As a child, I had both parents in the home along with 2 brother and 2 sisters.  There was another child, however, she passed away at the tender age of one month and 15 days.  She died of crib death. I was two.  Actually, her death is my earliest memory.  I remember trying to wake her up to play and she wouldn’t wake up, then running to my mother.  I remember seeing my dad carrying a small white casket and I remember being at the cemetery.  Unfortunately, I was now the baby of the family.

My dad was a construction worker, carpenter by trade, and my mother was a stay-at-home mom.  After all she was raising 5 children, mostly 2 years apart.  As long as I can remember, my dad would come home drunk every night.  He was a mean drunk.  If he didn’t like what my mother had cooked for dinner, he would first destroy the down stairs and mom would keep him downstairs because she was protecting her children.  My most vivid memory that still haunts me today is one night he came home was in a rage.  I was about 8.  I was asleep and was woken by all the crashing of glass downstairs.  Then, I heard my mother tell him to stop and every time she told he to stop, he punched her in the head.  He wore a father’s ring with six stones in it, and that’s what he was using to punch her.  I vividly heard his fist punch her head.  I woke up in the morning and there was  nothing, but bloody sheets in the tub. He was only violent when he drank.  He never drank at home.

When the first grandchild was born, he quit drinking and there were no more incidents.  No hitting, or punching

Dad got sick and went into Hospice.  My mother’s last words to him were “I hope you’re nicer to the people on the other side than you were to the people on this side.”  I was so proud of her.

Many afternoons after dad passed, my mother and I would sit on her front porch and just talk.  We got into a conversation that I have no clue how it was started.  During this conversation, my mother floored me; she said the two oldest children were a product of love, and the other 4 were products of rape.  I had no words.  I looked my mother dead in her eyes and told her that I was proud to be her child.

In the mid 80’s, I joined the local police department.  I got injured and had to retire.  In the mid 2000's, I worked as a courtroom bailiff.  One day towards the end of the day a woman came to my courtroom to testify about getting a protective order for her ex-husband.  She was wearing dark sunglasses.  As I swore her in, I made the motion for her to take the sunglasses off, She complied and when she did, I was overwhelmed by the damage done to her face.  I saw my mother in this woman.  The judge looked at her and asked only one question, “Who did this?”, she responded with his name.  That was the testimony of the entire hearing.  Protection Order granted.  When she left, I pointed her in the direction of the Domestic Violence Advocates.  This was a Wednesday.

On Saturday morning, the respondent was served, he found her in her apartment and stabbed her to death.  This hit me hard.  I went above and beyond and reached out to her family.  I learned that she had refused the Advocate’s help.  I hope that when this young lady arrived in heaven that my mother met her and told her she is not alone.

I actually found Beautiful Disaster through an ad of Facebook.  When I went to the website, I was like "Oh Wow!  I wish my mother was here to wear your clothing". I made my first purchase and although it was for sweatshirts, I did get the Wolf t-shirt.  I love it! Although I am not a victim, I am a survivor.

Ladies and gentlemen, please know you are not alone.  If they hit you once, they will do it again.  Please take any help given.

Thank you all for reading my story and I hope this helps someone. 

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January 27, 2022