There all dead. All 5 goddamn abusers and their accomplices.
Some partners want to have them back, just for a few minutes, so they can express their rage and tell them of the damage they did to them as an innocent infant / girl. Sue has never said to me she would like them back so she could tell them how they hurt her. Actually she can’t express the emotions because they are buried so deep inside her, held tight by the dissociative identities (some people call them “littles”) with in her.
Actually, I’m not sure what I could say to them without some long preparation. And writing. Lots of writing. And throwing up.
Number One abuser was her father. Abuser Number One-A was her mother. To my knowledge, Sue’s mother never did anything that would fit in the legal definition of sexual abuse. But she knew exactly what was going on. Sue told me her mother was specifically told to “clean her up” when Sue father used her as a sexual toy. Her mother does fit the definition of accomplice.
Sue parents are buried about 1500 miles from us, in a lovely cemetary carved into a hillside next to a large university. Deer browse among the stones and crypts. It’s quiet. They don’t deserve to be in such a nice place as they await the ressurection and (I don’t know how I can write this) redemption.
“Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long on the face of the earth”
No, not for what they did to her and us.
They traded their honor for their daughter.
The best honor I can think of is pissing on their graves. Maybe what we should do is take a road trip.