Even though I don’t completely understand why I felt uncomfortable about my
husband’s “obsession” with the girls, I think this background will help somewhat. He
was an only child with very outwardly affectionate parents. Every time they visited us, we got huge hugs and kisses. I
was completely taken aback the first time I met his parents. His dad kissed both of us. I didn’t know what to
do. His open affection towards us was something I had never before experienced.
You see, my family was just the opposite. We four children knew we were loved and had a great time together as a family, but we were
not hugged and kissed much—at least not that I remember. I guess that is why my
husband’s holding the girls all the time seemed strange to me. I had neither experienced it nor thought
about doing it. Of course if one of the
kids wanted to be held or wanted to climb into my lap to be cuddled or read to,
I jumped at the chance. But, I did not
instigate it like my husband did.
He picked them up and hugged them; I smiled and winked at them. He took them on trips to town for ice cream;
I sat on the couch with them and conversed.
Whenever I felt uncomfortable with what I was seeing, I easily explained
it away. He was reared to be physically affectionate
and I was not. Yet the doubts always hovered in the back of my mind.
After several months of growing concern, I finally got up
the nerve to say something. We were
driving back home after a trip to town.
I don’t know exactly what I said.
Confrontation is not my style so I probably said something like this, “Hon,
could you explain something to me. It
seems odd that whenever you’re around the girls you can’t leave them
alone. If you aren’t picking them up and
holding them on your lap, you are playing dolls with them. If you aren’t helping them play computer
games, you are taking them on walks.
That just seems strange since you don’t pay any attention to the
boys. It makes no sense to me? “
I also don’t remember what he replied. I know he said something about the boys
entertaining themselves, and that he hadn't really connected with them like he
had the girls. He also said something
about keeping the girls occupied so the adults (if we had a family
get-together) could visit without interruption.
His answer satisfied me.
Now, five years later, I see that I didn’t ask the right
question to get the answer that was necessary.
I also didn't come right out and ask if he was molesting the girls. In reality I wouldn’t have asked the question
at this point because I was not even admitting it was a possibility. But what I
could admit was his possible grooming behavior.
After Thanksgiving in 2007 we had a weekend get-away on the
Oregon coast. After a fun day of shopping, dining out, and a movie, we returned to our room. Once in bed, he put
his arm around me to cuddle. I burst
into tears. I poured out my concerns
about his behavior and what I was seeing. I told him I had never seen any “bad” behavior—just “weird-to-me" stuff that I interpreted as grooming. I told him I feared
not only for the girls’ safety, but also his. Befuddled, he tried to hold me closer, to comfort me, and assure me he would never
do anything to harm the girls. He loved
them too much to cause them harm of any kind.
He tried reassuring me that he loved me too much to hurt me. Sadly, he understood neither my concerns nor my
tears. Neither did he understand my
getting out of bed and sleeping on the couch.
Never in our forty-four years of marriage had I ever been this emotional
nor had I ever slept in a different room.
In the following weeks, there were several times I considered calling the Sheriff’s
office. I did not because I
didn’t know what to tell them. I could
hear myself saying, “I want to report that my husband holds his granddaughters on his lap too much when they
come over. He takes them for walks, too.” Instead I convinced myself that I had the problem because I didn't understand his "touchy, feely" actions.
I didn’t even talk to my kids about my concerns. If I were being completely unreasonable in my
fears, I didn't want to put doubts about their father in their minds. I chose to keep quiet and keep an even more diligent look out for... Well, I didn’t know what.
My husband was a wonderful, loving, considerate man who
would drop whatever he was doing to help someone in need. He was a Christian man, generous with his money, and active in our church
as well as a volunteer Christian organization. We loved our involvement with
our church’s prison ministry. So the idea of him molesting our granddaughters
was unthinkable. But, as we found out later, there was a piece missing from the puzzle. As a child, he had been sexually molested by a teenage relative or friend of the family. He isn't sure which. For almost seventy years he
had been too embarrassed to tell anyone, not even me. As a child he already felt he had a family image to keep up; he did it well.
Don’t get me wrong. What
he did was abhorrent. His being molested does not excuse his behavior. Even he will say that. The sad fact is that
people who are molested often become molesters themselves.
It is getting late tonight, so tomorrow I will explain why I am writing this. I have a whole list of reasons in my head. Actually they are lessons I have learned. If I were to wrap it all up in a
nutshell, though, it would be this. Don’t make the same
mistakes I did. Please, please listen to
the Holy Spirit’s quiet voice and act on it. Don't let Satan's whispers and lies drown out the Voice of Truth. I so wish
I had never doubted my initial concerns and suspicions. I so wish I had discussed it with my kids. I so wish I had called the police instead of
feeling like I would be seen as a foolish, suspicious grandma. I so wish…
Wishing won't change anything. It won't make anything better and it won't make anything worse. So instead of wishing, I will giving thanks. I have so much to thank God for. I am so thankful that the nightmare came to an end when it did. I am so thankful for children who asked their daughters the tough questions. I am so thankful for granddaughters who related what their Papa had done. I am so thankful that...Well, you'll find out.
To be Continued
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