Telling Jay - Elizabeth's Independence Day Continued

The next day we went to see my mother. We told her what happened to Elizabeth, and she wept with us. She cried, “I never wanted my children or grandchildren to go through what I went through.” We sat and held each other on bed - three generations of little girls shattered by child sexual abuse.


One of the good things that came from Elizabeth’s bravery was that several family members who had been abused in their youth (some of them a half century or more earlier) now felt courageous enough to tell their own stories. One person said, “I’ve never told anyone about this before, but . . .” and she disclosed how an adult cousin had abused her over sixty years earlier. There were three cases very similar to this. Her telling gave them the freedom to tell. Unlike those earlier generations it didn’t have to stay a secret. They saw her innocence, and now knew that they too were as innocent of this as she was – no longer did they have to bury their shame. They now saw that the only guilty parties were the people who did the abusing.

I talked to the neighbor and had her ask her children if Dewayne had abused them because he spent a lot of time with them as well. The Stake President called me that Sunday and said that Dewayne was on his way home. Elizabeth told on Friday and they had him home by Sunday night. He lawyered up and went into hiding, so the police were not able to talk to him for at least a week while they worked out a process for him to turn himself in. That part was frustrating. In the meantime, I had to call my son.

The Sunday after she told, President S talked to me. I was still trying to figure out a way to let Jay continue his mission unaware of the horror we were going through. I didn’t think I could form my mouth around the words I would have to say to him and not be with him in person to help hold him up. I called his mission president Monday morning and pleaded with him to help me figure out a way to keep this a secret from my son. He was right there with the Stake President in feeling I needed to tell him - now - so I made the phone call.

For those who do not know how phone calls on missions work, let me explain. Missionaries are allowed to call home twice a year – once on Mother’s day and once on Christmas. Parents do not have phone numbers for their missionary children. We write every week, but missionaries need to keep their minds on their missions. That can be hard to do if mommy is calling everyday because she misses him so much. So, if a missionary gets a phone call from home, he knows it is bad news.

Monday evening I called my son. One of his companions answered the phone. I asked for Elder Jay. I tried to keep my voice light – that lasted through me saying, “Happy Birthday, Jay. What did you do for your birthday?” His birthday had been two days before this phone call. He said his companions had made him a cake from the cake mix I had sent, and they were going to sing to him. He said the cake looked pretty sad. Usually a missionary has one companion, but he was in Nauvoo just before the temple was rebuilt, so he had seven companions. With the exception of being home to hear this news, he couldn’t have been in a better situation.

He said, “Let me go into the other room.” When he got into the other room, he said, “What’s up Ma. I know you wouldn’t call unless something happened.”

My voice shook, “I don’t know how to tell you this. First of all, we will all be okay, but Dewayne molested Elizabeth before he left on his mission. I didn’t want you to hear about this from the news or from another source.” I don’t remember much else of the conversation – only the sounds of his painful sobs as he processed what his best friend had done to his baby sister and our family. The feelings of betrayal cut deeply into his soul. His best friend, who he had trusted, who he was exchanging letters with as they served in different parts of the country, had done this horrible thing.

I was thankful he had supportive people around him, but I wished I could be there with him. He wanted to stay and finish his mission. He had only been in the mission field for a little over three months. He felt the was just getting started.

He and his companions were clearing brush at the temple site. The physical labor was good for him. He said he took his rage out on the trees and brush. He, like his brother, found a tree branch and carved it into a club. A few months later he sent it home. He said he didn’t need a club while he was on a mission for the Lord.

I still cry when I think about that telephone conversation. I longed to put my arms around him, hold him, and comfort him. Even though he was a man of twenty years, in those awful moments, he was my little boy – my first born child. I called his mission president and said, “I am trusting you with my son’s mental health. Please keep an eye on him. Don’t hesitate to get him into a counselor.” The President promised me that he would watch over my son. He assured me that Jay’s companions would also watch over him. It would have to be enough.

We had survived one more hard thing in this process. This was only day four – we had a long, long way to go.