My Father plunged into madness when I was molested as a child. One facet of that plunge was the fact that everyone else in my family acted (and still do) as though the sexual abuse was "no big deal". They failed to understand the gravity of what had been done to me; and he spent his life since that day trying to make them understand the damage done to me, to the family, and to himself. To this day, not one of them will acknowledge the atrocity; not one of them understands--no, not one. It is not that they are unable to see it and understand; it is that they refuse.
My Father was the only one who stood up for me, calling the abuse what it is: an atrocity. He, unlike them, told the truth and they hated, and still hate, him for it. Thus, I defend him, to all who will listen. I dismantle their slander; untie all the knots they have twisted together and turned into a distortion of the truth. My Father was a good man--not an unjust divider of families as he has been accused. I love him; and if it had not been for him separating me from my sibling-molester, who knows how many more years of her advances, touching and abuse I would have had to endure. She is the monster not my Father. He was my savior; they his slanderers. And their combined abuse of his daughter, their denial of the truth, and all their hatred that tore my family apart, all played a part in driving my Father mad with grief.
And now he is dead--and Baby is still crying.