Earlier today I wrote a post about my near-rape experience, as a youth. I have another post to write now; this one is going to be far more emotionally draining. I'm mustering up my nerve, though, and will fight through the tears to get this story told.

Please note: This story is based on my memories. Other people involved in this story may have a different viewpoint. This, however, is how I remember things...

Here we go:

I grew up in church. My grandfather was a minister, as was my own father. We attended a lovely small-town church in Albany Creek, Australia, before moving to America. I have no negative memories of that church or of the people there.

Fast forward to America...we had moved here as a family so that my dad could Pastor a large church in Oregon. A few years later he decided to plant a new church in another location. The congregation grew pretty quickly as my father was a popular and well respected speaker (still is). A family from the previous church followed us to the new church; they had daughters the same ages as my sisters and I. We had played together many times. My father had counseled the parents through some tough times. This was a family we trusted.

The dad became a church Elder in our congregation. Sometimes on Sunday afternoons I would go with them to have dinner at King's Buffet (now out of business). One week I saw the mom stuffing cutlery into her purse. I thought, "What? Who does that? That's not okay."

Soon after this the family moved to a new home. The home was so nice and so big. Every daughter (they had 4 girls just like our family had 4 girls) had her own room now. I stayed the night a few times but every time I did, the dad would have "tickle fights" with us. He would tickle and tickle and ... touch and touch. It most certainly did not feel right. I felt 'icky' inside after he did this and just knew - it was not okay.

I didn't want to sleep over any more. Every time my best friend called I would find an excuse to not go over. My parents finally said, "You are not being very nice to her. You should go over!"

So I did.

I was about 13 at that time. Maybe 14. I never stayed over again. In fact, I stopped talking to my best friend. Something happened that night and I was trying everything I could to forget. It must have been a crazy dream! It had to have been something my mind conjured up. It just HAD to be.

At the age of 15 I saw my friend at a football game. I sat down beside her and I asked, "Do you remember that night? Is there anything you want to talk to me about? I'm here to listen."

She became enraged, yelled at me, and walked away.

Not long after, her daddy died. He died in a freak accident in which his neck was broken. I asked my parents if I could attend the funeral. As I walked past his open casket I remember how angry and enraged I felt. The hatred ate at my heart and I wanted to RIP his dead head from the shoulders and STOMP on it. 

Yikes.

Was that me?

What the heck?

For three weeks after that I had nightmare after nightmare after nightmare. I remembered every detail of that sleepover night and of the paralyzing fear I felt when her daddy came into the room and touched her - with me beside her. We were sleeping in the same room and I remembered waking up, wondering what was going on. I knew her father was in the room but I thought I was dreaming. I knew he was doing something to her...but what? Should I yell? Speak up? I was FROZEN. I focused on the Hello Kitty stuff that sat on her dresser drawer near my side of the bed. Had their Japanese exchange student given that stuff to her? How nice.

Wait. It's still happening. What is happening? What do I DO?

Nothing. I did nothing. I tried to be as quiet and as still as possible, not wanting her father to know that I was awake.

This is something I regret to this day. Why didn't I speak up? I wish I had.

At the age of 25 I attended my friend's funeral. Dear God in heaven - that's a day I still think about, dwell upon and mull over - even now. I can still hear her 5-year-old daughter crying at the back of the church, sobbing for the mama she lost.I still remember the boulder in my gut that said, "You KNOW why she overdosed. You KNOW why she was doing drugs. She was trying to forget. How much was she trying to forget? Just that one night? Or MANY nights? For years and years and years? God - please forgive me."

I realize that none of this was my fault and to this day, I'm glad her father died. I'm glad his neck was broken and that he's now in the ground. Isn't that a horrible thing to say about another human being? It's true, though. I hate him for what he did to her, what he did in front of me, the therapy I went through in order to mend from this and for what he did to his grand-daughter who will never have her mama again.

I wasn't the one molested but it felt like I was. I would give anything to go back to that night, all those years ago, and to jump up and scream, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO HER? GET OFF HER!"

I'm not even sure I have a moral to this story. I can only encourage parents to tell their kids, "If anyone has touched you, or touched someone you know, please tell us. We won't be mad. It's not your fault! We are here to listen and to believe what you say to us. Don't ever be afraid to tell us if something just feels...OFF. If someone has made you feel OFF, tell us. Please tell us. We'll figure out the rest together. One step at a time."

I still miss my friend.I always will.

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P.S. I still attend church and now teach Sunday School. I fully realize that evil and despicable acts occur in both church and non-church settings. I don't blame God for the way evil people behave. I believe that people, who grow up to hurt others, have likely been hurt as children. Abuse is cyclical and the cycle can be broken...if time and effort are invested. I encourage anyone who has been abused as a child to seek help, counsel and cognitive therapy. It's not easy to re-live the memories but it's the only way to accept and overcome them. Don't repeat patterns of abuse with others - children or otherwise. There's no excuse for hurting another human being and becoming the abuser makes you no better than the person who abused you. CHOOSE to be better than him or her. CHOOSE to leave a legacy that matters. So that someone like me doesn't write a post about being glad you are dead.

ABOUT the Author:

Shara Lawrence-Weiss is the owner of Mommy Perks, Personal Child Stories, Early Childhood News and Resources and Kids Perks. She and her husband co-own Pine Media. Shara has a background in education, early childhood, nanny work, published freelance, marketing and special needs.