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mschelseastone · 5 years

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve known my grandpa was a child molester. Now he’s dead, and I have no idea how to mourn.

I knew my grandpa was a child molester before I knew what that really meant. When I was told he had raped children, I thought it meant he hit someone over the head with a rake. However, it didn’t matter that I fully understood from the start, because I knew that 1) my parents would never, ever leave me alone with him and 2) I needed to be careful around him.

He knew that I knew, and he understood why I knew. Unlike many abusers, he owned up to what he had done. I know for a fact that he apologized to his main victim and told her it wasn’t her fault. Until the end, he knew there was a dark part of him that had done horrible things, and it was important to him to be a good person now in an attempt to make up for it.

For me, there is a benefit to seeing the good in him, even though he was a child molester. That said, I know some people refuse to see humanity in people who do such things, because, in their mind, they don’t deserve the humanity after what they did. I completely understand that, and I have zero urge to change the mind of those people. Still, for me, I need to see both sides.

He has taken responsibility for his actions to at least one of his victims. He has taken an active role in numerous churches throughout the years (he was a preacher for some time), and many people have said he helped them in that way. He and his wife took in and raised numerous grandchildren when their parents could not. And, he was one of the first people to accept someone in my family that is transgender and call that person by the proper pronouns.

There are many wonderful things he did in his life, and I’m so glad he was able to do these things. After he died, I wrote on my Instagram:

“Thank you for trying so hard to be good, even when so much of you had been bad. Thank you for the good things you did do.”

Still, I refuse to let his bad side be a footnote. I don’t think the bad side of people always needs to be remembered after death – we all have flaws – but this is different. This is child molestation.

With one of his victim’s permission, I will reveal that I know her well. She’s my mom. His daughter.

I hate, more than anything, that this happened to her. Her life was permanently affected and harmed by his actions, and it kills me. I don’t want to erase the good things he did, and I’m not trying to ruin his legacy. Still, we cannot ignore what he did. He molested children. His own daughter. He did not forget, and neither can we.

But what do I do with this knowledge? What do I do with the memory of him in my mind? What do I do now that he’s gone?

I always want to assign meaning to things. This happened, but I learned this from it, so it had a purpose. What is there to learn from this? Maybe there’s nothing, and maybe that’s okay. Still, I need to cope with it. How do I cope? How do I reconcile these competing feelings? This feeling of missing a loving old man, and this feeling of hating the younger version of that man.

(Full disclosure: I’m in therapy, and my therapist is helping me with these feelings, of course. That said, I’m a writer, and writing it out is also necessary for me. So here I am.)

My grandpa’s funeral was by far the most disturbing funeral I’ve ever attended, and it, surprisingly, has little to do with the fact that he molested children. Both of my father’s parents passed away when I was a teenager, so this was the third grandparent’s funeral I’ve attended. I flew in from California to attend and be with my family. The funeral was important to me. I wanted to hear stories about him, and I wanted to hear about the positive impact he had on others. I wanted that small feeling of closure that I’ve previously gotten from funerals.

I didn’t get that, because this funeral was a recruitment for the church my grandpa had attended in the last ten years of his life. It’s hard to talk about this, because, honestly, it was incredibly disturbing to me. I was shaking during the funeral. I’ve had stress dreams about it. I’m full of anger when I remember the funeral. I feel like closure was stolen from me.

My grandpa was incredibly religious, so I absolutely expected religion to be a large part of his funeral. In fact, I wanted that for him. I find that religion can be incredibly peaceful to discuss. Personally, I am not religious, but I absolutely see, respect, and appreciate the benefit of religion for those who are religious. Additionally, I believe that the majority of churches would not have done something like this. This is not something where I am now upset with religion in general; I am upset with the preacher of this one specific church. The members of that congregation were incredibly kind to us, so I hold nothing against them either. Just him.

On an unrelated note, I have huge problems with cults, churches with dangerous practices, and closed-mindedness, but that’s not the current topic of discussion.

The funeral had a few good moments, but all of them came from other people telling stories about my grandpa. One of my cousins went up and spoke, and I’m so happy that he did that. You could see his love for our grandpa. You could see how my grandpa positively affected him. I love that, and I think many of us needed that.

The rest of the funeral consisted of the preacher trying to get us to go to his church. He told us that many of us would never see my grandpa again, because my grandpa will be in Heaven, and we don’t have a good enough relationship with Jesus to go to Heaven. He raised his voice at us and yelled at us for not doing enough to go to Heaven. He told us that my grandpa had given him the names of immediate family members that he worried would go to Hell, and, if we think our name was one of them, we need to talk to him [the preacher] immediately. He even made us all close our eyes and raise our hands if what he had said made us want to attend his church. The entire thing felt like being lectured for not being a member of his congregation. At the very least, we were being yelled at and demeaned for not being good enough. It was disturbing and upsetting.

If he wants to preach that way at his church, I’m cool with it. No one is forced to go to his church, as far as I can tell. That said, this was a funeral, and his method hurt me a lot.

Now, I’m not going to pretend to be perfect. We had food at the preacher’s church after the funeral, and I called a lady a cunt in that House of God. Is that out of character for me? Yes. I like the word cunt, but I don’t normally say it to people’s faces. But hey, shit happens. I called a lady a cunt in that church, and I think she deserved it. I’d do it again.

(It’s a long story, but the “cunt” was a distant family member who told my aunt – my grandpa’s legally adopted daughter – that she had no right being at the funeral. My aunt, who my grandpa loved and was happy to see and spend time with every time she came to visit. My aunt, who was crying throughout the funeral, heartbroken. This “cunt” tried to start drama at my grandpa’s funeral by hurting my aunt. She was a cunt, and I wasn’t having it. I’ve worked through therapy to become very good at communication. I’ve worked to not be “reactive” and immediately act on any anger I may feel. But hey, you act like a cunt to my family when we’re going through some shit, and I may call you a cunt in a church. Sorry, but I’m truly not sorry.)

I’m not religious, but if there’s a God, I believe he’s full of love. If there’s a God, I have no doubt in my mind that he would love me and would consider me a good person. I have plenty of flaws, but I try incredibly hard to help and love and understand others. I want to make the world a better place. It’s my goal in life. I don’t believe in God or Heaven, but if those things exist…you know, I’m not worried about it. Because God wouldn’t care that I didn’t believe. He would care about my heart, and he would know my heart without me having to praise Jesus every Sunday. (Again, if you praise Jesus every Sunday and that works for you – yay!! I would never judge that. Live with love and respect, and we’re good. Religion is not for me, and I find that most religious people respect that, and I hope anyone reading this will respect that too.)

The preacher who led the funeral said my grandpa had told him what he [my grandpa] had done in the past, but that it didn’t matter. The preacher said that all sins are the same. If you’ve sinned, but you love Jesus (particularly the way he believes you should love Jesus), you’re going to Heaven. If you’re good, but don’t love Jesus or worship God – see you in hell! I’m paraphrasing, but that was the message of the funeral.

I don’t think my grandpa actually believed that. I don’t think he would have liked the message delivered during his funeral, even if he sat in church every Sunday and heard something similar himself. I interviewed my grandpa after his diagnosis, and one of my favorite quotes that came from that interview was this:

“You know, the doctrinal church I don’t like. I like the bible church. The bible church is where I read it and interpret it, and the lord shows me what’s real. I think a lot of times, with church today, they got too many laws. They’re still living old testament laws and not living new testament love.”

This brings me back to the fact that my grandpa was a child molester. He didn’t forget that, and we can’t forget it either. Another quote from the interview was this:

“My story is hard to fathom what – you know – I just can’t see any good. Whenever I – I’ll give you something here, I haven’t shared with anyone. I’ll share it now, because you asked. In December of this year, whenever – before I found out about what’s going on with the cancer and everything – I had a thought in my head – what value am I? Who would miss me if I was gone? That was in December. And then, this came up December 31st. I’ve seen that now. That I’d be missed.”

I do miss him. I wish he could have lived longer. I wish he wouldn’t have gotten cancer. I wish he could be at my wedding in two years. I wish he could have come to California to see the ocean again before he died. Still, seeing only good things about him in his death disturbs me. I can’t say it enough: I cannot and will not forget what he did.

Shortly after my grandpa’s diagnosis of stage four cancer, another bombshell dropped, but I can’t reveal that at this time. Let’s just say, it somehow complicates things EVEN MORE.

I don’t know what to do with this situation. I don’t know how to mourn him and his life in the way that works best for me. Child molestation is incredibly prominent. I’m not knowledgeable on the statistics, but I know that I’ve met a LOT of people affected by it. I don’t know what to do about it, but I know it has affected me and people I love (though, fortunately, it didn’t happen to me), and I know I need to talk about this. I just don’t know what to say.

He was a complicated man. I feel like that is accurate, but also a complete understatement. I don’t want to diminish what he did. He’s a rapist. He’s a child rapist. He’s not just complicated, it’s much deeper than that. I don’t want to erase that. I don’t want the message of this to be like “well, we’re all complicated, and I mean, sure, he raped kids, but he said sorry!” It isn’t okay.

So, is it okay to somehow still see him as a human? Not for some people, and I get that. It’s difficult for me to do so, because seeing child molesters and murderers as human feels dangerous. But it also feels dangerous to ignore it – because then, you look at someone who does legitimately wonderful things, and it feels impossible that they could have done bad things. They donate money to charities. They helped you through the hardest part of your life. But then, you learn that they’ve done something unforgiveable. How do we appreciate the good while still recognizing that people can do (and sometimes have done) unforgiveable things? How do we recognize the humanity without diminishing the crime?

I don’t know the right balance. I don’t know the answer to this problem.

So, what have I learned? Has this taught me something that I can use in my life going forward? I can’t answer the questions in the above paragraphs, but I know they’re worth discussing. I believe we need to talk about this and recognize the complexity of it. We need to look into this so that hopefully we can do something about something. We need to talk about these things.

Still, I always want a concrete answer or lesson learned, even though I recognize, logically, that there isn’t always an answer or lesson learned. I want to be able to say “so, let’s talk about it, and then we can ______!” But I don’t have something to put in that blank.

I interviewed my grandpa in his final months, and I loved talking to him. When we talked, I put together a timeline of the events in his life. I’m so happy I have that. He talked about being hospitalized in a mental institution in his youth, before his first marriage. We talked about how mental health treatment has improved greatly in recent years and how important that is. That conversation meant a lot to me. I told him, for the first time, about my mental issues (diagnosed OCD and general anxiety – treated with therapy and medication). He told me how some of his mental behaviors had been focused on obsession as well. I love that we had that conversation. We bonded over that, and I will always cherish that conversation.

He also told me that he was proud of me. He was proud of me for chasing my dreams and never settling. He told me that I did things right, unlike him. I started college at 16 and ended up with a Bachelor’s Degree at 20. Then I moved to Los Angeles, literally days after my graduation, and I’ve been here since, pursuing a writing career. He started college at 16, dropped out, joined the military, and ended up in a mental institution.

I truly believe I was successful where he was not because of how mental health is treated today compared to how it was back then in the late 50s and early 60s. I had advantages that he did not.

That said – he molested children. That’s another level. I don’t know how to fit that into the mental health discussion. I don’t know how to reconcile any of it.

The last words he said to me were “I have a beautiful granddaughter.” I cry when I think about it. I cry when I think about him being proud of me. I cry because I miss him.

These are the things on my mind right now. A part of me wants to keep searching for answers to my questions. I want to read what others have written about these ideas. I want to try to solve it like it’s a math problem. Another part of me wants to leave it on the page and free myself from thinking about it all.

I’m not sure which way I’ll end up going.

I know this though: I’m allowing myself to love who he was in his later years, even though I remain disgusted by the actions of his youth. I haven’t found the best way for me to balance those two things, but I’m working on it. I know he loved me. I know he saw good in me. I know, because he told me.

I also know he wasn’t sitting on his porch giving his preacher the names of family members he thinks are going to Hell so that his preacher could shame them later.

Chelsea

PS. This felt out of place in the post above, but I can’t help but mention that this year has been a lot to handle in general. In addition to the above, my fiancé and I also both lost our consistent jobs this year, and I’m in more debt than ever. Also, a month before my grandpa passed away, my step-grandpa committed suicide. I wasn’t close with him, but he and I shared a love of Harry Potter, and I will miss him.

Fortunately, wonderful things have happened too. I got engaged to the love of my life. I’m tangibly making progress on the project that I hope will finally get me to break into the entertainment industry as a legitimate screenwriter. My fiancé is getting closer to achieving his dreams. I have spent valuable and meaningful time with my friends and family, and I love that.

PPS. I used to do background acting to make money, so a lot of my family members assume I’m an aspiring actress. I also did a semester of theater in college, but that was because of my dance background. Anyway, if you’re reading this – I love you, but I’ve never ever ever been an aspiring actress. However, I am a writer! I’ve been writing since I was 5 years old, and I’d love to tell you about that passion. Yay! I know this isn’t necessary to mention or related really, at all, but it’s a pet peeve of mine – I love writing so much, and it hurts that some people think it’s a second choice or something. Actors are awesome, it just isn’t for me. Hey! Like religion!

PPPS. If you try to tell me that religion can help me through what I’m going through, you didn’t get the point of all of this. I love that religion helps others! I respect that it is for you. That said, I know myself, and it isn’t for me. Please respect that.

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