It’s difficult to imagine myself as you once knew me—three years old, bright-eyed and playful. But Iand cry for that little girl, too. I protect and take care of her, and I do so fearlessly, just like you did. I know you had hoped that child wouldn’t share your fate and grow up with the same pain, but forces beyond you had other plans.
You were relentlessly hard-working. Sometimes you’d be away for days at a time on long-haul trips as a locomotive conductor for the Canadian National Railway company. But you’d always come back. I remember you in your worn-in denim overalls, kicking the snow off your boots at the front door. I’d run to you, and you’d pick me up and hold me tight. You were a superhero in my young mind.
Then a real monster ended up inside our home. I didn’t know how to put what happened to me into words. I was only three when my 17-year-old babysitter sexually assaulted me. You told me what you could remember. I learned that you are also a victim of child sexual abuse. I can only imagine the pain you must have felt, knowing that someone you trusted preyed on me.
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