Today I am beside myself with Anger…literally…it stands behind me and demands I write.

My mother knew about one abuser-priest, she admitted as much to my brother, that she had walked in on something in our house, a house we left when I was six.

She knew about the second abuser-priest because she was his victim.

How does a parent do that … know these things and yet expose their child to these men? How? I don’t know how. And then today I read of a couple whose child died with deep open sores under her arms, with feces that had been caked to her bottom so long that skin came off with the diaper – and I know. Parents are capable of horrendous evil, unspeakable crimes against a child, immeasurable depths of denial, at the very same time that they are capable of caring for other children in the family. And I shudder, knowing that my hurt was nothing compared to the pain and horror suffered by this child. And I weep. And my Anger fades inside again.


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