Late last night I lay awake thinking of a time when I was younger. I overheard that my own grandmother had been sexually abused by a male relative. I couldn’t remember the exact words that were used, but something had been done against her will. No one was going to say a word about it. My family didn’t want this man’s wife and children, who were completely innocent, to be tainted with his predator act.
Anonymity was the cure for shame and preservation. That is what I was taught. Don’t mention the name and no one gets hurt. Except, of course, the victim (my grandmother) who was hurt in the first place. Not to mention his next victims awaiting the same fate with no warning. Did anyone wonder, like I did, how my grandmother felt seeing this man at family functions? Did anyone question if keeping it a secret was the right…
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