By Tim
Few good things come after the statement, “There’s something I need to tell you,” and absolutely nothing good comes after the follow up, “But you need to know that I’m ok. I’m really ok.”
Before I go on, I want to make it clear that, despite how this may read, I certainly do not consider myself the focus of these events. I was asked to share this from my perspective, but this is not my story.
When my daughter started telling me what happened to her, I braced myself for the worst. I had no idea.
She was attacked, violated, raped. It happened over a year before I heard these words. She said she was ok. Really ok.
The details she gave were vague. Purposely. It took place in New York where she lives- far away from me- but she wouldn’t tell me the name. I never met him. I would have liked to.
This is where, I suppose, I share what I was thinking or feeling or whatever it was. I don’t think the words have been invented that can accurately describe what I felt then, and, despite my best efforts, what I still experience from time to time. But I do know a couple of words.
Rage. I did not want her attacker arrested and tried. I wanted to hurt him. The rage was strong enough that, had I had the opportunity to do so, I would have been arrested and tried.
As senseless and destructive as I know this response is, I felt it and feel it. My daughter is not only strong in character and determination, she is also rather wise. His name remains unknown to me.
The second word was not so obvious. It took me a while to label it. Guilt.
You may consider this a silly notion. Waste of time. Simply ridiculous. But guilt remains.
I have two daughters, no sons. I can only share what I know. A father looks at his little girls and determines from day one that he will never let anything or anyone hurt them. They don’t even make it out of childhood before he realizes how limited he is in his ability to keep that promise.
When they are grown and move on and move out, you try not to dwell on the possibilities you have no control over. It will drive you crazy. Sometimes you may even feel alright about things.
Then she tells you she was raped.
Why couldn’t I have been able to protect her? I wasn’t able to do a thing when she needed me most. It makes no sense, but I felt the guilt rattling around in my rage.
I was hoping writing this down would give me some insight, some revelation. It failed in that. I’m ashamed to admit that as I write this, I still feel the same.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to honestly say that I’m ok, really ok. But I look at her and, for her sake, I’m going to try to be.