#24. Accountability…

*Disclaimer* explicit content that could be triggering

Man, just that word feels daunting to me. there have been plenty of times in my life that felt as if I was just too unseasoned in life to have anything of value to offer. In retrospect I can see that’s how most of us probably feel about a lot of things. I had lunch with Austin after church yesterday and we were talking about how that’s the way the enemy gets his foot in the door with us. He’s so sneaky about it, that we don’t even realize he’s been there waiting for his chance to move in on us until he’s already done it. To me I think it’s probably his first thing to check off his to-do list. Make them doubt themselves. If they doubt themselves, they’ll be disabled to be who they were created to be. Nice try buddy. And he is relentless, that old devil. This morning, I was out in the barn feeding my animals, I feed my chickens last because they’re the least demanding of the bunch. I always dump their feed into the outdoor portion of their coop because it’s more accessible. But this morning as I poured out the scoop of feed, the wind caught it and threw it right back in my face. That’s my life most days, stay humble girl. Here’s the thing though… I am accountable. To those animals, to my family, to God. My Pastor is always saying how God uses messed up people to go out in the world and spread the gospel and I know that it’s true because I’ve studied the Bible, and I know about the apostles and that we’re all called to witness on His behalf. I’m doing my best to be obedient, and I’m definitely in the “messed up” category.

So being accountable… when Denise died, we all walked around in shock for I’m honestly not sure how long. There were all the arrangements to be made, planning her funeral, managing her property, etc. Our circles all joined together, people came from near and far to pay their respects for a life gone too soon. Everyone who knew her was heartbroken, but none more than Alex. She was her baby, her ONLY baby, and Denise was her last living parent. I remember sitting in the front row during the service feeling devastated but numb, and also confused because Alex sat between me and Ray, in the row with our four kids, while the rest of the family sat across the aisle from us. It felt like we were divided even then, but I chalked it up to grief and lack of planning of that detail and brushed it off. There were other things that felt “off”, people questioned why Alex didn’t show up until the end of the slideshow when there were loads of pictures of Denise and her sister. Then her property was just up for grabs, come and get it, even though Alex was the rightful heir to all of it. No one even acknowledged that, and I wondered the entire time if they couldn’t see how much they were exacerbating every hurt that Alex was already going to suffer from for the rest of her life. This sweet, but fierce little girl who’d been forced to grow up way before she was supposed to because of circumstances life had dealt her that were never in her control. As someone who had known her all of her life and had a front row seat to much of the anguish she experienced, I felt powerless as to how I could help her. My own house was full, every room was occupied, and she was still living with her paternal aunt at that point and had never mentioned that she had anything different than that in mind. She spent some weekends and holidays with us, joined us for family vacations, and quarantined with us during Covid. Then in early 2021 she called me one night and it was apparent she had something she was trying to convey but wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it, so I asked her point blank, “Alex, are you asking if you can move in with me?” Of course she could, there was no other answer for that. I vowed that our home would always be hers as long as I’m breathing. We waited until June to move her in so that our girls would still have their own bedrooms and privacy for the remainder of their senior year. Erin had plans to move out, and I was having a really hard time with that, so it felt refreshing to have a purpose for what would soon be her empty bedroom, but that transition wasn’t an easy one. I think as parents; we try not to push our own turmoil onto our kids and dampen something they have hope for. In all honesty I didn’t want Erin to move out, like ever. Obviously, that wasn’t realistic, and she needed me to be supportive of that and I knew it. It was one week to the day until Alex moved in after she moved out. There was no time to even process how fast it was all happening, life is just like that sometimes. Everything was moving at warp speed and here’s where the enemy did his sneaky move, creeping in before we ever knew he was coming. He was always there of course, waiting to get a foothold.

We were on a high of sorts, checking things off of our proverbial to-do list. Getting the girls graduated, moving Alex in, getting her a new counselor to help with all she’d been dealing with. That one came as seamlessly as the rest of it, no real resistance moving forward. Faye had been dealing with some things for a quite a while and she had convinced me for far too long that she didn’t need a counselor because she had me. The back story here is that a couple of years prior to this Faye had started to display some very uncharacteristic behaviors that had Ray and I terrified as to what could be going on with her. The night it first began, we’d ridden our Harley out to Amber to Ken’s Steakhouse for dinner. On our way back Faye FaceTimed me, her and our other kids were with my parents for the night. I was on the back of the bike and couldn’t hear what she was saying but she was smiling, and it seemed she was okay, so I just told her I’d call her when we got home. A few minutes went by, and she called back, but this time she wasn’t smiling, she was crying, the hives on her face were back (which always tips me off that something is upsetting her immensely). I still couldn’t hear so I reassured her I’d call her back ASAP. When I finally got home and called her, she said something was wrong with her and she couldn’t feel her feet. Needless to say, we jumped in the car and went to get her to take her to the ER. They did every test imaginable, grilled her about whether she’d taken anything and did a drug test that came back clean. Her symptoms presented physically at first, but when we went home other things started to surface. I believe that night was the first panic attack she’s ever experienced, I recognized it because I’d experienced it myself. I laid in bed with her all night that night, she didn’t want me to leave her side, but couldn’t tell me what was wrong. I begged, pleaded and bargained with her to talk to me, and she did, but not about anything that seemed like a red flag or even abnormal teen angst. A couple of days later we had plans to celebrate my in-law’s anniversary which was also my mother-in-law’s birthday. We had all kinds of food, and fireworks planned, and they were all coming to our house. We didn’t mention any of what Faye was going through, and she was still experiencing the numbness in her feet and just remained in an almost trance-like state, but insisted we not cancel, that she’d be okay. I remember sitting next to her watching the fireworks and just wanting to hold her in my lap like I had when she was a little girl and take everything that was hurting her away. We ended up doing more testing, doctor’s appointments, antidepressants, bible studies, basically anything we could to help our baby girl. I had everyone I knew praying for her, Ray and I cried many tears behind closed doors, feeling utterly useless to help her. It did get a little better over time, her physical symptoms began to subside, but we never got our little girl back after that. That was our new normal. There were a couple of times she admitted that she was having suicidal thoughts but couldn’t explain where they were coming from. That’s when we put our foot down that she see a professional, because we definitely weren’t equipped to deal with the depth of her feelings and she certainly wasn’t giving us any indication or cause as to why she was feeling that way, even though I’d asked a million times and a million ways. She didn’t argue at that point, and we found a counselor that was perfect for her. For the first appointment I drove her and accompanied her for what I thought would just be the initial part of the visit. During her “intake” questionnaire the counselor asked her a series of questions and Faye wanted me there for all of it. I felt good about that thinking that she must really be telling me everything, because I’d heard everything she was telling the counselor. I never questioned a bit of it, and she continued with therapy and seemed to slowly be getting back to a healthier version of herself. Essentially, it was working!

After what we considered success with Faye’s counseling, it was a no-brainer when Alex was in need of a therapist who we should take her to. Again, I sat through the intake session with her as well. I felt a sense of expectation, like I knew there were likely to be some really painful issues surface after all she’d experienced in her fifteen short years. The same questions were asked of her that I’d already listened to Faye answer, so no surprises there. We were getting close to what I knew was the end and was getting restless thinking about all I needed to do when we left the session. At one point I heard the queue for what I knew was “THE” difficult question that was about to be asked, but just stared at my feet to get through it, she’d answer like I knew she would, the same answer Faye gave, and then we could have this behind us and move forward with the actual therapy… Except instead this was the conversation… Therapist: “Alex have you ever been a victim of or witnessed sexual abuse?” Alex: “Yes” Therapist: “Which one? You witnessed it or you were a victim?” Alex: “Victim.” At this point my ears had started to ring and the room appeared to be tilting on it’s side, I gripped the sides of my chair so I wouldn’t fall off. Therapist: “Did you know the person that abused you?” Alex: “Yes.” Therapist: “Do you want to tell me who it was?” Alex: “No.” Therapist: “Is this someone who’s still in your life?” Alex: “Yes.” Therapist: “Is the abuse still happening?” Alex: “No, it’s been a while.” That was honestly the last thing I remember being said before we went to the car with an appointment set for her next session. I couldn’t think straight, my mind was reeling with the possibilities of who the abuser could’ve been. How was I going to ask her? How were we going to protect her? WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING?! She’d already been through so much! WHY?! When we got in the car the words just began rushing out. “Alex, I don’t know how to protect you without knowing who did this to you. I don’t want to pressure you; I know you said don’t want to say who it was.” She answered, “It’s not just that Melissa, I don’t want to blow up our entire family by telling, and it will.” Dear God, what was she about to say? The deep ditch on the side of the road felt as if were pulling my car to it as I drove. I should’ve pulled over I know, but I just wanted to get us home. “I get that honey”, I told her, “But I promise I’ll protect you, and be by your side. I..” Before I could get out another word she interjected, “Melissa it was Papa.” My mouth fell open, did I just hear her right? Did she say Papa? Then it was like a dam broke free in my mind. As if every question I’d ever had over the last twenty years about this man, the dysfunction, the hatefulness, the secrets, the reason each one of them had their own set of issues they dealt with, the anger, the drinking, the resentment, all of it was made clear in that instant. It was Papa. The words started to flow again, “When did this start? Where did he do this? Is that why you moved out of your mom’s house? Oh my gosh, I wonder if he’s done this to anyone else? I wonder if he did it to your mom, if so, it would make sense why she drank so much. I wonder if he did it to my kids? That would also explain the things Faye has been going through.” We went back and forth with theories all the way home, but before we got out of the car, I told her I needed some time to process all of it and to figure out how I was going to tell her Uncle Ray, but that it was going to be okay, I had her.

That night I went through the motions of making dinner and pretending things were normal. Inside though I was a wreck of a mess. How was I supposed to tell my husband what I’d just learned. I texted CeeCee to setup a lunch date, I had to talk to someone and was absolutely lost. I knew I could trust her, and that she could remain levelheaded versus if I’d told anyone in my family because did I mention how fierce of a bunch we are, especially under these kinds of circumstances?! We had lunch at Chili’s the next day, and all I can say is that it was yet another heart wrenching moment that she shared with me with shock, outrage, grace, understanding, love and encouragement. I was going to get through this, it was time to believe that and remember who was really in charge of how this would all end up. Now I just needed to figure out what to do next. My mind felt as if it was in a constant cycle of running through every possible scenario, who would believe us? How were they going to react? What was I going to do if no one believed us? I knew that those were possibilities after the way they’d all already tried to blame everything on Alex. Alex who was the actual victim in all of it and the entire time this was going on! I was in what I can only describe as a daze for another entire day after our lunch. But that was about to be catapulted into overdrive with what happened next.

It was the first Saturday in October, and two days after my other sister-in-law’s birthday. We’d made plans a few weeks prior to all of this to go to the Czech Festival in Yukon together, and I was honestly looking forward to it as an escape of sorts. I was set to pick her up, but needed to run a couple of errands before we went. I’d just pulled out of Tractor Supply and had my car loaded down with feed. Next on my list was running up to The Burlap Buffalo this cute little boutique in town to pick up a birthday gift for Carly’s grandbaby. The day was beautiful, I had the windows down and radio up. Just as I’d pulled into a parking spot, Faye was FaceTiming me. When I answered, there she was, lying on her bed, tears rolling, hives on her face. “What’s wrong baby?”, I asked. She asked where I was and I told her my plans, but that I’d come home right now if she needed me to. She said she did need to talk to me, but to go get my present first and that she needed to shower but would see me when I got back. When I got to the house I went upstairs immediately and saw Alex first. I asked her if she’d talked to Faye and she said yes, but gave no indication as to what was wrong. When I opened Faye’s bedroom door it was pitch black and I couldn’t see a thing. When I flipped the light on, there she was curled into the fetal position on her bed, with giant tears silently flowing down her cheeks. After she was able to catch her breath, she told me that Alex had told her about our conversation after her therapy session, but she stopped there. I asked her if it had happened to her too and all she could do was nod her head and began to sob all over again. I pulled her into my arms and held her, but this time I knew there was no more putting it off. Something had to be done and now, there would be no denying that it had happened to the both of them. But still, how was I going to tell Ray that his father had done this. I was torn into a million pieces, our family had been through so much already and I knew then that my sweet little Alex had been right, this was going to tear our family apart. Yeah, accountability.

Proverbs 3:5 NIV Trust in the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding;