“Sometimes bad things happen to good people.” There was a time in my life when that sentence really annoyed me. Yes, bad things happen to good people, but why do the bad people have to look so smug and happy about it? Besides, I never believed that I was good, so wasn’t it normal for bad things to happen to me?
After a while, I came to accept the above aphorism as fact, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I still believed that I was the only bad person that bad things happened to. It’s true. I actually thought the things in my past happened because I was bad, somehow.
I’ve met lots of people since then, all good people that bad things happened to. They welcomed me, drew me in, made me feel like I was one of them and, after a while, the voice in my head that said bad things happened to me because I was bad became quieter, but I still feel it whispering in the back of my head that I don’t really belong there. That, as a bad person, I didn’t deserve the company of such good people.
That was when Lucy Tock reached out to me. Poor girl. She had (has) endured horrors that make my life look like an eternal picnic and she needed me for support and love. Given all the terror she has experienced at the hands of her family, I was pleased when she asked to call me “mommy.”
I’ve done my best for her each day she has come to me. However, on the days when that little voice that whispers to me that I am bad is at its loudest, she is there to counter it. Why, you ask? Because she knows that voice. That same voice whispers the same thing in her mind. Helping her has helped me to know that voice for what it really is: a lie.
So, Lucy, thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for needing me. Most of all, thank you for helping me see the truth.