Karen

There were two advocates who were most influential in my ability to cope with my situation and continue to plan for some type of escape even as I endured the abuse on a daily basis.

Karen was the main facilitator at our noon group on Tuesday and Friday.  She would also meet with me one-on-one either by appointment or even a last minute drop-in visit.

She had the tiniest, quietest, little voice.  Almost like a little girl's voice.  But inside the grown woman was vast knowledge of domestic violence and a compassion beyond any of my own expectations.

People may have judged me back then and wondered why I never really left until he finally broke up with me.  But they were unaware that I worked daily on a safety plan and ultimate escape.

I would even try to get someone from San Lorenzo Valley ~ usually his A.A. acquaintance ~ a guy named Rod ~ to take him away for an afternoon so I could pack up Lil' Red and leave.  Rod initially agreed to such a plan ~ but in the end, he sided with the abuser and not the woman being abused ~ and refused to follow through on our arrangement.

Karen never gave up on me.  She knew how hard it was for me to get away.  She knew I could not stay at a regular shelter in Santa Cruz because they did not allow pets.  We would research cat boarding facilities locally ~ and even expanded our search to Santa Clara County ~ where they are doing amazing things to help women ~ with animal shelters taking on the kitties while the women are at the domestic violence shelters.  Lil' Red had become diabetic by 2003, and his special needs complicated my ability to utilized these somewhat nearby services.  I also think I had to already live in Santa Clara County in order to use the service. 

Finally, Karen found a shelter in Fresno that actually allowed pets.  It even was a long term shelter that would help me get back on my feet since I would have to give up my university job in order to move there.  I had a cousin already living there, so in my heart, I could envision relocating to get away from him.  The shelter was full, so I was put on a 3+ month waitlist.  But even the waitlist gave me hope.

Looking back, I wonder if I ever told anyone in my family about these plans I was making.  They barely knew the severity of the abuse, and my contact with them was limited.  I know I did not tell my father or my brother, but I wonder if I told my sister at the time.  I cannot even remember.

All I know is that waitlist kept me hanging on for a better day.  I would not leave Lil' Red behind.  I would not give him up to a stranger.  He was my mother's cat, and I had gone to great lengths to rescue him from the pound after an unfortunate incident that had occurred with my grandmother being scratched by him.  Mom had been gone for 9 years by now, and Lil' Red had seen me through so many struggles that we were bonded like mother and son.  Wherever I went, Lil' Red would go.  There would be no exception.  Especially since I had to give him shots twice a day for his diabetes.  I began to imagine a life in Fresno for myself, and I would "maintain my existence" ~ I would hang on ~ until that better day.

I cannot remember if the news came to me over the phone or face-to-face.  That the shelter had closed down. Long before my space on the waitlist had come up to the top.  Lack of funding.  The shelter that allowed pets was no more.  And so was my escape plan.  Gone.  Like the money used to run the place that gave me hope for many months.

"We would keep looking," Karen would say.  I would now envision leaving the state ~ going underground ~ changing my name ~ my identity ~ my appearance.  Just like I had read about or maybe even had seen in the movies.  This was a potential reality for me.

I pictured New York, of course.  But I also looked at other states.  Envisioning a life away from him.  I found it hard to envision this scenario of going underground ~ because I would not be able to see my family very much.  And even though I was severely isolated, I did manage to spend some holidays with them ~ basketball games ~ movies and breakfast with Dad on some Saturdays.  Leaving them during this crisis almost seemed unimaginable ~ even though they barely knew how horrible my life really was.

I wanted my mother back.  To help me.  Get out of this situation.  I wanted her to help me take care of Lil' Red, so I could go to the shelter in Santa Cruz like the other women in group.  But Mom was dead, and no amount of wishing and wanting was going to bring her back.  Still I felt her presence unlike any other time in my life.  I felt her calming spirit during all these difficulties ~ all these preparations that led to nowhere.

Karen took on the role of my mother even though she was only 23 and fresh out of college.  She watched over me during the last few years of my abusive relationship and remained strong throughout the whole ordeal ~ even as she had to sit by and watch me describe how the abuse had escalated each year.

In the Summer of 2005, Karen announced she was going off to grad school to become a social worker.  Her announcement came the same month I finally broke free.  And I told her I felt like I had graduated, too, from the Walnut Ave Women's Center.  That she got see the fruits of her labor.  Ripen like a piece of sweet summertime fruit.  Blossom like spring flowers.  She saw me through, and now we were both leaving.  The sanctuary of the Walnut Ave Women's Center.  Off to start a new life ~ separately.

Five years later, I saw her as I got off the bus at the Santa Cruz Metro.  There were no more rules about not acknowledging each other in public.

"Karen!" I shouted, "It's me!"

I told her how I had been free five years.  That I did not go back.  That my life was finally better.  And in that moment, I flashed back to the frightened women who had entered the doors of the Walnut Ave Women's Center ~ who reached out for help ~ and found it in the most gentlest of spirits ~ the kindest of souls ~ Sweet Karen with the tiniest, quietest, little voice ~ but the strongest example of what freedom looked like to me during the most difficult days of my life.

Misting up at this unexpected reunion, I gave her a tight hug, and whispered, "Thank you."