When I was three and a half years old, I murdered a woman. I spent the next 50 years retracing and recovering bent memories that had long been buried by the great force of denial.
I went back and fought to uncover the truth that had been buried on 40 acres, in a sink hole, on my parents’ property. I went back because I too was a murderer. I may have been only three but I was old enough to feel the guilt when we walked out of that room alive and she did not.
I was old enough to know that I now shared a secret with my father and his friend that no one else would ever know. We three would stay connected for the rest of our lives, incarcerated together with only each other as accomplices.
Not a matter of speaking, but a matter of fact: I am guilty of murder just as they are.
Sink holes do exist . . .
Bless your little 3 year old inner child. I can only imagine what she went through and for so long too. I am honored to read your story and yes… by staying open and vulnerable, will always allow for others to be brave enough to share their stories too.
Xactly! United we stand. Thanks for your kind words.
That’s such a burden to carry as a child and to still carry today. I pray you have a good therapist to talk with who can help you find closure or find some peace.
Appreciate your words. Jesus found me as a child and I’ve had the same amazing therapist for over 15 years. Giving back is my constant peace.