Hello Father

Sandy's Story

The chilly mountain wind chilled me to the core. The small gathered crowd stood at the graveside for the final words and the lowering of the casket. The grave stood in a small alcove amongst the trees. It had a view of the distant mountains. Mom would have liked that. Tim, Randy, Michael, and I stood in a line and each of us mourned. Sadness lay like a dark blanket over the bitter cold Colorado cemetery.

Only one of mom's brothers could attend the service. He stood next to us and offered his support. Dad attended the service, but remained in the background.

After the service, my brothers and I accepted the condolences from mother's co-workers and few remaining friends. Mom did not have a lot of friends. The few friends remaining stayed true even through the past five years. Mom didn't gather any new friends since dad left. As the oldest son, I had been tasked with arranging the service and coordinating the burial, however, almost all of the arraignments had been made by my mother. She had left detailed instructions for us to follow.

Aunt Shannon was the last to leave the service. She came up to my brothers and offered her condolences. She pulled each of us into a hug. She held me tight. She had tears on her cheeks too. "Robert, can I have a word?" She asked. She grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side. "Robert, your mother asked me to give you these after she died." She handed me two envelopes. "She would not allow me to tell anybody she was sick. After you read the letter, please call me. Please." She pleaded.

I put the envelopes into my jacket pocket without a glance.

Mom's death came as a complete surprise. I didn't know she had cancer. She concealed it well from us. My brothers and I did not have a clue that she was even sick. Thinking back, I noted that for the past few months, she did not look very good. I attributed it to stress and the issues with Michael. I felt even worse. I should have noticed.

I recall little else of the phone call from Aunt Shannon. When she stated that mom had died, I must have turned very pale. Dad and my brothers noticed and stopped their dinner conversations. After I hung up with Aunt Shannon, I turned to them and said, "Mom has died. That was Aunt Shannon. She had cancer."

Everyone was in shock. Michael began with denial, "It can't be. She can't be gone." Tears began to flow down his cheeks. Dad rushed to his side and grabbed him in a strong hug. Soon after Randy and Tim joined in. I followed. All of us were openly weeping.

After a few minutes, we separated. The remainder of the dinner was left on the table. We all went out on dad's deck and sat in silence. Millions of questions arose in each of our heads. Finally one question won out. "Dad, what do we do now?" I asked. We all looked to our father to guide us through this.

"We all need to get back to Colorado." He stated boldly. With that he got on the phone and ordered the company jet for our trip back home. Three hours later we were in the air. We landed in Denver and dad rented a car to get us back to our house. We pulled into the driveway at about one in the morning. As we pulled in, Aunt Shannon came out of the house to greet us. After hugs, condolences, and brief explanations we tried to get some sleep. We all went to our rooms. Dad left to get a hotel room. We tried to convince him to stay in the house with us, but he said he still could not.

The next few days were busy with notifications, answering the phone from well-wishers, and funeral arraignments.

After the service we did not have a reception at the house. It was just Aunt Shannon, dad and us. Aunt Shannon eyed dad cautiously. And dad wondered about her. Aunt Shannon became an occasional guest at the house for about five years before dad left. When dad left, she was at the house more often. She was a good friend to mom.

Shannon put together a small meal for us and we sat mostly in silence. After dinner we cleaned up and went into the living room. Conversations were very limited with each of us in our own thoughts. Shannon began the conversations by asking a couple of questions. At first they were directed at me, but soon all of us were in the discussions. I noticed that Shannon was very skillful in her questions. She would ask an open question about a good remembrance and lead us to open our hearts.

Dad didn't participate much. Shannon would give him a pleading look and then move on to one of us. This went on for a couple of hours. By the end of the night, we had suffered a great loss, but we were beginning the healing process. Shannon excused herself. She stated that she needed to get home. She said that she would be here for breakfast. Soon after, dad excused himself to go back to his hotel.

I went up to my room. As I took off my coat, I found the letters. They were standard number 10 envelopes, plain white. I could feel that they were heavy with multiple pages inside each. My name was written in mom's handwriting on both. On one letter she wrote, "Open me first." I sat on my bed, opened the letter, and began to read.

Dear Robert,

If you are reading this, it means I have succumbed to the cancer. They say that confession is good for the soul, but I know my soul will not receive salvation. I know where I will reside throughout eternity. And I know I deserve it.

I know that you and your brothers have had questions from the very beginning. I know that those questions remain unanswered even today. Through this last confession, I will attempt to bring the answers to light. I will try not to sugar coat anything. I am not asking forgiveness, I am only asking for understanding.

Through the years, I have avoided the questions in an attempt to protect the innocent. I alone held the knowledge of our family's destruction. Now, as with many other things in our lives, I pass that burden to you. Robert, you have shouldered so much of our burden, I can only hope that this last task will set you free from many of the troubles.

I will try not to be morbid. Our lives have been full and enjoyable and I am grateful. Even during the past five and a half years, our life was good. Your father and you boys filled me with happiness beyond what I deserved. My only sorrow is that much of what we had was based on lies and those lies may cloud the past memories. They should not. Your memories of our lives are pure and nothing I can relate should change that. You falling out of the pine tree in our back yard and landing on your arm is not corrupted. Your father's comedic attempts to splint the arm and get you to the emergency room are not tainted. You shall remember the events as they occurred, not thorough the taint of my confessions.

Your brothers look towards you as the guiding light of this family and I hope that continues. You were always the strong one. Your courage helped your brothers continue, but more importantly, it helped me continue. Even when I knew that my time was limited, you helped me push forth. Robert, my loving son Robert, please forgive me.

You have been told many times of your father and my first meetings. It was the first day of our freshman year that I met your father. But for my story, it must begin two years earlier. Robert, you must know that only one other person knows this story. I have been afraid to tell this story, but now I know I must.

Most people think our story began when I moved to Colorado as a freshman. But it actually starts before when we were living in Stillwater, Oklahoma.

My parents and all three of us kids were both born in Stillwater. I recall that my mom and dad were loving parents. Dad worked in an insurance office and mom took care of my two brothers and me. We had most everything we needed. I remember growing up in Stillwater as great time.

We expected to live our whole lives there. It was a good life. My dad had a job in town that he liked and mom kept us kids fed and clothed. You have met my two brothers a couple of times. In Oklahoma, we had a large extended family and mom and dad had lot of friends and family in the area. Dad had two brothers and three sisters; all of them had many kids. Family parties and picnics included multiple aunts, uncles, nieces, and cousins. These parties had almost a hundred relatives from our extended family. My dad was closest to his brother Charlie. Uncle Charlie had three sons. Me, my brothers, and my Uncle Charlie's kids were as close as any family. I considered my cousins just as more brothers.

Robert, you know how it is to grow up with brothers. Since I was the youngest, they tolerated me and protected me. I grew up as a tomboy. I could climb trees as good as my brothers and throw rocks almost as far. We were always together and our parents took turns watching out for us.

I was about fourteen when it happened. We were climbing the Library Oak tree. This tree was one of our favorites to climb. It had big low hanging branches and was easy to climb. I was up about twenty feet when one of the branches broke under my foot. I grasped at a branch, but it was too late. I fell to the ground hitting numerous branches on the way down. I don't remember hitting the ground. My brothers later told me that I was knocked out. When I woke up, my brothers and cousins were surrounding me in concern. They took me home and laid me in my bed.

This day, it was Uncle Charlie's turn to watch us kids and he got me a couple of ice packs for my bumps and bruises. As I lay in bed, Uncle Charlie began to undress me to look at the bruises. I didn't want him to. I knew all about boys and girls and knew that I should not be undressed around a boy. But Uncle Charlie assured me that it was best. He told me he had to look at the bruises. He took off my shirt and felt my chest. Then he took off my pants and felt inside my underpants. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I began crying. He continued on. He told me that he was in charge and had to make sure that I was all right. He took total control of me and forced me to lie down. I cried as he raped me. I felt so helpless. I knew what he was doing was not right. But he kept doing it. It hurt so much. He held me down and took me.

After he was done, Uncle Charlie told me I must never tell anyone what we did. He told me it was my fault. I shouldn't have climbed the tree and got hurt. He told me that if I did tell anyone, they would blame me.

I cried myself to sleep for the next week. My parents never knew. They thought I was crying because of the injuries. The bruises on my arms where he held me down blended with the injuries I got in the fall. My parents never noticed.

Uncle Charlie continued to abuse me for about the next year. I didn't want to play with my cousins anymore, but my brothers forced me to. My parents just thought I was being difficult and left me in their care. Our family continued to be close to Uncle Charlie and his family. The abuse continued almost once per month.

It was almost a year later that my father caught us. We were in my bedroom when dad got home from work early. Uncle Charlie was holding me down and raping me when dad walked in. I had never seen rage like this and have never seen it since; dad pulled Uncle Charlie off me and slammed his fist into his face. I remember the blood splattering across my naked body. He kept beating him; I thought dad was going to kill Uncle Charlie.

My dad put Uncle Charlie in the hospital. I remember the ambulance coming to take Uncle Charlie away. The police arrived and talked to everyone including me.

Immediately after that the family took sides. Without knowing the facts, most of the family wanted my dad to apologize to Uncle Charlie and let it go. They wanted him to drop all the charges of child molestation and rape. My dad was adamant. There would be no forgiveness. My dad's parents pleaded with him to forgive his brother, but my dad held firm. Eventually, my father gave them the ultimatum. Support us and send Uncle Charlie to jail for rape and child molestation or never speak to him again. His family tried to negotiate. But dad didn't budge. Uncle Charlie went to jail and we moved to Colorado. My father never spoke to a single member of his family from that day on.

But that did not help me. Now I had the guilt of destroying my father's family along with what Uncle Charlie had been doing. From that moment on, I was damaged. I knew that I was damaged. I knew that I could never have a real boyfriend. I knew that a real boy would never want me.

When I met your father in school, I was still afraid of boys. My parents had me seeing a therapist to help me get over the trauma, but I was still fearful. But your father was different. He never pushed me into anything I was not ready for. We studied and became friends. We began to complement each other. I mean that he had gaps in English that I could fill and my gaps were in math that he filled.

Through high school, I fell in love with him. He asked me to our Homecoming game and I knew what was coming. This would be the night that I would give myself to him. My doubts consumed me. For the week leading up to it, I couldn't sleep. Nobody had touched me since Uncle Charlie. I hoped that I could go through with it. I so wanted to please him.

The night went well. I pushed my fears down. He did not do anything that I didn't want him to. I was sure that he loved me. From then on, I knew that I would marry this man.

When your father got accepted to MIT, I ran home crying. He was going to leave me. My parents got me calmed down enough to explain the problem. I had become so attached, so dependent that I couldn't be away from him. Both sets of your grandparents set about to get me accepted to Boston College.

Boston is where the seeds of my destruction began to germinate. Your father had to study long and hard. He spent many hours in the library or with his professors. This left me alone. My fears and phobias emerged. He was not always around to protect me. It became so that I could not stand to be alone. I began to need other people around me.

I developed some school friends that could always keep me company. It was a mixed group and they liked to party and drink. Nobody could afford drugs, so cheap beer was our drink of choice. On a couple of nights when everybody was packing up to leave, I became fearful. I didn't want to be alone. I flirted with a couple of the guys to keep them from leaving. The flirting never went anywhere, but I never told you father about it. Later that flirting would lead me to where we are today.

After we got our degrees and moved back home our life stabilized. With my Colorado friends and family, my fears were pushed down. Our wedding was everything I could ever hope for. I was so in love.

We settled into married life well. Your father got his dream job. I was working in an insurance company. Mine was not a difficult job and did not require a college degree, but it didn't matter. We were happy and the money was good. But my demons were not far from the surface and in just a few months, they burst forth.

First, your father's job began to consume his hours. Again, I was left alone. The old fears returned. I turned to work friends to occupy my time and keep me from being alone. We began to stop after work to get a couple of drinks. Again it was a mixed group of men and women.

One of the men was named Robert. He worked in the re-insurance section. Looking back, Robert looked much like your father. Unfortunately, he also had similarities to Uncle Charlie, in more ways than one. One night everyone had to get on home. The weather was not looking good and everybody wanted to get home before a storm began. Maybe it was my fears and insecurities or a little too much alcohol, but I flirted with Robert. He flirted back. We said that he only lived a couple miles from me and I decided to follow him home. Rather than him taking me to my house, he led me directly to his house.

He offered me a drink and for some reason, I accepted. That drink led to another and that led directly to us having sex on his living room couch. Afterwards, I quickly left, got home, showered, and had cried myself to sleep before your father got home.

The next day at work, Robert came to my desk. I tried to tell him that the last night was a mistake, but he shushed me and led me to a supply closet. "We cannot talk out there," he said. "People will hear us." He closed and locked the door. "Now what is all this about a mistake?" He approached me and pulled me in for a kiss. I fought him. But he became more forceful. He held my hands above my head, lifted my skirt and pushed himself into me. My memories of Uncle Charlie came flooding in. I was the little fourteen-year-old girl again. All my fears came rushing back as he took me in the supply closet. After he was done, he looked me in the eye, just as Uncle Charlie had done so many years ago and said, "You are mine now. You will come when I call. Do you understand?" I nodded in shock.

From then on, Robert used me whenever he wanted. I was powerless to stop him. I tried to break free a couple of times, but I never could. I could not tell your father because of the guilt of destroying my father's family. This continued on for a couple of months. He was always forceful and aggressive when we had sex, almost borderline rape.

When I became pregnant, I was elated. I wanted your father's children so badly and I hoped that Robert would leave me alone. It worked some. Robert only called for me a couple of times the entire pregnancy. Right before you were delivered, he called for me. I was powerless to stop him. He was upset that I was having my husband's child and demanded that I name you Robert. He held me down and fucked me until I relented. I cried and agreed.

Robert, I had no idea that that man had contributed the sperm of your conception. Your father and I were trying to conceive and I was sure that we were successful. It was not until much later that I discovered the truth.

When you were born, you looked so much like your father. We were so happy. I stayed home for a couple of months to care for you and my life was now whole. I would never be alone again. I always would have you to protect me. Even as an infant, you were my savior.

When I returned to work, Robert was waiting for me. He began right where he left off, calling for me about once a month. He always held me down during sex and it always brought back memories of Uncle Charlie. Maybe Robert got a little bored with me, but soon he began to bring his friend Randy with him. Eventually they both took turns with me. Soon after, I became pregnant again. Again I used the pregnancy to stay away from Robert, but I was unsuccessful. In the ninth month, he came over to our house and took me in your father's bed. He told me to name the baby Randy to honor his buddy. I was to do this or he would be back the day after the baby was born. Again I relented.

Randy was born and your father never suspected a thing. I was torn up inside. How could he not recognize what Robert had done to me? Many years later I discovered why I had lost respect for your father.

I went back to work after a few months after Randy was born and discovered that Robert had been transferred to the east coast. I was elated. I was free. He could no longer force me, rape me, and control me. But his effect was deep. Through his actions, my husband was no longer my protector. Your father had never come to my rescue. It never occurred to me that my thoughts were utterly irrational.

Regardless of the affairs, I became the mother that I wanted to be. I had two sons and I tried to be their everything. I tried to mix a little work in the process, but I felt that I was failing. I had little respect for my husband and I felt that he was more concerned with his career than me. I began the depression and loneliness again. A workmate named Susan came to my rescue. She convinced me to go out a little and enjoy myself. Susan had a close group of friends, unfortunately, I didn't know how close until they had trapped me in their web. Soon, Susan and I were going out weekly and partying. Susan usually ended up hooking up with one of her friends at the end of an evening and soon I was too. I don't even remember their names.