There are about as many traumas in this world as there are people. We all have a story (or stories) related to big things that happen in our lives. What I failed to realize when my big story event happened was that I was being victimized. There’s no word for it when it happens. It is shocking, and it uproots everything that, to that moment, seemed normal. In my circumstance, I immediately fell into surviving. I didn’t know from one moment to the next if I would live or die. That’s a normal response, whatever the experience. There’s something in our human existence that strives for survival, no matter what the circumstance. We want to live!

Once I got past the survival part and came out of the situation alive, my immediate response was to do what I could to jump back into that which felt normal. I wanted the situation to be over, and I wanted to pick up where I left off. Understanding how to do that was mysterious and elusive. I just wanted it to happen: to get over it and get on with life. It wasn’t until a decent amount of time passed in my journey that I came to realize that I was a victim. No one wants to admit to being victimized. Admitting to that makes us seem weak or incapable somehow; that’s how it felt to me.

I much preferred to turn a blind eye to it and ramrod myself back into life as I knew it before the massive interruption. When big life events such as this happen, the aftermath follows much the same path as grief recovery. There is loss, denial, acceptance, and a process for healing that we often prefer to rush through to get over it. One important part of that is stepping back to acknowledge what happened—to name it. In my case, being a teenager, I just wanted the horror to be over and to get back to my hum-drum life. The idea of acknowledging my victimization was not a concept I grasped or understood. I resorted to my own devices to get back on the proverbial horse and ride.

The moment I grasped my victimization, I unwittingly set myself on a course of healing. This recovery is one that takes a lifetime. There are waves of steps, large and small, that occur in that process. I got stuck on some of those steps, which resulted in what is now my life experience. Some of those steps are big and painful. Some of them are catapults that put the puzzle pieces together that have carried me to be the person I am today. Everyone processes those steps in their own way.

This story outlines my steps. If you can read these words and find wisdom that helps you on your own journey, I share them freely. Perhaps my learning can help you move your own recovery through whatever phase you’re in and propel you toward becoming the person you want to be in this world. I also share these words for those of you who have made choices to disregard a person’s general right to be a whole human life. Perhaps my sharing helps you to understand the impact of your choices so that you, too, can grow and learn to make different, more caring choices. The chapters in this section of the book not only detail my experience, but the very normal and brave initial steps I took to put myself back together again. There are warnings so that you don’t have to read the gory details if you choose not to. The reason I’ve included them here is so there is a context for you to see or experience what it was like for me. I was a person navigating life as a teenager when, suddenly, someone put their caring aside and ripped that away from me.

CHAPTER 2

A BLIND DATE

Apart from Jimmy Joe’s marriage declaration when he marched down the church aisle with 3-year-old me, dating was unfamiliar. There was John, of course, who stuffed my Valentine’s bag with homemade blue notebook paper hearts in elementary school. Oh, and yes, sneaking a kiss with him in the cello closet. Then there was the unforgettable long homecoming kiss goodnight with Mark my freshman year of high school. As a teen, I was curious about dating and had lots of romantic daydreams about being swept off my feet. In 1977, my junior year of high school, awkward and a misfit in the social ways of the world, I took a liking to one of the youth sponsors at my church. Allison had a warm kindness and understanding toward teens. I felt like we saw eye-to-eye on many issues.

She felt like a friend and someone I could relate to. She helped me feel less awkward during my challenging dating endeavors. As we developed our sponsor/teen relationship, I felt comfortable sharing my frustrations about dating. I loped my way through my pre-teen years without many dating opportunities. Aside from Mark and one other insignificant rendezvous with Lionel (the country-est bumpkin you can imagine), I didn’t date. Dates were scarce, and I felt shy about accepting dates on my own, let alone initiating one. Fate presented itself when Allison’s nephew, David, moved into the area. New to town, introverted (like me), and in search of people he could relate to, Allison suggested we meet by phone. She thought if we got along well enough, perhaps David and I could meet for an informal date.

Maybe we could at least be friends, widening my circle of friends and helping David get to know some people. He didn’t go to church with Allison, and he lived in a suburb east of where I lived. Our opportunities to cross paths were non-existent. A few weeks after Allison’s suggestion, I settled into the idea, and David called me up. We talked about what we liked to do and what we enjoyed in school and did our share of normal, nervous, getting-to-know-you conversations. He phoned me a few times, and topics for chatter were always at the tips of our tongues. Phone conversations were simple.

My dialog with David came comfortably, easily, and effortlessly. Upon a rare break in the conversation, David mustered up the courage to suggest a dinner engagement. Having never met in person, we described ourselves to one another so we could identify each other when we met. We ironed out the logistics and settled for dinner on Sunday evening after youth activities at the church. David had a car and offered to drive. All we had to do was figure out the best way for him to retrieve me at the close of scheduled activities. I was going to wait in my dad’s car, which was parked outside of Cope Cottage, where he led counseling groups at the church. David would swing by the parking lot outside of Cope Cottage, pick me up, and then take us to Chrystal’s Pizza for some dinner and conversation. I was freaking out about our date.

But I was also excited about meeting someone new. I wore a cute red, white, and blue suit that I always felt dressed up in. Hand-me-downs and garage sale finds supplied most of my wardrobe. I never looked poor in my clothes, but some outfits made me feel more like the “in crowd” than others. This was one such outfit, and I felt confident wearing it. The suit was a little more formal than blue jeans and a pullover shirt. I usually wore the latter attire for church youth activities. The suit wasn’t so dressy as to draw attention to me. For descriptive purposes, it was a nice outfit for David to recognize me. David had a beard and was going to wear jeans. He was going to drive, so I could identify him in the car when he approached me at Cope Cottage. As I sat in Dad’s car, awaiting David’s arrival, I saw someone standing near the chapel doorway just across from Cope Cottage.

He seemed a little shabbily dressed, and his hair was unkempt. I watched as he walked toward the car; he had a beard. He was wearing blue jeans and had on a blue jean jacket. My first instinct was that this couldn’t possibly be David. He’s walking over here. He looks uncertain. God, I feel so nervous! Maybe I should just get out of the car now. But what if it isn’t him? I feel safer in the car. I’ll find out if it’s him, and then I’ll get out of the car. My heart is pounding! Slow down! It’s just a date. Be cool. Everything will be just fine. I don’t want to be rude, but just reveal a crack in the window. He must think I’m a wuss. God! I have to find out if it’s him. I’ll ask him if he’s related to Allison. If he says no, then I know it’s not him, and I can drive away if I need to. God, he’s here.

My heart pounded with such fervor it seemed like a miracle that it could still be in my chest cavity. My body vibrated with uncertainty and excitement all over. This guy does have a beard; it must be him. I rolled the window down about two inches and bravely asked the foreboding person standing just outside, “Are you David?” “Yes.” I started having second thoughts again. My first inclination led me to a certain skepticism. I didn’t believe him. Something didn’t feel right about this person. Get a grip! Of course, it’s him. After all, he has a beard, and he’s standing here where we discussed we’d meet each other. “Is Allison Donnally your aunt?” I asked. “Yes.” The butterflies in the pit of my stomach ran amuck! A never-before-met-in-person stood before me. My anxiety about dating, especially with someone I’d never seen before, climbed like a roller coaster at the highest point and then plummeted. He answered my questions correctly.

I reasoned my nerves were getting the best of me. It was time to start my date with David. I grabbed the car keys, my brown purse, and opened the door of the red Datsun wagon to join David and walk to his car. As I rolled the window back up and reached for the door latch to open it, I wondered why he didn’t just bring his car over to where Dad’s car was situated, like we’d talked about. Maybe he’s unfamiliar with the church grounds and parked in the main lot. The large Gothic church was a regal sight among the downtown Fort Worth skyscrapers. Around the corner from where I was and across the street from the obvious front face of the building sat the main parking lot. In the middle of the parking lot, there was a big cross made of concrete and stone. In the middle of the landscaped cross, a tall, serene statue of Jesus with outstretched arms welcomed members, visitors, and guests. If David didn’t know where to go to find the car I’d described, wouldn’t he park his car there?...