Bury The Silence

Frannie Mae is dead. She was my great-aunt’s daughter. A dear sweet lady who had a bit of a juvenile mind. She was the one who sat by while her husband abused me day after day. I imagine that he was abusive towards her in some way. He probably preyed upon her childlike mind, but how would I know, I was only five.

What I do know is what Frannie Mae was supposed to be. She was supposed to be watching me, but she watched my parents walk out. Then watched me walk down the hallway to the last door on the left. The routine. She was supposed to protect me, but she had my handicap sister to care for and my brother to put in front of a tv set.

For twenty years, I lived with the thoughts that my parents knew about my abuse. One day, minutes after dropping me off, my mother had a bad feeling and turned the car around and busted through Fannie Mae’s front door yelling, “Where is Missy?” Frannie Mae pointed to the hallway and before she finished her directions, my mother was kicking in the door to find me sitting alone on the bed. She grabbed me and then my siblings and we never came back. My abuser never came back either. He disappeared into the night, never to be heard from again. My mom thought she had caught things in time. My dad did too.

Frannie Mae knew.

Twenty-five years later, I stood completely devastated and heartbroken at my Mamaw’s funeral. This precious woman who had loved me well was in heaven. There was nobody praying for me twice a day anymore. The place I had felt most seen was gone and I can’t remember when I’ve ever felt so alone in my life. A group of her close friends were talking when I walked by, they stopped me and began telling me everything about my life. They knew all sorts of things. “Your Mamaw talked about you all the time, the daughter she never had.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt the loss deepen. Then, Frannie Mae walked up to me and said, “Gary wasn’t very nice to you, was he?”

I was completely stunned. A whimpered, “No, he wasn’t.” was all I could get out.

Frannie Mae knew.

So, this weekend they will bury the only voice to twenty years of silence in my life. I would discuss counseling sessions with my parents in my mid-twenties, only to discover that they never knew about my abuse. A reality that I’ve never wrapped my mind around. All those years alone in a destructive pain with nobody to help me.

This is my Joseph story. Years of trial, mishap and hardship in my life with no power to change anything. Then, one day opportunity for freedom comes. You arise with a great capacity to love, a deep longing for community and an acute sensitivity to children as they struggle or suffer. Children are my Egyptians and God has stored up compassion, love and understanding for them here. Frannie Mae is the brothers who sold me into slavery. Tonight, I look at her and say, “What was meant for evil, God used for good.”

I forgive you.

I don’t know why she didn’t help me. I don’t need to know. I have the choice to live out of fear and condemnation, but I choose to live out of love and gratitude.

“The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.” Psalm 16:6 ESV

 

My backyard is full of the laughter of my children this evening. I might be a little over protective of them, but better over than under. I vividly remember when my oldest turned six. I thought to myself, so this is what normal looks like. I’ve cherished all these years with them, they have helped heal that lonely child inside me. Tonight, it seems a little sweeter than normal. The generations of abuse that have happened to the women in my family stop here.

May the silence be buried in peace.

 

Love God & Whoever He Puts In Front Of You.