For reasons that I haven't yet figured out, the flashbacks are hitting hard and heavy.
The really bad ones. For example; Easter, 1981. The child rapist's mother comes to visit. I take her (and the 7 month old baby to- - was it an auction?- Maybe just to see her old haunts. The 2.5 year old stayed home. Chrapist says he'll stay as she is due for a nap. Not far along in the little drive- the mother suddenly emphatically wants to go back. She was almost in a panic. Back we go- and she rushes out of the car and into the house. And upstairs. Chrapist comes rushing out of the house, all red in face. At the bottom of the stairs, the mother calls to me in a wavery voice-" XXXXXXXXXXXX- there's something wrong with xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.She won't move, she won't talk it's like she can't see me." I go up. I know now- but not then, that the tiny child was catatonic. There were chocolates on the bed, and she was dressed in an awful(to my eyes) pink quilted dressing gown. Never seen before nor after. This is the criminal who got custody. I went for divorce to save myself and my children. ALL my children. Wasn't believed or listened to. But then- neither were the police nor the doctor nor the psychiatrist etc. Insane.
The WordPress.com Year in Review (and Resolutions for 2018) - It was quite a year for the WordPress.com community, and we've got a lot to look forward to.
2 weeks ago