Little birds inside the nest
Newly feathered prudent breast
Don’t clip your wings for you must fly
Unto a distant faithful sky
Mother watches, never far
Hoping you will find your star
“Two mochas, low fat turkey sandwich and a chocolate croissant, warmed up please.” Wrappers littered the van floor, an account of our vagabond lifestyle. Each day was spent driving around the tiny town we now called home, searching for answers and a way to bring about a temporary peace in what had descended into a tumultuous environment. Ordering fast food, driving past green hills of the Spring Palouse and finally wearily heading towards Saleeha’s little downstairs apartment. What had once been viewed as a dingy, first residence, now served as a safe haven and refuge.
Leaving our home that day seemed scandalous and sickening; it was not me, not Lynn. I was raised in a “good and respectable” home, a loyal wife and companion, accepting whatever was given to me and making the best of it. Now abuse had knocked at the door and there was no way to deny its entry into our lives. Numerous excuses had been made for his controlling and aggressive behavior, but never had this reality actually been inescapable until it openly became physical.
Shame and guilt were evident in a last ditch effort to co-exist, not call police and pretend that we were still a family, that I was not a failure as mother and wife. My first reaction was to flee, take the children for the remainder of his visit and stay at Saleeha’s place. My desire to keep things on an even keel and eliminate any further humiliation won out and after hours of wandering aimlessly around our small city, we finally drove up the hill and opened the door.
He sat in the middle of the couch, a small but self-assured grin spread across his lips. He looked straight at me and asked me what my plans were for the rest of the day. The events had been erased and once again I felt that it had been my doing, my fault.
This is the story of when he was last here (May 2015). I will write what I am able to here and there. This visit was followed by starting a blog and meeting all of you wonderful, supportive friends. It also started a wave of anxiety and panic that I have been trying to recover from for the past year. Thank you for your support and caring!
The visit part 2
Flying down the hall felt surreal, a swift reminder of why I had made few attempts at standing tall, holding dearly to the parts of me that still remained. Years spent groveling, kowtowing and doing whatever was needed to keep this turbulent storm under control had now spiraled into an unstoppable rage.
My cheek had narrowly missed clipping the bedroom door as I tripped and stumbled aimlessly down the hall. His hand grabbed my shirt again and forcefully threw me further into chaos. The warm and gentle brown eyes that had left an indelible mark on my heart, were now blank, cold and formidable. It was a look I had learned to fear, biting my lip and scratching pieces of ragged skin on my cheek had become the only way to stop unwanted tears that mockingly fell to the floor.
Bits and pieces of fear, strength and panic coursed through my mind as I gathered myself, preparing for reality to meet fiction in one swift moment. I ran haphazardly trying to keep my feet steady on the floor, feeling the fury that followed close behind and knowing that the moment had finally come. Years of anxiety and terror had now come to a conclusion and all at once my heart felt as if it would sink and I would give up, crumbling into the person he had ascribed to me.
As I toppled into the living room a strong determined voice called out, a young thin figure, wet hair dripping onto the floor stood before me. She raised her voice and shouted boldly, years of being told to stand, wait and silently watch now discharged into words, “What are you doing!! STOP!
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