Almost two weeks ago, my daughter mentioned to me that it had been 20 years since she was first raped by our old neighbor. I was feeling positive about how well my daughter has been coping recently, and when she mentioned this, I focused only on what was going well. It's been a busy month for me, so I had little time to think more deeply about what this meant to me. A week ago, out of the blue, I began feeling really sad, to the point that tears would well up in my eyes. I felt surprisingly stressed and irritable. I couldn't understand where this was coming from -- it wasn't PMS or menopause (both in my past), and I was getting enough sleep.

Finally, a couple of days ago it hit me: it's been 20 years since the day our former neighbor killed my happy little girl and sent home a terrified, confused, depressed, secretive, temperamental and shame-filled child who looked just like her. That was the day he opened a wound in our family that is still healing, when my loving daughters began to grow apart. That was the day I first washed away evidence that could have helped us all to begin healing so long ago. That was the day that he turned me into a fraud -- someone who appeared to be doing my job, someone who still held the title of "Mom," but who hadn't the first idea of what was going on with my own, cherished daughter; he had driven a wedge between us I couldn't see for another 16 years. That was the day she began thinking about escape; within a few weeks, unknown to me, she first tried alcohol to help herself feel calm -- at age 8! It was the day so many nightmares -- literal and figurative -- began for my daughter and for us all.

I really needed to put all of this down somewhere. I am so grateful to have a place where I can express this, knowing people who understand will read it. Thank you.