Domestic Violence - Looking Back at One Day in My Life

Easter is to me just another day of which I was robbed. I wonder sometimes, if he remembers it the way I do, or even at all. It is the last Easter day I can remember, and yet it was so many years ago.

I knew he had stayed out all night, doing drugs and things I didn't want to know about. But this was Easter morning, and I had stayed up all night playing Easter Bunny. The baskets were on the table, the eggs had all been hidden. I could hear our children giggling with anticipation and my heart filled with joy at every little whisper.

I grabbed the video recorder, double checked that it was fully charged, and all the things I knew to check. I was not savvy in those things and didn't really care to be. That was always his job. That is normal in most marriages, but for him, it was control. Another way to say, "I did this for you so now you owe me." Regardless, he was passed out in the children's room and that left me on my own.

I was filled with trepidation, but Easter is for the children, and I refused to let him take that from them. So into their room I crept, and told them to come out; it was okay to come see what the Easter Bunny had left for them. Yet, without raising his head or opening his eyes, he demanded to know why he had been disturbed. He insisted everyone should remain silent, let him have his peace.

But our peace had been disturbed, I felt. Peace does not always arrive in the form of silence, I thought. So I told him in some form or another to have his peace, to close his eyes, and leave the rest of us to our own quiet serenity. Never having been the quiet type myself, my lips continued to move. Words continued to flow from them, words that in the children's interest should not have been said. The simple truth that ruined my children's day.

Before I tell you the rest of this story, I feel I need to tell you why I, why we, the victims, feel so guilty. I had the control, I was really the only one with any control. I could have chosen to wait it out, to not let what happened next play itself out. I know that in the long run, I was teaching them the difference between right and wrong. But short term, I am a mommy and will forever know that I helped ruin that one day for them. I will never take full responsibility for the abuse I suffered, but for those who do not understand, it is not the abuse for which we feel guilty. It is for the battles we choose to fight, and there is a loser in every battle.

So as my story resumes, as best my memory can recall, he flew out of the bed, a giant storm of furry. Around my neck I still feel his fingers closing as the air escapes my lungs. Off my feet, through the air, his hand around my neck, closing tighter, till my back slams into the wall. Feet dangling and kicking in the air. I am 5'2" and he is 6'4; I am 120 pounds and he is 250.

Slammed into the wall again and again, held only by my neck, I gasped for air and wondered again, " Is this the day I shall die?" My lips continued to move, yet no sound could escape. My vision began to blur and again I wondered, "Is it today? Is this the day I shall die?" I remember him yelling, but not what was said. I remember there were threats and accusations, but not what they were. All I remember is the blackness, the deep void into which I was falling and knew from which I could never recover.

Somewhere nearby, I knew that my children could see. Somehow I knew, they may witness me die. Witness their father murder their mother on the day I wanted so much to be a blessing for them. The details I will not relate, not here in this story. But I did decide that if I would die, it would be fighting. So I did, and in the end, there were broken chairs and holes in the walls. And in the end I lived, and may have anyway, as none of us shall ever know.

But here is what I remember. When it was done and over, when the battle had raged and no winner could be declared, I picked myself up off the floor and retrieved the camera. I turned it back on and again called my children out to celebrate their Easter holiday. And this is what I really remember. My children standing frozen, terror in their eyes, my voice through the camera, forcing laughter. Their father in the background, arms crossed, menacing glare, leaning against the wall, waiting, waiting for the camera to again turn off. And this is what I can not forget. My daughter, with tears in her eyes, after being unable to speak for so long, saying, "But Mommy, you have blood all over you."

I put down the camera then and walked out the door. That was the best thing I could do for my children in that moment. I would like to say I never returned to that house, to that life. But I did. My only prayer is that you do not, that if you know someone who is where I was, you help her.