UNITED STATES
Huffington Post
Alice Carey
Ah, Pope Francis you’ve struck another bad cord with me. It was condescending enough of you to say that atheists can go to heaven — myself included. But now, as it’s Holy Week, you’re doing your Jesus bit by donning a crown of thorns and taking the rap for your employees — priests who abused children. Dead ones as well, I presume.
In my last missive to you, “A Memo To Pope Francis,” I called you Frank, which I’ll continue to do because of Bob. Father Bob, precisely, my uncle the priest, long dead, and I presume in Heaven, with his other child-abusing cohorts.
What you need is a cue in from one who knows. What Father Bob (that’s what I called him, never Uncle Bob) did to me happened long ago. I don’t talk about it much. What’s done is done. What’s the use of hanging on to something you can’t do anything about.
What isn’t done is this construct called “the healing process.” Get on with it. I did. I do. One does. What’s not healed, nor never will ever be, is the PTS of being abused by a priest, let alone a relative, and have no one, no one at all to tell it to back then.
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