Blog 15 - Essay No. 2 (rewritten)

(Note: This serves as the Introduction to a book I am writing.)

Introduction

“I remember the way Butch would do that,” I reminded my mother, grateful for the opportunity to say my brother’s name.

“Oh, we don’t talk about him anymore,” she commanded.

That is the most honest she has ever been. Since then, she denies he ever lived.

* * *

“Look out!” my father hollers, causing me to jump. Butch runs frantically into the room, jumps on the bed, covers his head, bracing for the beating he knows will ensue. This time, my father pummels him to death. Butch was five; I was three.

* * *

Denial protects us. Repressed memories protect us. This is how we survive. It works for awhile. Then it doesn’t. Around thirty, we remember. It is not conscious. The memories just come. We think (hope) they can’t be true, but our fear tells us they are.

This is how it happened with me. I just remembered. I was terrified.

Others still deny. They may be those with personal knowledge who still can’t handle it, or they may be counselors, police officers, child protectors or judges who can’t handle it.

This book is about the process of repressed memories and its reemergence. It is written for everyone. First, it is written for those with childhood trauma who have the resultant repressed and then possible reemerging memories. It is written for their loved ones and counselors, and it is written for police officers, child protectors and judges. It is also written for the interested public. Its purpose is to educate.

I also wrote this book for Butch, my sweet, sweet brother, and for his memory. I dedicate this book to my brother Butch, and to my sister, who just can’t remember.