On his deathbed, my uncle told his little brother how I, the oldest girl in my dad’s big family of kids, am “one of the best of all my dad's kids”.
You know “fight, flight, freeze, or fawn”, the things a human naturally does to survive threats? I was terrified of my uncle. He actively made life worse for my father. He hoarded tons of junk on family property that my dad had to clean up, or else be fined by the state. He tried to store rusted out cars on our property. He dumped a massive old combine harvester by our driveway.
Age 50’s, he sat behind teen girls in church and petted their hair. Without even asking. He told my ten-year-old brother how he—uncle—would save the world by impregnating one of those teen girls. He drove to her home, knocked on the door, and presented a box of chocolate, proposing to marry their child.
Uncle scared me on a visceral level, so I “flight-ed” from him. I hid from him if I saw him. And if I had to interact with him, I “fawned” by being painfully polite then escaped as soon as possible.
Church elders refused to kick my uncle from the church, “because he needs Jesus!”, until threatened with legal action.
No one called the police, because Bible verses say to do not involve secular authorities in church business. And, because the Seventh-day Adventist church prophetess, Ellen White, wrote to a child molesting pastor that he should tell no one that he molested, because doing so “would be a disgrace to the ministry.” (Source: https://m.egwwritings.org/en/book/122.620) Not reporting church member’s child molestation to the police has been standard Seventh-day Adventist policy ever since.
Kicked from the church, my uncle found a neighborhood young teen girl with absent parents. He broke his leg falling out of a tree climbing up after her. He gave her a dog. He gave her candy. He wandered nearby properties with her by his side.
I had nightmares of him hurting her. I had nightmares of him hurting me.
My mom called Child Protective Services and reported my uncle grooming that girl. CPS did nothing.
And so, on his death bed, he told his little brother how “good” I was. Because I was terrified of him, so scared I hid or was painfully, terribly polite.
And so, he gave me $1000 after he passed. The check sits, held fast to my fridge with a magnet. I don't know how to feel about it. I feel rather…cursed, and guilt-ridden, and thankful for a small windfall, and yet I want to scream.