The trial started, the beginning of the end. My mother had undergone a lot of her own emotions throughout this whole ordeal. I could see her fences breaking although she tried to be strong. She missed the loving husband she knew for 32 years before all of this happened and I couldn’t blame her. A lot of people did. She was crucified.

Some family members, friends and people from the community turned their backs on her. They did not for one moment believe that the man they knew was guilty of such crimes. This was expected because my dad had lived the life of a saint, a church going man, charming and always helpful to others. To some, even in these trying times, we could never really complain because they were all victims or were affected one way or another by what he had done. So sympathy was the last thing we would get. And we never could blame any of them.

A month had passed since his incarceration before my mom went to visit him in prison for the first time. Seeing him there devastated her even more. She went to the trial, testified and prayed. She prayed for strength and for forgiveness, strength for the road ahead, for us and for my father. For forgiveness for all the poor choices she had made, the decisions that led up to that day and for not handling the situation differently.

She wanted her husband back and wished she could go back in time and fix everything. With my father in jail, it seemed our family was going through a lot more pain and unhappy days at home. At one point I wished my father had rather died, it would’ve been easier.

My mom and I were the only ones from our family that attended the last day of trial. We sat waiting outside the courtroom. Sick to my stomach, is a feeling I remember distinctly. Moments later my dad and his appointed lawyer came out. He was crying, weeping like a baby. The court took into consideration the time already spent in prison awaiting trial, his age, health, testimonials from my nieces and my mother and the reports from the social workers and doctors who examined them.

They found him guilty on a lesser charge and he was sentenced to 5 years’ probation and rehabilitation from an appointed counsellor in his home town. He was free to go home. We cried and I held my father like never before.
He begged every-one in our family for forgiveness. Pleaded with my brothers to give him a second chance. He humbled himself in front of my nieces and their parents and asked for forgiveness from God and everyone. Amidst all this craziness my mom had sold their house and moved to a new town. She couldn’t take the judgemental looks any longer a wanted a fresh start.

He and my mom will try to work on their relationship. They have a lot to work through and hopefully their marriage survived this. Only time will tell. He has new relationships and bridges to build. Our family has truly been through hell and back. We’re breathing again. We can hold our heads high again. Nothing to be ashamed of. Loving each other again and trusting.

We are picking up the pieces and have all come out different people but we will never allow what has happened to define us. We will try to move on from this and only occasionally will we be reminded of when days were dark. Occasionally we will be haunted by the ‘what ifs’ of the past. As a family we are able to forgive but whenever I catch my mother or brothers deep in thought, I can silently whisper to them… “I know.”

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Tell us what you think: What do you think of the sentence given to the father?