Atrocity

It starts to creep back in if I do not keep writing.

First the dreams ~ then the flashbacks ~ filling an apparently normal life ~ so many years after being free from abuse.

But there he is riding an old blue bicycle in my dream ~ my nightmare ~ of trying to hide from him.

There he is in my feelings of anger of not having enough money and remembering how much he extorted from me.

There is he in each double take I do on so many motorcycles I see each day.

There he is in my ongoing attempt to get my family to read my survival stories.

There he is in so many memories that I thought I had forgotten.

So many days that I thought were over.

So many years that I left behind.

The Atrocity that was once my life ~

There he is in my courage to heal.

My courage to share.

My courage to reveal.

There he is in my hidden truth.

My secrets and lies.

Now exposed.

There he is in my quest to help others.

My quest to share my hope for a better day.

I will keep his memory alive.

To help others live ~

Abuse free ~

Uncensored



My Heart Weeps

My Heart Weeps ~ My Precious Aunt Sharon has passed away after enduring many long, courageous years with Alzheimer's disease.

She taught me how to jump rope in the living room in Oakland when I was five years old.  She always loved pink and yellow.  I remember she once had a room in her home that she called "The Pink Room" when she lived in Sonora, California.  I was so fascinated by a room completely decorated in pink and loved the pink plaid couch she had found to fill out the room.  I loved that pink room.  I loved how much she loved that pink room. 

She always told me the story of teaching me how to sing to the "Batman and Robin" soundtrack as a toddler, and I would stand by the stereo with her, singing "Baa, Baa!!! Baa, Baa!!!" while bouncing my legs up and down.

She was famous for her style of Spaghetti ~ made with the sauce already mixed in together with zesty parmesan cheese.  She lived by the pool, and her secret to staying young looking was putting Vaseline all over face.  When we would sleep over in the summertime, she would fix us a big bowl of peaches that she had coated with lots of sugar and left in the refrigerator to soak in overnight, so the sugary glaze had glistened to perfection by the morning.

She loved all sorts of childlike things like the Strawberry Shortcake girl, Care Bears, and any kind of teddy bear or other colorful stuffed animal.  She loved Dreamsicles and Blue Birds of Happiness. 

She dropped everything she was doing on her 37th birthday to rush to my family's side when I severely broke my jaw at age seven.  I bet she sped down those Sonora foothills just to get there as quick as she could.  She graciously took care of my brother and sister for days, so Mom and Dad could comfort me in the hospital.

She loved her family fiercely and was so proud of her husband and children.  She was a devout Catholic who prayed daily for her children's safety on the streets as police officers.  To this day, I do believe those daily prayers kept both of them safe from harm.  Her love and devotion for her family was truly boundless.

She was my mother's protector as a little girl.  Mama was five years younger which was a big age difference growing up together in the 1940s.  Mama would tell me how she would go down to Sharon's room when she had a bad dream as a little girl, and Sharon would comfort her by singing all sorts of little kid sayings like "That's the way the ball bounces" or "That's the way the cookie crumbles" ~ all in the middle of the night.

Somehow, I do not think she ever really ever got over losing her precious baby sister to cancer at age 54.  But she remained stoic for me and was my rock for all of those early years without her.

She was a power shopper and could find the best deals everywhere.  She loved Gemco.  She would always stock up on dish towels and bath towels and pass them out like candy to us whenever we would visit.

She loved to talk on the phone, and I remember Mama having many long distance conversations with her while making dinner.  After Mama died, I took over the role of regular chats.  Seems like both Mama and I always ended up talking a lot about Nanny with her!

She always ending our conversations or letters by saying, "I Be Lovin' You!!!"

My Heart Weeps ~ for her ~ for us ~ for the lost years without her ~

My Heart Weeps ~ for the joyous reunion of two Soul Sisters and the parents that brought them into this world ~

Sharing a glass of wine ~ and a good dose of gossip ~

Remembering those days so long ago in the middle of the night on a Chicken Ranch ~ when big sister put her arm around her little sister after a bad dream ~ making her laugh ~ with singsong sayings ~

"That's the way the ball bounces...That's the way the cookie crumbles...That's the way...."

Soul Sisters



In a Heartbeat

 

 

In a heartbeat

 

Two lives were lost

 

Two futures taken

 

from them

 

and their family and friends

 

In a heartbeat

 

Two families

 

became

 

Fractured

 

There will be no father to walk her down the aisle

 

To watch him be sworn in as a police officer

 

There will be no mother

 

To hold his hand on the first day of kindergarten

 

To cheer for him on the sidelines of the soccer field

 

There will be no husband or life partner

 

to be greeted at the end of the day

 

and ask how your day went

 

In a heartbeat

 

Two lives were lost

 

Two heroes saved us

 

One last time

 

Two Heroes

 

Served Us

 

Protected Us

 

Shielded Us

 

from harm

 

In a heartbeat

 

 

 

 

 

In Loving Memory of Our Fallen Officers

Loran "Butch" Baker and Elizabeth Butler

 

 

 

 

 

 



The Sisterhood

One by one, they left.

All of the women I met along the way.

The women who knew I was being abused.

I met some of them in domestic violence support groups. I remember one woman came in to the night group with half of her face completely bruised.  Her face had been slammed between one of those little sliding doors that separates a kitchen from a family room.  I bonded with her instantly.  We started weekly potlucks at her house with a handful of other participants.  She had two little girls.  I treated her and the other ladies to lunch in the dining hall at my work place. 

But as my abuse worsened, and she remained free, she began to distance herself from me.  She told me to stop calling her in crisis.  She called the Sheriff's Office to have them do a "welfare check" on me instead.  She soon forgot about me.  

I then tried to form friendships with the women from his A.A. fellowship.  I was not a member but accompanied him to all of his weeknight and weekend meetings.  I remember they let me in the women's only group as a "friend of A.A." and also since alcoholism had been rampant in my family in previous generations.  I met Charlotte there.  She came in as a newcomer during a huge crisis.  If you took the "alcohol" reason away from her situation and substituted "domestic violence" instead, we would have had so much in common.  I instantly liked her and wanted to be her friend.

She was the first person I called at dawn on August 22, 2003 ~ a mere two hours after my head had been bashed into the wall three times, and he had been hauled off to jail.  And all I remember was how angry she was at me for waking her up.

She later publicly ridiculed me for going back to him.

I was so alone those four long years ~ alone with my secrets ~ and alone all over again each time I revealed them to another woman.

But this time, it's different.  I have been free for 7 1/2 years.  And I finally have found The Sisterhood I had always wanted and needed during my years of abuse.

I have found other victims and survivors around the world simply by sharing my story.  My story of hope.  My story of survival.

I have helped other woman know they are not alone ~ women who are fresh out of an abusive relationship, women who are thinking about leaving, or women who have been free for years.

We found each other on the internet ~ where stories can be shared ~ where voices can be heard ~ where survivors can support the victims and help them gain strength ~ so that they, too, can one day leave.

And soon we will meet.  My dream is coming true.  We will unite this summer ~ sharing our truth together ~ encouraging others to begin their freedom journey ~ to begin to heal ~ to begin to thrive.

The Sisterhood ~ all now Advocates for the Abused!

Uncensored



 

After All These Years

After all these years ~

Eighteen years without her.  This was the first Christmas that actually felt like Christmas.  A holiday that actually felt normal.

I looked around and saw my father, my sister, and my brother carrying on traditions set before her death on Christmas Day.

We had a 48-hour holiday this year.

Christmas Eve breakfast of Dad's famous French toast and sausage then off to an early movie.  Then an unexpected invite to come over for Mom's famous egg and green chile dish lovingly recreated by my beloved sister on Christmas Day.  For the first time in eighteen years, I had somewhere to go on Christmas morning.  My morning was spent laughing with my sister, my brother, two nephews, my niece, and their new rescue dog Katey.

Looking at Christmas lights, seeing more movies, and making the rounds to the cousins in between.

Seemed like old times just with a new twist.  Mom long gone but there in so much spirit ~ so much courage ~ to carry on without her.

Today, I mist up in her memory on the last day of the year and thank the woman who gave birth to me.  For making me who I am today.  I thank her and Dad for creating such wonderful Christmas traditions than manage to remain even with new ones added.

"Mom would have liked this," we always say.

Mom would have liked us having fun on Christmas.

Cameron posted a picture of us on Facebook with the caption "Christmastime is the best time."  Yes, Cameron, Christmastime is the best time.

Christmastime is the best time



Christmas Mourning

Tears flow freely ~

At inopportune times ~

The sadness of the season can suck the wind right out of me ~

I huddle under the eaves of a storefront ~ and cry ~

Memories of Mama ~

Sweet Mama who loved Christmas so ~

He gently reminds me that this must be the reason for my tears today ~

"It's probably just the season," he whispers softly, my younger brother who kept vigil with me by her bedside so many Christmases ago.

The Season of Sadness ~

Of Christmas Mourning ~

 

~ Memories of Mama ~



The Ficus is Dying

The Ficus is Dying.

It's been with me since before she died.

She had it near the marbled window in the dining room.

The little tree never grew too big.

I liked it that way.

Slowly through the years every one of her plants died.

First the violets which bloomed again right after her death.

Then a teeny, tiny plant she kept in the windowsill.

When Dad moved away, he gave us the rest of her plants.  Beautiful, full hanging ones.  My sister took the hanging plants, and I took the little Ficus tree.

My sister left them outside for a few hours in her front yard, and a big storm hit.  The plants were tossed around to shreds.

But the Ficus survived and followed me from apartment to apartment for the past seven years.  Many leaves were lost along the way, but somehow the Ficus kept going.  I kept telling myself that I really needed to replant it or give it some plant food, but I never did. 

I looked at the Ficus several weeks ago and noticed most of the leaves were dead.  I cried and wondered if any of those leaves could have been some of the original leaves from the time Mom was alive.  I did not even want to pick off the dead leaves because I would only see empty branches.

I had remembered to water the Ficus, but maybe it was not getting enough sun.  Or was it simply done living after over two decades?  I stared at its barren branches and cried again.

I talked to the Ficus.  Please don't die, I pleaded.  Please grow again, Little Ficus.  Please don't leave me.

Weeks went by, and I saw some tiny new growth on the tips of the branches.  I celebrated a victory which turned out to be short-lived.  The little leaves soon curled up and died.

I cried again and begged once more.  I watered and watered and prayed for new growth.

Suddenly, it all made sense to me.  The new growth had finally come.

New branches were sprouting at the base of The Ficus.

Rebirth, Little Ficus, Rebirth.

Grow again, Little Ficus ~ this time stronger than before ~