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It occurred to me the other day that I had to tell my brother about this stuff. I am in the process now of pressing charges and we are at the funny stage where he could be arrested any moment, or he might not be arrested for months. There is just no way to tell, it all depends on when paper work is located from the youth organization. Because there is no way to tell, I am constantly on tender hooks waiting for it to happen, but that’s not the reason I had to tell my brother.
I had to tell him because the crown doesn’t think they will be able to get a publication ban. That means that my name might be printed, and even if it is not, they will be able to print enough details that my brother would be able to put it together and probably figure out who they are talking about. Now ordinarily this might not mean too much, after all, my Brother is a 5 hr flight from me. The problem is that, with the youth organization involved, the media might be intense. It has been suggested that this is the kind of case that might garnish national attention. (Dam it!)
As bad as that would be, and I am hoping it doesn’t come to that, I couldn’t put my brother in a position where he finds out from the TV. So that meant I had to tell him, now. It was so hard, I hated doing it for all sorts of reasons, but the biggest reason was that I hurt him when I told him, and I knew it would. He was really supportive and everything, and he made sure it wasn’t about him, but. It really threw him for a loop.
The hardest part of telling my brother was the questions, “why didn’t I tell him? Why didn’t you let me be there for you?”, and “is the reason you didn’t tell me because you were protecting me? Because you know I would have killed him.”
Christ! It hurt so much to hear him ask those things, even now; just typing the questions has me in tears. And the reason it hurt so much was twofold. Partly it hurt because I know it hurt him, but it also hurt because I realized that in keeping it a secret I had cut my self off from his support.
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