Guilt

It came buried in an email. Just a short mention that her present disability, the constant pain she feels, is a result of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her father as a child. I feel a grip at my throat. Guilt.

I didn't know.

She is my oldest niece. We have a long history together, lots of shared stories. My favourite was when she was a little girl trying to figure out relationships. She knew that Joe was her uncle and that I lived with Joe. So she did the arithmetic and when seeing me in the store where my mother worked she ran pell mell through the aisles yelling, "It's Auntie Dave, it's Auntie Dave!" She still calls me that.

I didn't know.

Her father was a real piece of work. He began an angry drunk and turned into a vicious Christian. He converted, I think, primarily because he found a way to channel his anger. He never spoke of God's love, he only spoke of God's vengence. He loved knowing with the certainty of a zealot that God loved him - but hated the rest of us. His eye looked at everyone through righteousness and his judgements lashed out and were used to hurt and harm.

I should have guessed.

But.

I didn't know.

His little girl grew up, in spite of him, loving the two of us. She did from the start. I remember once being left to babysit for a couple of hours, and babysit is the right term. She was still in diapers. I was still in my teens (Joe and I began our relationship at 16) and I had been promised that she was freshly changed so would be fine until they returned. About 20 minutes in she was soaked and looking at me like ... ok ... a new diaper please. This was in the days of cloth diapers. Well, I got her dried off and then tried to figure out how to fold a diaper. No matter what I did, I couldn't get her wrapped up properly. When Mom came home I was still trying to get her into that damn diaper.

I didn't know.

When she graduated her wish was to come and visit us in Toronto along with Grandma. We had a spectacular time. She proudly told everyone we met about how she was our niece. Other family members have 'come around' but she always simply saw us for what we were, without question. Family.

I really didn't know.

She told me one day when we were sitting together in a car. The others had gone for a walk, she and I decided to stay back and talk. Then it poured out. I sat there stunned. Her father had been unspeakable in his violence to her. His anger at the world spilled over and he struck her and struck her and struck her again. She didn't bow to him. She was defiant in the face of his anger. Possibly a bad choice, but it's who she is. And I love who she is.

Until that moment.

I didn't know.

Now she's writing to tell us that the doctor believes that her growing disability is a result of child abuse. I know that abuse is the number one cause of disability. I know that I've been working for years to bring an end to the violence experienced by those with disabilities. I feel like I've cared more for others than I did for her.

I didn't know.