“It can’t be true because he’s so well loved.”
“It can’t be true because he was around so many others and it didn’t happen to them.”
“It can’t be true because they waited so long to come forward.”
“It can’t be true because they’re conspiring to ruin him.”

I know. I get it. None of us WANT to believe someone we know, respect or admire could be a rapist. It shakes us and makes us question all those around us in positions of trust or authority. And yes, occasionally, unfortunately, rarely, false accusations are made which ruin someone’s life, and that’s not right either.

But when you begin to defend someone (and this time that someone in the news is Bill Cosby) based solely on the reasons given above, I can’t help but feel old angers rising …

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If I’m in the sandwich generation, these are the pieces of bread that hold me together.

This is therapy. This is me just spilling it all out, like the contents in an oft-used yet rarely cleaned purse. I’m going through some heavy stuff at the moment, and I need to get it all out there before trying to put it back neatly in place. I remember my mom doing just this with her sensible leather purses. Always the same style. Long strap, multiple pockets, some neutral shade like black, taupe or navy blue. Every so often, she’d pull all the contents out onto our long dining room table, and I’d watch with fascination as she sorted things into piles. The lipstick, nail file, loose change, wadded up tissues, checkbook, and other items of her daily …

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