When I wrote my Top Ten Defining Moments post, I have no idea why this event did not even cross my mind to add on the list. Maybe because it wasn't one single moment, but rather years of events. Though it was a large chunk of time, sometimes it seems as though it never really happened and it does not stay in the front of my brain very often. It isn't until it shows up in my dreams that I remind myself how significant all of it was. Most of the dreams are not even nightmares, and instead are just gigantic reminders of the house, the parents, and the kids. Always the kids. If, as a witness, I am haunted by dreams and thoughts, I cannot even imagine what effect it must have for those who lived it.
My mom went to work outside the house when I was around 9 years old. In an effort to avoid my mean teenage brothers, I took up solace with the single mother down the street. She had 3 children: four year old twins and a seven year old son. I spent a lot of time with this family and have so many stories to tell, both good and bad. This home became my second home and my second family for 5-6 years. I spent the night there; I ate dinner there; I watched TV there; I helped clean the house; I listened to music with her; I laughed; and I cried. In this, my second home.
Enter the Grizzly Bear. On a rare evening out, the mom had found a boyfriend who began severely abusing these children. I was witness to many acts of abuse of an emotional, physical, and sexual nature. In time, it was me who helped remove these kids from their home, but I still held on to a lot of guilt regarding this situation.
I initially felt guilty for not being the object of his abuse while all the other kids suffered at his hands. There was ample opportunity for him to abuse me in any way he wanted as I joined the family on weekend camping trips, overnights visits to Minneapolis, and even spent the night in their house. But he left me untouched and I was treated as though I was their golden child receiving special treatment. It was I who was able to ride in the front seat of the vehicle while the others rode in the back; it was I who received positive words spoken, and it was I who did not get hit or touched. As a child, I didn't realize how this must have made those kids resent the hell out of me. Not only that, but I am sure they were looking to me for help. Being afraid and powerless, I could only give them support. Despite several phone calls to the authorities from several neighbors, teachers, and myself, the kids remained in that home far too long.
It wasn't until after a deliberate fire was set in their home (in an attempt to collect insurance money) that the authorities began to really question the welfare of the children. It was then that I was contacted to give my detailed report of all the horrendous acts I had seen with my own young eyes. Later, I felt guilty for being the responsible person for removing those kids from the home. Even though it was an abusive household, the mom loved her kids and had been a loving mom up until the Grizzly Bear showed up. She was overprotective, and looking back, I now see she probably suffered from paranoia or another form of mental illness. When the kids were removed I lost all contact, but had heard they went to live with their biological dad in Colorado. He had been painted as a horrible man, and his name could never be spoken in the presence of her children. Imagine the horror those kids must have felt to learn they were going from one hell into another.
Several years ago, the Grizzly Bear died of a heart attack. The mom passed away a few years after that. Never did I stop wondering what happened to those kids who were like my siblings for so many years. My feeble attempts to find them failed until recently. Just a few months ago, I located all 3 kids on Facebook! Uncertain if I should contact them or not, I reluctantly sent each of them an email. I was so nervous awaiting their responses. Did they blame me? Did they resent me? Did they hate me for sending them to live with their real dad? Did they even remember me?
When I received the first email telling me how fortunate they were to have the opportunity to live with their dad, all these years of guilt lifted from my shoulders. The oldest said his biological dad taught them how to live and gave them as normal life as possible after having spent their time bouncing from foster home to foster home. The "kids" are all grown up with children of their own. They all seem happy.
Still, I can't help but go back and play the "what if" game, and I continue to hold on to just a little bit of that mostly lifted guilt. One of the kids thanked me for playing the pivotal role in removing them from their mom, but really I should be thanking them. It is because of them that I am working at a job I love (on most days). If I can help another child live a better life, it is all because of the lessons I learned from those three kids.
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