After his conviction, Richard comes to my church

by Nyssa McCanmore
Posted on October 23, 2011March 4, 2021

To my shock, Richard showed up at my church today. I hadn’t seen him there since last Christmas, and thought that–ever since I reported him to Social Services and he got convicted of choking his kid–he would never show up at my church again, out of shame, knowing or suspecting that I know what he did. (The Forum was shocked as well.)

But there he was, so who knows when he could show up again. Every week maybe? And my church is TINY. It’s hard to stay at opposite ends of the church in a church that small. Staying at opposite ends means staying a yard or two apart. Because of this, even though Jeff normally drops me off and leaves (he’s Lutheran), he stayed nearby as moral support–or a kind of bodyguard.

But I did note a few things. They may mean nothing, or they may mean something, I don’t know: Richard was very quiet during the service, even during the Creed. I didn’t hear him and he was just two or three pews back with nobody in between. He did not go to get the Eucharist.

Only two children were with him: The child he choked was not there. The youngest also was not there, and neither was Tracy.

He was right behind me in the line to get blessed bread from the priest, but said nothing to me. Of course, I was sending out clear body language to “stay away.”

Unlike the first or second time I saw them at my church after everything went down, this time I’m given strength by the knowledge that I should not cower in shame from someone who did such a horrible thing to a little kid.

During coffee hour, my son played with the two children who were there. Child #1 is only about 5 and just happy-go-lucky whatever happens. She’ll pass by us and maybe smile or give a hug. Child #2 is older, and upset at Jeff and me for not coming around anymore.

Before I left, I got waylaid by the two girls after Jeff and my son had already gone out. I gave them hugs and smiles, but also got Child #2’s scolding eyes. She said things like, “You guys don’t come around anymore,” “We miss you,” “It was fun to play at your house.”

Jeff tells me he also got her scolding eyes. But you can’t tell a little child, “Sorry, but we can’t come to your house anymore because your mother is nasty and your father choked your sister.” So instead, I said, “We miss you, too.”

I hate to see children suffer from the sins of the parents. I keep praying that the probation officer and Social Services are working to change things for those girls so they can break the cycle.

Jeff does not want to be friends with these people again.

[The case also showed up in the local newspaper’s printed listing of court cases, in November, showing his name, the ruling, and the amount of the fine.]

I posted on Facebook a dedication to Richard: “Suedehead” by Morrissey:

Why do you come here? And why do you hang around? Why do you come here When you know it makes things hard for me? When you know, oh…Why do you come?

I also wrote:

Today I was put in the extremely uncomfortable and heartbreaking position of talking to a child who didn’t understand why I don’t come around anymore, and seeing the scold in her eyes.
“It was fun playing at your house,” she said. “We miss you,” she said.
But you can’t tell a child that her parents’ disgraceful behavior is the reason. “We miss you, too,” was all I could say.
I don’t get it–Why does he come to my church if he’s not going to try to make things right with us? It’s supposed to be my refuge, my peaceful place. But he keeps showing up there like a bad penny.
He has his own church. What he did to me, has put me into my own Long Dark Night of the Soul; when he choked his daughter, I was horrified; and when I see him again, it’s a setback, when I’ve come so far along.
Every Sunday service, I’m afraid to go because he might be there. Why doesn’t he leave me alone?
Dude, I don’t hate you, but I am extremely disappointed in you. I expected much better of you…….

Then I posted a link to my blog post, Healing Takes a Long Time. Some excerpts:

I had thought I’d never see Richard at my church again, but there he was on Sunday. A wound I thought was healing has been ripped open again, gaping and oozing.
It’s hard for me to even get myself up and going to church on Sunday mornings, for fear that they will be there. They’ve surprised me a few times at church, or at my church’s Greek Fest, since the breach, even though I rarely ever saw them there before. (They go elsewhere.)
It felt like they were doing it on purpose to terrorize me. Every time I saw them, I’d barely make it through, feel like collapsing, have to fight to keep from trembling. Only anger at all the abuse could give me strength to get through.
This time, Hubby and I saw their vehicle in the parking lot, so Hubby stayed to give me moral support. (He has his own church and normally just drops me off at mine.)
This time, it was just Richard and two of his kids, not the one who was choked. It was all very quiet, no scenes or anything. He didn’t even take communion.
During coffee hour, my son played with the two kids. One is only about 5 and just happy-go-lucky whatever happens. She’d pass by us and maybe smile or give a hug. Just the sweetest, most adorable little girl.
The other one is 7, and upset at Hubby and me for not coming around anymore.
Before I left, I got waylaid by the two girls after Hubby and my son had already gone out. I gave them hugs and smiles, but also got the older one’s scolding eyes.
She said things in a scolding tone like, “You guys don’t come around anymore,” “We miss you,” “It was fun to play at your house.” Hubby also got her scolding eyes earlier.
My heart broke right there. I couldn’t tell a 7-year-old child about the reasons.
I couldn’t tell a 7-year-old child about the abuse, how Tracy had verbally eviscerated me over a misunderstanding and had no remorse, how her father had done a terrible, evil deed to her sister, how he had once planned to do a terrible, evil deed to a lady who had upset him two years ago, and made me afraid of him, afraid of what horrible deeds he could do to me.
I couldn’t explain to her in a way that she could understand it had nothing to do with her.
All I could say was, “We miss you, too,” and try not to cry. I’ve been miserable ever since, missing her and the other children.
I just kept hoping during coffee hour that Richard would come to Hubby and me and apologize for all the things he’d done to us, and was very disappointed when he didn’t. I still keep hoping.
[5/4/14: Instead, he just spent the whole time ignoring us, making no move to make peace with us, instead telling one of my fellow parishioners about his conversion to Orthodoxy.
His conversion–hmph–What a joke! Was that an Orthodox way to treat us, Richard? You’re no Christian!]
I hope that, because of the criminal conviction, he’s using his probation as a second chance to change things around. I hope that one day things will be different, that his abusive home environment will become healthy and good, that he will come to us.
Websites on abusers keep saying, “Don’t hope for change. Let go of the hope for change. Accept that this is the way they are and will always be. Don’t listen when the Church says they can change.” But in my heart I just don’t believe that.
I was angry. I tried to hold onto my anger to distance myself from Richard and all the pain. But it’s all just vanished and sadness has returned.
When he came to our city four years ago, I had no idea things would turn out like this. I gave them so much of myself, trying to help them, because Richard’s friendship was so important and special to me. He had never said anything about an abusive homelife, not until then.
One person on an Orthodox message board noted that I sound emotionally and spiritually traumatized. This is certainly true.
If you are religious, please pray for me and this whole situation, which affects not just me but four innocent children.

[Below was added in spring 2014.]

Tracy accused me of breaking off relations with her because I needed to “grow up” and accept the “consequences” of my “behavior.”

No, we broke off relations with her because she’s a screaming harpy, a child abuser, a husband beater, and an abusive friend who bullies shy, quiet, gentle people.

We had already considered breaking off relations with her several times before that, even considered reporting her to CPS before the breakup.

Her behavior on July 1, 2010 was the last straw.

And now we have proof, in black and white, and in the state’s court records, that Richard is also a child abuser, making his loss no longer the tragedy I thought it was.

But I still suffered from residual pain and grief over his loss.

On October 31, 2011, the newspaper published this letter I sent to the editor:

I commend Jaymee Barton (“Surviving Violence,” Oct. 24) for speaking out on domestic abuse and [two local newspapers] for publishing stories about this issue over the past year.
An earlier article, “Injuries to Child Raise Questions” (Aug. 26), discussed sentencing for child abusers. Recently, a local man who choked his young daughter was charged with two felonies. But through plea bargaining, his sentence became probation, no jail time.
How can this happen with such a despicable act? Is that child being protected? Domestic abuse is far too common – husbands abusing wives emotionally, verbally and/or physically, wives abusing husbands in the same way, husbands and wives abusing each other, parents abusing children.
And keep in mind that “domestic abuse” [in Wisconsin] applies to anyone living together, including roommates. People laugh at women abusing men, but it happens quite a bit, even physically. Even going to counseling can be a way for the abuser to control the abused by manipulating the counselor.
I also commend Social Services and the police in trying to stop abuse. Anyone who witnesses or suspects abuse should report it to the police or Social Services to help them do their job protecting those who can’t protect themselves. And I hope the abused, even children, will have the courage to tell someone who can help.

Table of Contents

1. Introduction

2. We share a house