The Kindness of Strangers

Excerpt from Chapter 1: She stood in the kitchen unnoticed, her baby doll tucked under her left arm, its legs dangling. They were screaming again. It was different this time only in that her mother was naked. Years later when she would watch old black and white movies showing the rows of “houses” attached to each other with the sidewalks and grass running between them, she would come back to this scene. The movies always show these as Hollywood houses. It must be the case because this one was in Los Angeles. The kitchen was typical of the late forties and early fifties. The cupboards were white-painted wood with linoleum on the floor and countertops. The windows were high, wood-sashed with starched, brilliant white-ruffled curtains. The room was painted a light, but cheerful yellow. The back door was wooden with a glass window across the top and one of those big brass spring locks kids couldn’t reach. That night the kitchen didn’t seem cheerful. The bright light against the yellow paint gave a strange eerie glare to the surroundings. Her parents were only a few feet away, but she somehow felt very alone. She was unaware of the words, only the anger and the noise. She knew the scenario. The noise would go on for hours and then just end. Only this time it was different. Her mother suddenly turned away from her father, ran to the back door and fumbled with the lock. “Anne, where do you think you’re going?” “Anywhere to get away from you.” “You idiot, you don’t have any clothes on.” It was too late. She had already disappeared into the darkness. Excerpt from Chapter 3: On Sunday they went to a wake. Chuck and his wife discussed if it would be appropriate to take Jeanne to a funeral. They decided since all the family would be there, including all the young children, it would be alright for her to attend as long as she was made aware of what was taking place. Anne told Jeanne a wake was a service in honor of a person who had passed away. Jeanne thought it was funny to call it a wake if the person wasn’t alive, but felt that probably wasn’t a good thing to tell her mother. She might think she was being disrespectful and not let her go. She had never seen a dead person, only dead birds and cats and once a dog that got hit by a car. She was glad when she found out the wake was for an elderly aunt who had died peacefully in her sleep—she hadn’t been hit by a car. Th e wake was wonderful. There were lots of people and everyone was dressed up in their “Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes,” a term Jeanne had never heard before, but liked a lot. Jeanne got to wear ribbons in her hair and her favorite dress. It was navy blue velvet trimmed with red roses and white lace and a great big red satin sash tied in the back. Everybody brought food. Jeanne had never seen so much food. She decided there must be lots of grandmothers in attendance because all the food was delicious. She walked into a very quiet big room furnished with beautiful antiques. Large white lace-draped windows with the shades pulled halfway down were on three sides of the room. Flowers were everywhere and some tall candles were burning. It smelled so good. Toward the back of the room, centered on a dark red rug was a large rectangular box. Anne had informed Jeanne the box was called a casket. The top, which was open, was lined with the prettiest white-on-white patterned satin. The little girl went up to the casket and gently rested her fingertips on the edge, stood up on her tiptoes and peered in. The “honored” aunt was tiny. She looked a lot like Jeanne’s grandfather. Her hair was snow white like Grandpa’s and it was done up on her head in pretty curls. Her dress was white lace with a high collar. The dress was long but the toes of her little white leather shoes peeked out just beyond the hem of her dress. Her hands were folded over a small white bible and a lace handkerchief. If she had been younger and standing up, and of course not dead, she would have looked like a bride. Jeanne liked that she wasn’t young because she had skin like both her grandmothers. Even though she knew not to touch the lady, she knew her skin would be soft and her touch would be gentle—IF she were not dead. The little girl kept her tiptoe stance next to the coffin while she glanced around at all the fragrant flowers. She could tell lots of people really loved this lady. Right up close to her casket was a bouquet of bright red gladioli. She knew they were gladioli because red glads were Grandma Harber’s favorite flower. She always grew them and blue hydrangeas in her garden. Jeanne remembered she made the hydrangeas blue by putting nails and bluing in the ground at the base of her plants. Jeanne thought that was a great magic trick. “Ahem.” Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted. She dropped down off her tiptoes and turned to see her grandfather standing in the doorway, blocking her only means of escape. “And just what do you think you are doing in here, young lady?” “I’m visiting the dead aunt.” She thought she saw him smile faintly, but if he did, he quickly turned his face to stone again. “Who said you could come in here?” “No one, but she won’t be here much longer so I thought she might like some company.” “Aren’t you afraid to be in here by yourself with a dead person?” “No. She won’t hurt me. She’s dead and I think she was a nice person before she died. I don’t think she would hurt me even if she wasn’t dead. It’s okay Grandpa. You can come closer. She isn’t scary at all.” The old man walked over to the edge of the casket and stood next to his granddaughter. They stood silent, side-by-side, looking at the deceased lady. Jeanne was back up on her tiptoes with the tips of her fingers resting on the casket edge. After a few minutes, her grandfather said, “It’s time for dessert.” He took Jeanne’s hand and as they left the room, he said, “She was my sister. She would have liked you very much.” “Do you like me, Grandpa?” “Yes, I do like you, very much!” Excerpt from "Survive, Heal and Thrive" portion of the book: Every healing path is individual and unique. Th e following are some approaches that continue to work for me. Please remember, I am not a professional and I have no credentials other than I lived through the abuse and learned to trust again. My goal for myself was to go beyond survival and healing. I wanted more. I wanted to thrive. One of the tips outlined in "Survive, Heal and Thrive" portion: WE ARE NOT ALONE: I am not one who puts much credence in statistics, so I will not quote official numbers, but stand in any gathering of seven to 10 people, male and/or female, and know there is at least one person who understands the term “silent screaming” as well or better than you do. Many women and a good deal of men have experienced some type of sexual and/or physical abuse in their lifetime. Two things: Take strength from knowing you are not alone, AND, perhaps even more important, look around and realize you have no idea who that other person, or persons, might be. They are not what happened to them, nor are you. YOU are whom you chose to be focusing forward.