Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

Reposted for National Domestic Abuse Awareness Month

Since October has been named "Domestic Abuse Awareness Month" throughout the U.S.in recent years, I thought it fitting to repost this column.  I wrote it when writing was cathartic and became part of the healing process.   Since I posted this column I have received a number of emails thanking me for writing this piece and to champion the cause of abused women in general.  I declined, as I was too close to the pain and did not want to subject my children to the impact the realization this would have in their lives.  We did our healing in private.

Now, many years later, I have been able to stand back and really take a hard look at my abuser, a term I have only recently been able to verbalize at all.  In this slaphappy litigious age of the money hungry, I have never written his name and don't plan on doing so now.

Facing the aspect of being alone was sometimes more frightening than being alone; I did, with the help of close and blessed friends, clergy and belief in God, look outside the world I had created for myself to survive, and realized there was a much better place on the other side waiting for me, if I only had the courage to do so.

It brought me to places I never dreamed of, and meeting people I never realized existed.

Taking the first step is the hardest, the absolute hardest thing you will ever have to do.

But take it.

Leave.

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"Do you know you are the ugliest woman I have ever met?

You don't know how to cook, you clean the house shoddily, you don't know how to balance a check book, you're not even any good in bed! Why did I ever marry you?"

This was all directed to the woman who laid in the bed, barely awake after a not so fitful night's sleep. The youngest one of the babies had been up all night, a slight fever and a cough. Not anything serious, but enough to make her sleep with one eye open, one ear towards the open bedroom door.

He sat on the end of the bed, shaking it as he bounced up and down to put on his work boots.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask for some breakfast, you lazy witch. Don't worry, I'll get something down at the plant. Don't worry about me, I only put food on the table every day, but I guess its too much to ask you to cook anything."  It was 5:00 a.m.

"I swear to God one of these days I will kill you."

He slammed the bedroom door behind him as he left.

The woman held her breath as she prayed that the noise didn't wake the babies and she would get at least another half hour of blessed sleep.

It didn't.

The woman rolled over onto her side and pulled the covers over her head, trying to block out the images that plagued her. He wasn't always this way, cold and accusing. He was once warm and loving, even had a sense of humor. When they were first married he would bring her flowers and candy, always stopping off at the grocery store to buy bread and milk and a chocolate cake. They would eat the cake with hot strong coffee, after a dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, salad and fruit.

But something happened to the man as the years went by, as life took its toll on the both of them, trying to beat them into the ground.

The woman wouldn't let it; but the man didn't know how to stop it.

So he beat the life out of the woman, day by day, word by word.

As the sun began to peek through the slats of the blinds in the bedroom window, the woman knew she wasnt going to be getting any more rest.

He would be calling her soon, around 7:00 am.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive me, you are the most wonderful woman in the world, I don't know why I get so mad! It's this job, its the stress, there's no money. I know you love me and I love you so much, honey, I am so sorry."

So many times had she heard this before, she could recite the apology in her head as he spoke the words yet again.

She waited for the final appeal....

"I am nothing without you. Please forgive me."

And she would forgive him. Because she loved him.

Things would be fine for a while, three weeks, maybe four. The children would never know something had been terribly wrong, She hid it all from them. Sunday dinners after church, picnics in the park, Saturdays at the movie theatre. They never suspected a thing.   There were no marks to be seen on the outside. 

Until finally he couldn't stop the thoughts in his head, of how he felt so worthless, so useless. It was all her fault, all that witch's fault, just like his mother said.

And it would begin again.

"How much do you weigh now? That sweater makes you look huge, did you know that? You laugh like a hyena, you cackle like a chicken! Don't you know how to shop for bargains, what are you, an alien?"

Time went by and the woman began to think that maybe there was something wrong with her. After all, this was her husband and he loved her, provided a home for her and the children, didn't go out after work, gave her his paycheck every week. She had made a vow, what would happen if she broke it?

Until one day, the woman looked around and her children were grown. She was alone with the man and she didn't like it. She didn't like how she looked, how she felt. She didn't like him.

So she left.

If you recognize this kind of life and don't like it, you can do something about it.

Leave.

If you have children, take them with you. Even if its just the clothes on your back that you take with you.

Don't wait til they grow up, they will anyway. Don't wait for him to change, he won't.   There are people out there who will help you, who know what you are living.  But you have to make the decision to change your life.

Save your life.   I did.

Leave.

Posted by eloveman at 10:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

 My middle son has been home for two years now, safe and sound from the war.  Life seems somewhat normal again.   Somewhat.

His tour of duty in the U.S. Navy completed, he settled in with a roommate, a friend he has known since they were both three years old.   Now a successful computer tech for a major company, Jon has been counting the days since his geek counterpart has been returned to him in one piece. 

Taking a few months off before returning to school to complete his degree, my middle son rejuvenated his batteries, both physical and emotional.

Dinners with his siblings out at the Lake is one of the ways to reconnect with the family, as well as getting to know the "newest" members of his family.   My three sons are not always here at the same time, but they are always together, if not physically then by telephone or by spirit.

Their favorite meal is a simple beef stew, with a side of corn bread or rolls, steaming hot from the oven with a slathering of butter.  Apple Betty and vanilla ice cream for dessert, it centers us all and brings back memories of when they were children, all of them and Jon "working" in the yard. 

Many times they would tease their youngest sister by concocting a bowl of soup, complete with muddy water, twigs and leaves, telling her to “…taste it, it’s good for you!”  Invariably she would come into the kitchen, chest soaked with water and caked with mud, saying she “…….needed a glass of milk to wash it down.”   Always with a smile, she would gasp at the end and say “Ahhh, just right...” while the onlookers from the other side of window would laugh hysterically.

My other three "sons" of the canine persuasion, are equally amazed by these two legged creatures crossing the threshold and sharing their mother's affection.   I am fascinated as to the similarities between the two species and the way I have "raised" all of them.

As we walk the land as part of our exercise, I smile as I watch the littlest one stoop at a puddle, seeing his reflection in it for the first time.  I am reminded of the indoctrination into dogland when I read the column written by my beloved, a tribute to his much loved dog that had recently been put down.  It prompted my writing of an essay that began our love affair with life and each other, and continues to this moment. 

“Look at that, Simon” I say softly. 

A big pot of maple leaf soup.  That was your cousin Jack's favorite!”  The other two ‘brothers’ standby and smile as well, as if recognizing the passing of a tradition and a ritual.

“Yes, taste it” my human sons add and smile knowingly.  “It's good for you.....”and for just a moment I can hear the catch in their voices.  They miss their sister who has gone off to pursue her own dreams, but knowing they will see her again.   Both of them have dodged a very large bullet, and recognize the blessings of having another chance to do whatever we like, because of where we live and who we are.

All of us have a way of renewing ourselves, season after season, year after year.   Let us always recognize the blessings around us, rejoice in the mundane and the routine.

They are as simple as a pot of Maple Leaf Soup. 

Posted by eloveman at 08:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It’s always amazing to me the opportunities I’ve received as a result of my writing online.  It never occurred to me that I would one day be writing about people who were as surreal to me as trip to Mars.

I’ve just left an event, assigned by my editor to cover the appearance of Georgia Durante, a writer with an awesome story to tell [google her] and had the opportunity to chat with her about various things.   The story will appear in about two weeks.

But the amazing thing to me is the happenstance meeting of a group of women at whose table I was assigned to sit.  Seven of them in all, they were a group of friends who had helped each other through all kinds of situations, some great and not so great, for forty years.  They were attending this luncheon/book signing because of their love of literature and were fascinated with the author. 

They were the 60- something version of me and the Ducks.

The more we talked, the more we shared (even allowing them to view the duck tattoo on my shoulder) and the more we laughed the more I realized I had been given another gift in which to do the thing I love best.  Write.

I also was privileged to sit with the photographer who was the primary force in Georgia’s life as he was the one who selected her for the Kodak job as the first bikini clad “Summer Girl” for all those publicity photos in the 60’s.

Leaving the restaurant and jumping into my little green car, a smile on my face from east to west, I murmured yet another prayer of thanks – to be able to walk in this world, to be able to meet the interesting people that cross my path, and to once again say thanks to the readers who respond to my columns, whether it be good or not so good.

I never knew how good it could be.

Posted by eloveman at 06:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The leaves on the great Maple trees were so yellow, they looked like sticks of butter.

Yellow and bright, they were everywhere I looked, behind me and before me, for miles and miles and miles, interspersed between the Birch and Pine trees.

I was standing at the bottom of the gorge with Riley's Dad, a much travelled trail of many before us, and most likely many to follow. Boundless untamed waterfalls behind us and the sun shining brightly above us, it was an October Indian Summer the likes of which we had never seen before, and would be very blessed indeed should we ever seen them again. My face would be sunburned before the day was over.

In the spring the Maple leaves were green like all the others, blending in with the landscape and not very special looking at first glance, wallflowers at the dance of the more popular Ash and Black Walnut. Come the end of summer, however, they began their transformation from plain green to brilliant red. You could tell this was the beginning of something special, as if the other trees themselves stood back to watch the emergence of pure beauty, somewhat envious and inimidated at the same time.

Perhaps the greatest surprise to them all, though, was the ultimate blast of pigmentation, the final burst of yellow. The ugly duckling was truly the belle of the ball.

The trails we walked were winding and turning, up and down, over many miles of buried tree roots and smooth rock formations. The moss was overgrown on the north side of the bolders, and the rock slates beckoned for us to sit and visit for a while, to chat some more and learn the innermost secrets of our souls.

I had many prayers of thanks that day. Thankful to live in a country where the park was a gift of love donation from a wealthy man, a present to the community after his death. Thankful to be able to walk the many slate steps down to the gorge under my own power and unassisted. To be able to breathe deep the smells of the wildflowers and to see the colorful foliage surrounding me at every turn. Most of all, to be holding the hand of the one who brought me here, to share in his joy as if he too, saw all of this for the very first time. My heart was full, and my eyes glistened at the sheer joy of being where I was at that very moment. He felt it too, and he held me close as someone took our picture.

A perfect day and in was only 10am in the morning. How I wished my children could have shared in the moment with me, but mindful that this sight was meant for just me and him.

I will hold in my soul always the surprise vision greeting me that morning as I turned to face my smiling companion to ask him why his face with so bright and peaceful.

They will forever be the Butter Leaves of Letchworth, the announcement of Fall to me, a wonderful reminder of the fullness of life, the reward for surviving a Winter bleak and dark, and holding fast to the promise of beauty yet to come. My faith was rewarded and I was alive to receive a blessing. I will never again take anything for granted, for each day is a gift, each person a present from above.

Posted by eloveman at 08:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)