This man is dead; I was with him almost to the end. He is my uncle. I wrote essays in grade school about him being my hero. He always had a smile and a hug. He taught me about Rumi. From him, I learned that black women are powerful, godlike. I learned how to forgive and temper my anger. I learned to meditate. i learned : (written by Tukaram)
To this day I feel he was the only person to unconditionally love me. My kids thrived under his guidance. They cry often over his death.
On 1 Aug 2018 and then the details on 14 Aug 2018, I learned about a different side to this man. I can’t imagine what those children went through and as adults are going through. The torture the parents must feel. I am sorry. I am so sorry and deeply troubled by his conduct and that of the church. I wasn’t alive when he did the currently known about violations. I never knew “[h]e was issued a penal precept that revoked any priestly faculties.” He just refused to marry me when asked- he was old.
At this moment, I feel I will never be able to reconcile these two versions of one man. I have not told my kiddos. Is it ironic my need to protect them from this family history (at least till they are older).