My father is out.
I found out out the day he was getting out: which would be yesterday, people. One of the worst days of my life I think.
I honestly didn't think he would. I was trying to be ignorant. Trying to live on hope. Least whilst he was in there I didn't have to think about him. Now I do. I worry. Worry for my family, my friends. But more importantly my life: my way of living. Whilst he was in there, I didn't need to worry about him reading my online work, of following my life virtually. And yes, I am aware that was foolish of me. But I felt safe, safe enough for this blog, safe enough to have an online presence. Now all of a sudden I don't feel safe. The guideposts have changed. I refuse to stop but: to make everything private and go away. That would be letting him win: when he should be the one shut up, shut out, shut away.
Coincidently, yesterday happened to be the day that I got my FOI stuff back from DOC's and the police. Reading my statement makes me sick. The things he did to me, to the others, the things that happened behind the scenes. The behaviour of all involved: the police, DOCs, and even some of the parents makes me sick, makes me angry. What happened was unfair, not only to me, but to all others: especially to them. Some waited for years for justice (and a poor justice it ended up being too), and there are yet others out there whom are still waiting, whom will be probably always waiting.
It is for them I feel the saddest. I hope that they have managed to find their closure in another way. I hope they have healed and become as whole as they can.
That is a hope I hold for all of us.
If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you to go on in spite of all. And so today I still have a dream.
Martin Luther King, Jr., The Trumpet of Conscience, 1968