Yes, a part of me died. There was no one to bury, no ashes to disperse, and no mourner tears. I no longer suffer from terrible nightmares and memories. I don’t hate anymore and I’m open to welcoming my family back into this new life. But please don’t call me Jean. She died and no longer lives inside me.
When I was a child, Christmas was a day of wonder and surprise. Relatives joined us for lunch at our house and the merriment was audible. The family gathered for the purpose of well-wishes and happiness. Now, this year, I ask, “Where are You Christmas, Why Can’t I Find You?”
Child abuse has been going on for centuries and the statistics aren’t getting any better. The fact is, as long as men believe their wives and children are their property,…