He passed away on Tuesday of this last week. The day that I was assisting a mama as she was working hard to bring a new life into this world, the world was becoming a better place without this villain on its surface.
It's interesting to me, the ebb and flow of life and death. The yin and yang, the good and evil that keeps the world either balanced or out of sync, depending on which is stronger and more prevalent at the time.
I haven't mentioned his actual name on this blog, and I'm not entirely sure why?
Perhaps it was out of respect for his family, as I hold his children blameless?
Perhaps it was out of fear, that if I spoke it aloud, that I would get in trouble for slander?
Perhaps it was because even now, many years later, I still harbor a part of my psyche that dares not speak all?
It matters not. He's dead. I will see no justice in this life for what he did to me.
My husband and others have tried to reassure me this week that now that he is gone, he is burning in hell. Or in purgatory, or somewhere not so nice as God is a God of justice, so they say.
I admit, I'm not so sure. Being human, and never having seen justice in this realm meted out by this all knowing God or His subjects, I am not reassured of his ability to do it in the next life. I wish I did not have these doubts, but I am simply putting this out there, to be honest with all.
But I do know this. I now feel that I can say his name.
Dr. William H. Anderson M.D., jr.
Here is his obituary: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/erietimesnews/obituary.aspx?n=william-h-anderson&pid=174645076&
There is, of course no mention of his sexual sickness. No mention of him being a pedophile. No mention of him being a rapist.
There is so much there of all of his good works, his community service, and all of his larger than life accomplishments. Names of family gone on before, like his wife, Wanda, who I suspect knew something was going on. And Billy, sweet Billy who I loved so very much. Mention of his other children, and numerous grandchildren and great grandchildren.
And all the while I wonder...did my silence allow him to abuse more children? I have a bad feeling that perhaps it did. I have wondered that for years. I feel guilt, and remorse for that. Granted, I was given very bad advice from my Pastor who told me that the statute of limitations was up seven years after the last incident, which would have made me just shy of 20. So for many years I thought I didn't have any recourse against this evil man. It wasn't until I was in my early 30's that I discovered that I had until age 30 to press charges.
I could have done something different, had I known. Pastors really shouldn't be giving out legal advice, especially when it only benefits them. Keeping abuse secret in the church is so much less messy than admitting how many sick perverts they are hiding amongst themselves.
I was reading on another site about how others have processed the information that their abuser passed away. It seems that a myriad of feelings and approaches are the "norm" so all the weirdness that I have felt this week is certainly not abnormal. I am relieved that he's gone, happy that he is dead, and yet I feel a great sense of loss that he isn't here anymore for me to possibly get some closure from.
That last feeling is the greatest. I am not grieving him at all. I hope that he died horribly, though I doubt that he did from what I read in his obituary. It doesn't seem fair, that he lived to a ripe old age, surrounded by loving family in his final years. But, life does not deal in fair, it is just life.
So now...where to go from here, what to do with this information? That is what I wrestle with today.
I kind of wished that I lived closer to him. I oddly would have liked to go to his funeral. I honestly thought about it on Thursday, computed how many hours it would take me to get there from here, where I might possibly stay, etc. But in the end, I decided against it. I didn't even verbalize this thought, as it seemed a waste of time and money...and to what end? I was thinking about it simply because I wanted to see that he was actually dead, to see him lying there, much smaller than he was in my young mind when he was so large and abusive. But no...I do not need to do that. I know he was not as big as I remember him, not as powerful, he was just an asshole. A manipulative master of little children, that is what he was, and that is a small, ridiculous person who is not worthy of my time or effort to prove that he was what I know him to be.
I read one person who talked about writing their abuser a letter after their death. I read another who talked about rewriting their obituary to include the details of the abuse. I kind of like both of these options, and may still do one or the other.
I tried to think back and remember good times with him, and the first ones that came to mind were kind of humorous. I remember the time that he pierced my ears and I kicked his shins as hard as I could with each ear, knowing full well that I would get away with it in that setting. I remember playing chess with him, him beating me at the first game in a classic set of moves called, "fools mate" and then my solidly beating him the next two games. He never played me again, he had been bested by an eleven year old and his ego couldn't handle that. There were picnics and birthdays and Christmas get-togethers where we all enjoyed each others families. Those times were the times when he and I pretended like nothing was going on, where I would have to hug him or kiss him or both to say hello or good-bye. So really those times were not so good, I just pretended that they were and he enjoyed the innocence of my family's good will in not knowing the evil that they hosted beneath their roof or enjoyed in his abode.
But mostly I have decided to honor not his life, but mine. I survived. In spite of him, I lived through that. He tried relentlessly to break me to his will, and to an extent, he succeeded. But ultimately, I overcame. I made the best of a horrific situation. I look back now and I am amazed by the resiliency of that little blonde girl who had very little and no support from anyone, even after she told her story. I definitely engaged in some very classic abuse survivor behaviours as a young adult and teen, but ultimately I made my own path and pretty much gave him the proverbial finger.
And in this post, I give it to him again. I'm outing you Doc, I have nothing to lose now, and you certainly don't have any way to hurt me anymore.
If you were abused by this man, know that you were not alone. I believe you. I know who he was. I know he was brilliant. I know he gave back to his community. I know he was a healer. I know he gave so much to many in need. I know he loved his family. I know he loved his church. I know he professed to love God.
I know this above all. He was a lying, sick man who like to have sex with children. He probably went above and beyond in so many other areas to try and make up for being such an awful person behind closed doors. I really don't care how many lives he saved or made a difference for, because he killed me. He killed whatever I was before and I had to be reborn into a stronger person to survive. I don't know what I would have ended up being if he hadn't been a factor in my formative years? I doubt that I would have nearly as many issues with trusting people and with trusting God. But I do know that I will use my story to help others, to give a voice to the voiceless.
I also want to say thank you to all who have posted words of support to me on Facebook and in other messages. I needed that. I appreciate the love and although it saddens me to hear from so many that they too endured abuse, it also makes me realize just how important it is to voice our doubts, fears, and moments of triumph over our pasts, presents, and futures.
