He pulled into an alley down the street from my house and before I could react he leaned over and locked the door, holding my arms down and forcing his weight on me so I couldn’t get away. He started to kiss me and feel me up. I struggled and pushed him off, yelling at him to stop and to my surprise, he did. It was as if he came to his senses at the sound of my angry and scared voice and he backed off.
He began to apologize and asked me to please not say anything to anyone and he would never do it again. I felt I had to believe him, and although I was not comfortable with what had just taken place I agreed to remain quiet if it didn’t happen again. He took me the rest of the way home and I got out of the car and went inside, shaking from the experience. I lay awake for a long time wondering why this happened, wondering why he would do this to me. I was now frightened because of this new uncertainty.
Not only was I scared of him trying it again, I was scared to tell anyone in case they blamed me for what had happened. Raised a Catholic, my adoptive parents Helen and Duncan were quite religious, I knew it would be awful for all concerned for me to say anything. I still had to babysit for them because I had no reason to say no. He kept his promise and did not try anything for a long time, so I began to believe it would never happen again.
During the next year their family moved to a different neighbourhood. Both Ellen and Denis were working and their young boys were in daycare. I was now fifteen. Near the end of the school year my sister made me a proposal. She thought she would be doing me a favour because I did not get along with my mother, we often fought. Ellen thought I could move into their house for the summer, babysit the boys while they were at work, and that would help us both. Paying me would still be less than the cost of daycare, and they would not have to be burdened with getting the boys out of the house each day. Because I thought my brother-in-law would continue to behave himself, that he would clearly not be stupid enough to try something under his own roof, I agreed.
Everything started out well although the boys were a bit of a challenge. But having spent a great deal of time with them previously I knew I could handle them on a daily basis. I also made desserts and did some of the cooking for supper as well as preparing meals for the boys. Everything was going well until one night after I had gone to my basement bedroom. I heard my brother-in-law coming down the stairs to the bathroom. I was concerned right away because I saw no reason for him to be coming down to the basement to use the washroom.
He came into my room and climbed onto my bed. At first I tried to just pretend I was asleep, hoping he would give up and go away, but he was persistent. I could smell the beer and tobacco on his breath as he touched me and started to kiss my neck. He was telling me he loved me and he wanted me. I was panicking inside but stayed dead still, afraid to move. I kept thinking how can he be here and my sister does not know. Why isn’t she coming down to rescue me?
I wonder today if she did in fact know but didn’t come down because this was something she wanted to happen—she was my main handler after all, a point I did not grasp at that time.
Finally I moved and pushed him to get off me, told him he had to stop. I wanted to yell, but at the same time I was terrified about what would happen if my sister caught him in my bed. He tried a few more times, thinking I would relent, but finally he got up and went back to the bathroom. When he returned it was to apologize.
He sat on the floor by my bed offering me a cigarette. We sat there talking while we smoked. How strange that was. But I was not angry with him in those moments. He seemed so hurt and lonely and he told me my sister would not have him. I was confused that he felt I could be a substitute for his wife, but I listened and I forgave him.
Each subsequent time it happened we went through this same process over and over. I thought I had been very good at pushing the whole issue aside and not letting it affect me, but it was taking its toll and that fall I began to have problems at school. I finally cracked after the next summer of babysitting for them.
Now sixteen, I had met some skiing friends and sometimes hung out with them, sort of dating one of the boys. He asked me to his school dance and I got sick from drinking and threw up in the gym. This was embarrassing for both of us and I did not see him again. This reoccurred at our school dance though I now managed to get sick in the bathroom rather than on the gym floor. Still not a pleasant situation!
On the third occasion I went out with my long time friends to a community dance. I had known these girls since Grade Eight and we did everything together. My sister had recommended we drink vodka because there was no smell and no taste. Was she setting me up? My friends brother got us the alcohol and we drank it outside on the way to the dance, standing in a circle taking sips in turn. I could not drink much, so I took very small amounts each time. I would guess I had only swallowed about one ounce, but as it turned out I was allergic to vodka and had a severe reaction from even that small amount.
Having left the dance my friend Robin came looking for me once she noticed I was missing. She found me passed out in an open field near the hall. She got some of our friends to get me into the car and rushed me to the hospital, Robin making efforts to induce vomiting. I was shortly to discover when I arrived at the hospital my lips were blue and quite close to death. The hospital staff proceeded to pump my stomach. I was scared when they tried to put tubing down my nose into my stomach, taking four of them to hold me down. I was kept in the hospital for the weekend so they could monitor my condition and make sure there were no further complications. It was a humiliating and embarrassing time. Facing first my parents and then my classmates at school the following Monday was very hard.
To make matters worse, my parents spoke to my friends who had just saved my life, telling them to never see me again. In truth I do not know exactly what was said to them. However, they would not talk to me and no one ever told me, but its effect was obvious as they successfully avoided running into me for the rest of the school year.** I was seventeen, humiliated and friendless, adding insult to injury in my graduating year.
One day later Helen was angry with me for something I had done, and in that instant in my frustration I blurted out that Denis had been molesting me. I told her that maybe my recent behaviour was because of what my brother-in-law had been doing to me for the past several years. I was a mess and consumed by major anxiety. I was hoping she would hold me and tell me that now she understood and it would be ok.
But rather than provide comfort she accused me of leading him on, that it was my fault for attracting his interest in me. I stood there in shock as she finally left my room, slamming the door behind her. I collapsed on my bed wondering what was wrong with me that I was so hated and misunderstood. I would have been happy to die right then because I could not see any hope. Helen and Duncan saw fit to confront me regarding my irregular behaviour, an altogether unpleasant exchange when Helen accused of me of being a whore. Insulted, my virginity intact, I slapped her face.
It was about a month later when my sister introduced me to my future husband, Darrell. At the time he had just become a lodger at her in-laws, arriving in Calgary from Stettler for work and renting their basement suite. He was a few years older and I did not understand why he would be interested in me, but they made the arrangements and he began taking me out. I was naive and foolish enough to believe he liked me and allowed myself to really like him, and the grown up way he treated me. It was a perfect setup, really.In my heart I knew he wasn’t serious about me, fooling around on me after the first year, but he was all I had to hang onto at that time and he took me away from my family and all that they represented. He was my escape, but in truth he did not treat me any better than my family.
Thirteen years later, after my first therapy session I learned I did in fact have a right to stand up for myself. In order for me to heal from Darrell’s abuse (mostly verbal and psychological) as well as from my teen years, my counsellor felt it would be best if my husband participated in the sessions so he could be of help as I went through this difficult time. When I told him this, he laughed at me and said, “I’m not the one with the problem, you are.”
Realizing he was not going to help me, I asked him to move out for awhile until I could sort out what I was going through and make some decisions about the direction I needed to go. To my surprise he agreed and left the next day to stay with a friend. I imagine he thought this would not be for very long, that I would come to my senses in a few days and ask him to come back. But of course it was not that simple. When he realized I was not going to have him back so easily he withdrew all the money from our joint bank account, and left me with no money to buy food or pay bills. But I did not give in to this control attempt and instead began to look for work. Once I found a job I chose a daycare for the children, allowing myself to believe everything would work out and I would be able to handle this change. I was finally taking charge of my life, accepting my feelings and despite my fear I was stepping towards my future.
One afternoon I asked my adoptive parents to look after the children while I went to therapy. When I dropped them off Helen said to me, “You know you don’t have to pay someone for help. You just need to talk to your father, he can help you deal with any of these issues you’re having. Don’t waste your money on someone else.” Of course she was right – what was I thinking?!! These same people accused me of being the problem when I told them of the many attempted rapes by Denis. I’m sure they would be happy if I would just understand I deserved to be beaten emotionally. Everything would be fine! I just smiled and said thank you for the offer and continued on my way.
The man who hired me for the first job I’d had since I was 21 became interested in me romantically and we began dating. Aware of my tension Patrick had offered to babysit while I went to my therapy sessions but I would not allow him to meet the children until I was sure we had a chance of making it. I did not want to put them through that kind of stress with all that was happening. On the date in question I instead asked the children’s father to babysit so he could spend some time with them and I would not have to pay a babysitter, a win win. When I came home from therapy that evening Darrell made fun of me, ridiculing me for participating in the group, showing a clear lack of empathy. I was offended. This was not the good solution I had hoped. In November that year my worst nightmare unraveled.
In that one fateful night my daughter underwent a complete change of personality. Instead of the joyful, bubbly little girl we all knew and loved she lay in her bed the next morning tugging on her lower lip, not wanting to get up. She was nervous and was biting her nails. As the days progressed the nightmares began, with her waking me up yelling, No! NO! She was still sleeping and I had to gently rouse her thinking she just needed to go pee. But this became a nightly ritual and she was now biting her toenails. In the blink of an eye a beautiful light had been greatly diminished.
She was afraid to take her nightly bath, something she previously loved and looked forward to, she was not her happy, joyful self. I took her to my doctor because she had a rather nasty rash on her vagina and I was wanting to know what caused it, thinking it was an allergy. He asked me if anyone had touched her inappropriately. I was shocked, my mind scrambling to understand what he was asking. He felt it was an infection caused by inappropriate conduct from a male. Memories of my past were closing in on me and the thoughts of my abusive husband brought him to the top of the list of suspects, especially since this all started after he last babysat. How incredible and unbelievable this all seemed to be.
Unable to find a babysitter for my next group session, my last option was to ask Patrick to babysit for those few hours on Thursday night. I wanted to talk to the ladies about what had transpired when it was my turn to share. I told them what had been happening, what the doctor had said, and asked for their guidance and help. They all agreed I had to take immediate steps by calling Social Services to have them complete an assessment of Rheann.
I called Social Services the next day and made an appointment for the following week. The social worker arrived the next Tuesday with a police officer, along with the anatomically correct dolls for my daughter to describe exactly what had taken place. I had asked Patrick to be there for support and as a second set of ears. Joined by the police officer we sat in the kitchen while the social worker spent time with Rheann. She didn’t want anyone to influence what my daughter told her. I had to tear myself from her grasp, leaving the room crying. It was like ripping off a piece of myself to leave her in this moment.
The officer was there to witness and record the details in his report. Patrick was also questioned, but the officer was satisfied he had nothing to do with the violation as he had never before been in the house prior to babysitting on the 17th. It was afterwards confirmed in that meeting they had every reason to believe Rheann had been sexually molested based on her re-enactment of the events, and the experienced opinion of the social worker. They asked if me if I wanted to pursue the case as they were of the opinion wrong had been done.
She was so young and my heart was breaking at the thought of what she had already experienced in her life. My mind was whirling trying to understand what would make anyone do this to a child of her age, let alone her father. He and my adoptive father, Duncan, were at the top of their suspect list because Rheann had identified them both being at the house that evening.
We began to do all that we could to protect her and ensure this would never happen again, but the damage was done. Her spirit was changed. Together Patrick and I saw a psychologist that specialized in child abuse, a gynacologist that specialized in child rape, and we investigated legal action against my ex-husband for his role in this sad event. The psychologist fee was $120/hr., obviously not in the budget, but he gave me guidelines and suggested I enquire with the Calgary Children’s Hospital which had excellent free counselling for families unable to afford private help.
The gynacologist examined my daughter and determined there had been no penetration which was a blessing, but also in its way a curse. As she said, “No penetration, no proof.” This meant the man responsible for this crime against my daughter would most likely walk away without punishment. It was a bit overwhelming to realize the situation we were in and the long term consequences for my daughter. There are really no words to describe what I was feeling as we left her office. Already reeling, I was astonished at how many children were in the waiting room as we left the clinic. Not a positive observation regarding our society and the direction we were heading.
Initially Darrell had refused the test. Social services then granted him permission for restricted access with supervision. One such visit did occur yet sometime afterwards he must have decided to take the lie detector test. Meanwhile my lawyer communicated our desire to continue with limited access. The following day my lawyer received a letter stating Darrell had taken the test and passed, requesting visitation every other weekend resume.
The person administering the test asked Darrell only three questions. What made me really angry was the questions were about a specific weekend when he had his regular visitation where nothing had happened. The acts against my daughter occurred on the weekday evening he was babysitting for me while I was at my group session. This was a totally different time and day. Who determined these questions which intentionally avoided the allegation? No establishing base-line questions verifying his name, birth date etc. were ever asked. Everything about the test itself was a lie and therefor it was incredibly easy for him to honestly answer, “No.”
How do I know this? For unexplained reasons he obtained a copy of the lie detector test which he then gave to Helen of all people, who in turn passed it on to me, happily saying it exonerated Darrell and was ‘the proof’ he was innocent.
Confused about how this situation had suddenly turned in his favour, giving me no alternative to protect my daughter, I tried several times to reach the social worker to enlist her aide. It was at this point my support net altogether disappeared as the social worker refused to answer my calls and I was informed the police officer had taken early retirement. I never spoke with either of them again, nor was any documentation provided to explain the outcome of the investigation. The case was unofficially closed.
I was advised by my lawyer I had no alternative but to allow Darrell normal access because he had passed the test. There was nothing further I could do in preventing him from seeing Rheann unsupervised.
My family took my ex-husbands side and my family doctor who had initiated this line of investigation refused to accept Darrell could be responsible, and in fact became angry with me for making the accusation. I left his office feeling like I had just done something wrong, making me wonder how this man who I had trusted for so many years could suddenly turn the tables, laying the guilt squarely in my lap. How could he not want to help Rheann who he helped bring into this world? Of course this meant I could no longer have him as my doctor, which in turn brought on another bad situation I could not have foreseen.
I hit a wall with every avenue I tried to go down and I thought I would lose my mind. If Patrick had not been there to help me through it I don’t know if I could have made it. In the end I had to hope that because I had set things up for immediate appraisal should anything ever happen again, it would be enough of a deterrent.
Years later we showed the test results to a retired police officer, now a private investigator, who told us the test was not done correctly and was therefore a sham. He confirmed the questions were too specific regarding dates and times and he never should have been given a copy of the test.
Reading these documents so long after the incident brings back a tsunami of emotions, the desperation and despair in knowing I had once again been rendered a powerless victim while the assailant walked away without penalty. My daughter paid the biggest price for this lack of honour, honesty, and integrity. The system, however, failed all of us.
For many years the nightmares continued for my daughter, but they seamed to stop after we moved to British Columbia and she was removed from the situation in a more permanent way. The visits with their father were limited to one yearly vacation and so it became much easier to keep things on a more even footing. There was less interference from my family during this time as well.
My second oldest son, Colby, one day told me, after returning from vacation with their father, that Patrick and I were often made to look like fools when they discussed us in front of them. He told me he felt it was wrong and was angry these things were being said about us. How do you explain the childish behaviour of an adult, especially one that is the father of your children?
I know from talking to my daughter over the years she does not remember much of what happened to her, but she remains scarred from all she went through and only time will tell if she will one day remember the truth.
She was such a vibrant, happy baby who could bring a smile to the face of everyone she met. She had so much strength and courage while she was ill as an infant. The nurses were completely amazed she did not cry when they performed her second spinal tap, and she never put up a fuss when she had to go for her weekly replacement cast on her foot. To watch as that beautiful energy literally changed overnight was and still is one of the hardest memories I have to deal with.
There is much I could say about the years following these events. There are many situations when we had to defend and protect our family, but it is my intention to only share the pivotal points in my life. These are the specific situations when I feel I made choices to move away from those who used and controlled me. Moving closer to the truth of my past and all that was taken from me was almost a subliminal plan.
I stand here now armed with more information which helps me understand why I had to go through so much. With only my faithful dog beside me understanding and accepting me as I am. At times the loss and the sorrow are still too heavy to carry and I long to give in and let my life be done. It is not death that I fear, but the sometimes harsh reality of life.
What follows is the short list of challenges Patrick and I faced the first year we were together. For any relationship to begin with this kind of struggle and to survive for 24 years is nothing short of a miracle:
– began therapy/counselling for abuse during my teen years
– the beginning of the end of my first marriage
– asked my husband to leave for refusing to support me
– the end of a summer romance I thought meant something
– searched for work for the first time in eight years
– started a new job
– began a new relationship
– faced the trauma and all that was associated with my daughters sexual abuse (3 years of age)
– met the new in-laws
– had the first Christmas as a broken family
– faced the difficulty of financial problems on one income
– had the opportunity to go to art school, follow a dream for myself
– became pregnant, had to let go of the art school opportunity
– moved from the home where my three children were raised
– discovered I did not legally exist, forcing me into having to legally acquire my name
– went to a foreign country for the first time – to my knowledge
– got divorced
– remarried
– had a baby, both my son and I almost dying during the delivery
– suffered long term injuries from childbirth
– became the unwitting victim of medical malpractice
– Patrick was laid off and quickly had to find new work, came down with pnemonia
Footnotes
*Based on the assumption I was born in October 1958, the day my adoptive family celebrated my birthday. Information uncovered since indicates this date may be incorrect by as much as two years.
**Several years later I bumped into Robin in downtown Calgary. We exchanged greetings but the warmth was gone and she seemed nervous to be near me. She surprised me when she said, “You really need to talk to my brother, handing me his phone number.” In a flash she was gone. I never saw her again. For some reason I was very afraid and never made the call.
Documents pertaining to the information above
Letter from my lawyer stating the visits would be under supervision. The next day Darrell agreed to take the test.
The Lie Detector test in full complete with introductory message to his lawyer. It contains information that was specify difficult for me to read, so I caution you. The documents may not be very clear in any case, but it gives a specific date which happens to be the day after the assault took place.
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