Too Close to Home

This came up on my calendar today, and the timing of it couldn't have been better.

If you've been following the news (or my page) you know that there was a mass shooting very close to here just a few days ago.

So close that the cops tore past my house so fast that I couldn't even tell what color the cars were.

So close that I raced around town, picking my kids up from various places to make sure that they were home and safe.

So close that we locked our doors - something that we never do - until we knew for a fact that the shooter acted alone and was down.

So close that I couldn't tear myself away from the media coverage, my eyes searching the crowds on TV, trying to spot anyone that I knew to make sure that they were safe.

So close that one of my acquaintances was among the injured, and I recognized the name of one of those killed.

So close that I had no choice but to explain to my kids what had actually happened.

Too close.  Entirely too close.

The day after the shooting, it was revealed that the shooter had been served a PFA (Protection From Abuse order, AKA a restraining order) about 90 minutes before he went on his rampage. His former girlfriend filed it on him, alleging that he had physically abused her on at least one occasion.

As soon as that information was released, the discussion of domestic violence began. And of course it's impossible not to read the comments when articles like that are posted. And of course the discussions and the resulting comments and arguments and victim blaming brought back all sorts of not-so-fun stuff from my past - and it's been eating me alive for days now.

For the most part, I'm over it. Yes, I was a victim of domestic violence. Yes, it was horrible. But my life doesn't revolve around it. It is a part of my past, but it doesn't define me, because I won't allow it to do that. It's not something that I normally talk about on a daily basis - but every now and then, something brings it back to the surface and it eats at me. I think back to all of the reasons why I stayed for so long, and I relive certain moments and I feel the pain and the heartache all over again. And then I look at where I am now and realize that no matter how bleak things appeared to be at the time, I'm in such a good place now. But it's a constant battle in my head - between remembering the horrible times in the past and appreciating the good ones now.

And I know that as a community, we are strong. We are so incredibly strong. The outpouring of support from surrounding areas has been amazing and humbling. Our little rural area of Kansas has been thrust into the national spotlight, and we are shining through the darkness.

At the same time that all of this was happening, probably even within the same 24-hour period, I found out that not only is one of my friends dying from cancer - but so is another one. I knew about the first one. At least I knew that he was sick, but to receive the news that it had progressed so far so fast hit me like a freight train. The second one? I had no clue. I totally missed the posts about her condition until I went looking for her to ask her a question, and found out that she's dying. The freight train backed up and hit me a second time. Once again, I'm standing here questioning everything. Why do these things happen? Why is it always the good guys? Why can't we all just get along and why can't everyone live long and healthy and happy lives? Why does life have to be so damned hard?

It's been a rough few days, to say the least. I've been forcing myself to go out and run even when I didn't want to - because I know if I don't, I'll just sit here and eat everything and be lazy and be miserable and slide down into that hole that I try so hard to avoid. But luckily I have my Sole Sis/Slave Driver who keeps me going. She keeps forcing me to run, but that's what I need right now - because I know that if I don't get out and run, I'll feel like crap from sitting around like a lump. If I do run, I still feel like crap, but it's a good kind of crap (if that makes any sense at all). And the running is getting easier, and I do feel better - and that helps so much with the mental stuff right now.

One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. That's all that any of us can do. Keep going, don't stop, and eventually we'll get through all of the crap.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

#HesstonStrong

Surviving

I had a pretty crappy day yesterday.

I'm not going to go into the specifics of the situation, because they aren't necessarily important. Suffice it to say that I was involved in an argument in the middle of my driveway and it was loud and it was heated and I lost my cool over the whole thing. It wasn't pretty, but at the same time, I managed to say what I wanted to say (something that I have kept in check for a very long time) and at that point in time I didn't give a crap who heard me.

But, while I was getting everything off of my chest, so was he (no, not The Dude). The insults were flung at lightning speed, and every one that he threw at me was returned.

Until he puffed up his chest and got in my face and hit me with the zinger. The one that brings it all back up to the surface.

"I have to work for a living. I don't get to just sit around on my ass all day like you do."

Suddenly, it all came flashing back.

His voice wasn't his anymore, but instead changed to a voice from my past and I swore I could smell the booze even though I knew there was none there. I snarked something back at him and went back inside the house and did what I had to do until he was gone, and then I lost it. The Dude held me while I sobbed and until I could catch my breath again. I wanted him to stay for the day but he had to go and so I stayed here with Jared and Daniel. They kept themselves amused with toys and games while I drowned in my thoughts.

We always hear the phrase "domestic violence survivor" (or something similar to that). I survived it. I got through the physical violence with nothing more than a pair of bent glasses, some handprints on my neck, and a few minor bruises now and then. The physical stuff, in my case, was easy.

The emotional violence was so much more. The insults - about my housekeeping, my cooking, my parenting, my weight, my hair, and yes, even the fact that I got to sit around on my ass all day and do nothing - were thrown at me on a far more regular basis than the punches were. I knew even then that I was doing my best, but it wasn't good enough.

Then I realized that my best was never going to be good enough, so I quit doing much of anything. I survived by doing the bare minimum, and I got lazy. The kids were always fed and they always had clean clothes, but the house was always a disaster. I didn't care - because even if I cleaned it, I'd still get yelled at - most likely because in order to get the house clean enough, supper would be later than usual or something equally ridiculous.

I finally escaped from that life a few years ago. I started a new life and eventually got a new house in a new town and started to really pull my act together. But there is still one box sitting on my bedroom floor that I haven't unpacked from when we moved, there are always random messes in various places, the laundry doesn't get done as often as it should, the grass needs to be mowed, and my kids can sure as hell still give me problems on a regular basis.

I'm not perfect. Not even close. But I'm so much better than what I used to be.

But yet, that one insult being yelled at me in my driveway yesterday brought all of that pain back to me like it had never even gone anywhere. I wanted to yell back, to tell him how his idea of me sitting around on my ass was drastically different than my reality, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't say a word.

That one insult hit me like a punch to the gut and a kick to the head all at the same time. It knocked the wind out of me and took me back to one of the darkest times in my life, a time that I have talked about and written about and analyzed and replayed millions of times. A time that I thought I had "survived".

In reality, I honestly don't consider myself to be a survivor. I'm not "over it". It's not done and gone and buried somewhere so that it can never come back to haunt me again. It's still a part of me and it always will be, no matter how much time passes.

I'm not a survivor, but I'm surviving.



Please, do not ask who it was. Other than referring to him as "he", I've intentionally kept this vague, because it's really not important who "he" is. "He" could be anyone, and "he" has been multiple people in the past - I only chose to write about this particular incident because of my own personal reasons.

Why I Stayed

After I got the boys off to school this morning, I came back home and sat down in front of the laptop as I often do, trying to finish waking up. I scrolled through my facebook newsfeed and I saw a link that several people had posted, and it caught my attention.

19 #WhyIStayed Tweets That Everyone Needs to See

If you haven't read that article yet, do it. Do it now.

Read the tweets. All of them. 

Read the last paragraph.

Now think about what you just read. I mean, really think about it.

How many times have you heard about a domestic violence situation, and questioned why the victim didn't just leave? How many times have you said something along the lines of "If that was me, I'd kick him in the junk and walk out the door"? 

Do you know how many times I said that before?

Trust me when I say that it's not that easy. It's hard. Staying in a bad situation is hard, but leaving is even harder.

A bike ride with this kind of scenery -
perfect therapy.

I went for a bike ride after I read that article. I needed to get out of the house and away from the computer and get some fresh air and quit crying. I ended up going about 6 miles, which is about 5 miles longer than any ride I've done recently, and even with a minor spill along the way, it did me good to work through my thoughts.

It has been 5 years, 4 months, and 3 days since I left my second marriage. And reading tweets like that can still bring me to tears, remembering exactly how it felt. I could feel the pain in those tweets. I can still feel the pain of what I went through - both physically and mentally.

Why did I stay for so long?

We He made the decision that I should quit my job and stay home with the kids. I had no job, no income, no way to support myself and my kids if I left. So I stayed.

I knew that I could file for child support and apply for assistance and things like that, but knowing the bureaucracy and red tape of the system, I wouldn't get it immediately - and landlords don't accept "I'll pay you in a couple of months" before they offer you a lease on your own place away from the abuse. So I stayed.

When we bought the van, he put it in his name because it was "easier" - leaving me with no transportation if I walked out. So I stayed.

Sure, he was mean when he drank. But he was nice to us when he was sober. So I stayed.

He worked hard at his job all day, so when he came home and the house wasn't clean enough, it was definitely my fault because I didn't work hard enough to clean it. But I knew that I could do better to make him happy. So I stayed.

I just needed to be a better wife and mother, and he'd stop drinking and treat me better. I could fix everything that was wrong. So I stayed.

When he dozed off on the couch and I finally figured out that he was hiding flasks of booze in his boots, he responded by kicking me as hard as he could. But really, I had just startled him and it was a reflex, and he didn't really mean to do it. So I stayed.

He choked me in a drunken rage when I was 6 months pregnant with our son. But I had made him angry when I grabbed his shirt to make him look me in the eyes and be honest with me. After I bailed him out of jail that night, he swore that it would never happen again. So I stayed.

He really didn't mean to knock me down and fling my glasses across the floor when he hit me upside the head. I was already crouching down so I was off-balance when he hit me - otherwise it wouldn't have happened. And he really didn't mean to hit me - it was accidental. Honest. So I stayed.

He was with his first wife for close to 20 years. Obviously, if she stayed with him for that long, things must have been fine and this behavior must have started when he married me. I must have somehow broken him - so I had to fix him. So I stayed.

If I left, who would take care of him? I loved him, and I didn't want to hurt him. So I stayed.

I loved him. So I stayed.

It finally took him pulling a knife to get me to realize that I didn't deserve this anymore. My kids didn't deserve it either. No one deserves it - men, women, children, young, old, black, white - it doesn't matter.

If you know of someone who is being abused - the last thing that he/she needs is your judgment. That person needs your support and your love more than anything. It's so hard to get out of those situations - contrary to popular belief, resources are not always readily available. It is not something that most victims are willing to discuss with just anyone, and so often the allegations of abuse come as a surprise to those around them - and they're not always believed, making it harder to get the support that is needed to get out of the situation.

Stop judging the victims. Support them. Love them. Be there for them. 

An open letter to a friend.

You know who you are.

You're my friend, and I love you. We have a bond, one created by common interests and kids and friends and lots of other little things. We've stuck by each other through a lot of crap.

You're now stuck in a place where I once was. It's not a pretty place. In fact, it's downright scary and dangerous. And I know that you know that.

Abuse is not an easy subject to talk about - especially when it's happening to you. I know that. I know that.

I've been there. And I learned a few things from it.

You think you have it under control because you got him out of the house, but you're wrong. He'll come back. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week. But he'll come back.

You say he can't get into your head, but guess what? He's already there. Otherwise, this letter wouldn't be necessary.

You can't control the situation. No matter how strong you think you are, he can and will be stronger. It might not happen immediately, but it will happen. You put him in a different situation than before, and he'll figure out a different way to use it against you and to make you think that you're in the wrong - and you're not.

You say that it's different this time - but until you take the next step, it's not.

It's not about him and what's best for him or protecting him.

This time, it's all about YOU.

You know what you need to do, but you don't want to do it. I get that. I really do. I swear to you, I GET IT. But you have to do it. You have to prove not only to him but to YOURSELF that you are in control of this. You have to protect YOU and YOUR KIDS. And if that means taking that next step, that's what you need to do.

I know it's hard. I know you love him. But you have to love yourself more. You have to love your kids more. You need to step back and take care of YOU and allow him to take care of himself for a while. You can't force him to do it. He has to want it for himself - and I hope and pray that he does because I know that he's a good man who is battling demons of his own.

I might get mad at you and yell at you as you go through this, but it's only because for once in my life, I do know what I'm talking about. You are in my old place, and I want you out of there more than anything because it's not fun. And I will do anything that I can possibly do to help you get out of there because YOU DESERVE BETTER. You hear that?

YOU DESERVE BETTER. 

I love you. And I'm here for you, no matter what.

Why I don't want to do it again - Part II

So apparently last night's post got lots of people thinking. I love the comments that I got on it, both publicly and privately. They gave me lots of insight into something that has been on my mind a lot over the past couple of years.

I've been saying that I will never get married again. I've said that I've done it twice, I've failed miserably both times, so what's the point in trying it a third time? I've said that I don't believe in marriage anymore. I've said that I'd rather 'live in sin' with someone for the rest of my life than to take the chance of getting married again.

Then today, a single comment on my facebook page got me thinking. It was a comment where I had posted the link to last night's blog and it said "Sounds more like the CHOICE of men, that are the problem." To be completely honest, at first I took that as a snarky comment and almost snapped at the guy who said it. But then I started thinking about it a little bit more and I realized that he was right.

I chose to marry those guys. And those choices turned out to be not so great. At the time(s) I thought that I was making the right choice(s). But I didn't - I was wrong.

I don't trust myself to make that kind of a decision at this point in my life.

That's it. That's my big epiphany. Seems so simple, huh?

In reality, it is simple. We, as human beings, have to trust - ourselves and others. Without trust, we walk through life wondering if we're being done wrong. And that wondering leads to questioning everything - our motives, other people's motives, everything.

I have always been a very trusting person, almost to a fault. And it has come back to bite me in the butt more times than I care to recall. Because of my unfailing trust in others, I have been lied to, cheated on, abused physically and emotionally...the list goes on forever. I have almost always totally blamed the other person, and until recently hadn't looked at myself and the role that my choices played in those scenarios.

Had I made different choices, most of those negative experiences wouldn't have happened. But now, I'm looking at myself more than ever. And I'm looking at myself through the eyes of someone who has finally realized that instant gratification isn't always lasting - just because I might think that I want something right now doesn't mean that it is something that I will want in the future.

At the same time, not wanting something right now doesn't mean that I won't want it at some point in my life. Right now, I have no desire to be married - but I think that stems more from fear than from anything else. I don't have enough faith in myself yet to even think about taking that kind of a step.

The funny thing is that when I went over to The Dude's house today, I told him what was going through my mind - that I don't trust myself enough to even think about something as crazy as marriage right now and he told me that he had pretty much already figured that out, just from reading what I had written last night. I gave him the look and he showed me in the post where he had come to the same conclusion. I don't know how he does it, but he gets me. And he still puts up with me.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that right now, my plan is to never get married again - that hasn't changed. But I will admit that at some point in the future, there is a possibility that I might change my mind. But until I know that I can trust myself to make the right decision, I'm sticking with "never".

I am....Penn State

I wasn't going to say anything. I really wasn't. I try to stay non-controversial. But this whole thing is weighing heavily on my mind today.

Yes, I graduated from Penn State in 1994. I have always been - and will always be - proud of that accomplishment. While I may not be using my degree that I earned while I was there (Special Education, in case you were wondering) I love that I have it, and that I got it from a school that I love deeply.

The current situation there is disturbing, to say the least. I read the Grand Jury report in its entirety and was downright sickened by it. What those kids experienced was horrific, and it broke my heart to read the details.

There is no excuse for an adult to take advantage of a child - physically, emotionally, or sexually. None. Anyone who is guilty of doing so should be locked away forever - or worse.

But, I don't want to focus on that. Not that I don't think that prosecuting the guilty parties isn't important - because it is.

It seems to me that the victims of this scandal are being overlooked. The public is looking to hang someone, but is anyone looking out for the (now-adult) children that were abused? They have to go through it again - they have to tell their stories and relive the horror that they already went through at least once, if not more. I hope and pray that they are getting the counselling that they need to help them to work through this nightmare. While the press and the public are going after anyone that they can find in order to lay blame, are the victims being protected? Or are they being exploited even more?

I am not going to go into who I think is guilty or not. I just don't even want to go there. It's not worth getting into a fight with anyone about what I believe or don't believe.

All I really wanted to say is that I think that people should remember the true victims in this mess. Support the victims in any way possible. Support the current students of the university. Support the athletes.

The students and athletes are not the criminals here.

The university is not the criminal.

The football team is not the criminal.



And that's all that I'm going to say about that.

An Open Letter to my ExLaws

Dear Family:

Let me start out by saying that I am sorry for the way that things have turned out between us. This is not how I wanted our relationship to be. When I married Jeff, I had visions of the perfect life, the perfect marriage, and the fairy tale ending in my dreams. Sadly, it didn’t turn out that way – at all.

However, there are some things that I need to say to you before any attempt at a "relationship" is made between you and Daniel. Honestly, at this point I am not even sure that I want him to have a relationship with any of you – this is something that I have struggled with for a long time, not just since Jeff's death.

My life, and Daniel's life changed forever on May 6, 2009 when I asked Jeff to leave our home for the last time. So many things happened leading up to that night, and I am quite sure that you know little or nothing about any of them. I'm fairly comfortable saying that I doubt that you know about the majority of the times that I had to call the police to our home because Jeff was in a drunken rage. I doubt that you know about the time that he choked me when I was 6 months pregnant with Daniel, or the time that he knocked me flat on the floor and almost broke my glasses, or the time that he kicked me because I finally figured out that he was hiding the bottles of booze in his boots. I'm assuming that he didn't tell you that the reason that I finally asked him to leave that night was because he was so intoxicated that he had pulled a knife out and was waving it around in front of the kids like a raving lunatic.

I doubt that you know about any of this. Why? Because since May 6, 2009, you haven't asked. You haven't picked up the phone to call and check on the well-being of your grandson. You haven't sent a letter explaining your feelings toward me. You have made no attempt at contact at all. To be brutally honest with you, that pisses me off. As far as I'm concerned, you wrote Daniel out of your lives more than two years ago. You weren’t there for Daniel when we lost our home and were within days of being on the street because Jeff refused to authorize the mortgage company to talk to me. You weren't there for Daniel when we lost the van because Jeff refused to work with me to renew the tags on it.

Jeff always used the excuse that because I had filed the PFA against him (after he threatened to kill me, by the way), no one in his family could contact me. Well, guess what? He left here on May 6, 2009. The PFA wasn't served to him until around mid-December 2009. Where were the phone calls during that 7 months? Where were the letters then? There was no legal reason at that time preventing you from contacting your grandson. YOU CHOSE NOT TO.

Even while the PFA was in effect, there was nothing preventing you from contacting Daniel. NOTHING. One call to me would have confirmed that. One call to the local police department here would have confirmed that. Did you do it? Nope. You chose not to have contact with Daniel. For the record, Jeff's visitation with Daniel was not limited during that time either. The judge informed him during the hearing for the PFA that he could have contact with Daniel ANY TIME HE WANTED TO, but he also chose to ignore him, his own son.

After the PFA expired, it took less than 12 hours for Jeff to call and start harassing me again. Did you call to check on Daniel? Nope. Again, you made the choice to ignore him.

Did you bother to call me and let me know that Jeff was sick? Or that he had been admitted to the hospital? No. Had I known, I might have allowed Daniel to talk to him on the phone one last time. But you robbed both Jeff and Daniel of that chance.

When Mary called to tell me that the family wanted to have a "relationship" with Daniel, I was angry. How could anyone who ignored a beautiful, smart, funny, amazing little boy for 2 years be deserving of having a relationship with him? You don't deserve anything from him. Nothing. He didn't deserve to be written off by his own flesh and blood – he didn't make that choice - you made it for him.

One thing that I don't deserve is the blame for Jeff's death. It is not my fault. I didn't force him to drink bottles upon bottles of booze every week. Yes, alcoholism is a disease and it clouded his thinking, but guess what? There's treatment for the disease – he made the choice to refuse that treatment. Mary informed me that he was in such a "deep, dark depression" because I wouldn't allow him to have contact with Daniel, and that it was that depression ultimately caused his death. What kind of a mother would I be if I allowed my toddler son to have a conversation with someone who was so drunk that his words were slurring? Yes, most of our phone conversations ended by me hanging up on him – but that's because I don't deserve to be spoken to like he did, and I don't have to be subjected to a drunk, either in person or on the phone.

I don't really care what you opinion is of me. You don't have to like me. But you have an amazing grandson here that you have ignored for more than two years. And nothing that you can do can make up for that, and nothing you can say will make me forgive you for it. You can come up with every excuse in the book, and I don't care – the point is that you never made the effort. Distance shouldn't be an issue – in this day and age, family can maintain a relationship from opposite sides of the world, if they choose to do so.

Like I always told Jeff – "it's all about choices". He chose to drink, he chose to refuse treatment, and those choices ultimately led to his death. You made the choice to ignore Daniel. I made the choice to remove myself and my kids from a potentially dangerous situation.

Don't get me wrong – I am absolutely devastated by Jeff's death. I never knew that it was possible to hurt this much, even after more than 3 months. I still loved him, and in a way I still do. I always hoped that he would get the treatment that he needed and that he would once again be the man that I fell in love with, and that we could make another attempt at having a real family again. I never wanted things to turn out the way that they have, but I had to do what I did in order to protect my kids and myself.

Daniel is sitting here on my lap as I type this. He's drawing pictures in a notebook and talking a mile a minute, and every now and then he turns to me and wipes the tears from my face. He has no idea that half of his family has ignored him for the past 2 years, because I haven't told him. He's too little to understand. His life consists of the family and friends who have been here for him without fail, and he is so happy and healthy and well-adjusted and smart because of the positive influences in his life. I refuse to allow negativity into his world right now – he is too young, and he has plenty of time as he gets older to deal with that.

If you are going to be a part of his life, I ask that you respect my feelings. As I said before, I don't expect you to like me or to agree with the decisions that I made, but I ask that you respect them. I did, and continue to do, what I believe is the best for my family. I will not tolerate anyone belittling me (or Jeff) in front of any of my children. I will do anything that I feel that I need to do to protect myself and my kids from any threat or negative influence out there.

It's up to you. If you want to have a healthy, positive relationship with Daniel, I give you my blessing.

Sincerely,
Amy

I Took My Life Back

Today marked a very important anniversary for me. It is almost a birthday of sorts. Two years ago today, I took my life back and reclaimed it for myself.

It started out as a typical day, for the most part. I don't remember anything in particular about the day itself. My husband had been laid off about a month and a half before this and so he had just been pretty much hanging around the house and was drinking anytime he had the chance. I left to go pick up the 3 older kids after school, and I believe that we stopped at the grocery store on the way home, so we were a bit later than he expected us to be.

When I pulled into the driveway, I saw him in the garden. He had his back to us at first, but I could tell just by his posture that he had been drinking. He turned to look at us, and one look at his face confirmed it.

The next thing that I saw was the knife.

There, on his belt, was a sheath with a very large (to me) knife in it. I don't know a lot about types of knives, but I would say that it was similar to a buck knife with a blade that was about 8" long. I was immediately terrified, and tried desperately not to show it. Sarah saw it next, and in her 9-year old innocence asked me why he had it. I told her that I didn't know, and to just go into the house with the other kids.

We all made our way inside. The kids ran, he staggered, and I tried to walk as normally as I could with my knees knocking and my heart pounding. Once we got into the house, he became extremely agitated. The kids were wound up, which was never a good thing to be around him when he was intoxicated. He started yelling at them and at me. I tried to convince him to go back outside and calm down - all I wanted him to do was walk out the back door, give me a few minutes to get the kids to relax, and then he could come back in - but he refused to do so. Sarah started to get really scared and asked him to snap the knife sheath closed - it was hanging open and she was afraid that the knife was going to fall out and hurt someone.

Instead of him snapping the sheath shut, he pulled the knife out and started waving it around his head like a lunatic. The kids panicked and I looked at Sarah and yelled at her to call her father (Ex1) to come and get them - at that point, I knew that there was no turning back. He kept waving the knife around - never directly at anyone, but as agitated as he was it would have only taken a slight wrong move to seriously injure himself, the kids, or me. I kept telling him to put the knife away, and he refused. I told him to go outside and calm down, and he refused. At one point he walked toward the back door and I used that to my advantage - he was not a large guy at all (I outweighed him by about 20 pounds) and I used my body weight and every ounce of strength that I had to push him out of the back door of the house. I slammed the door shut and locked it, then ran to the front door and did the same.

Within minutes, the police were there - thankfully, Ex1 had called them as soon as he got Sarah's call. They questioned my husband, they questioned me, and as much as they wanted to, there wasn't enough to arrest him. I told them everything exactly as it happened - that he never made a direct threat or pointed the knife at anyone, but that I was still terrified that something could have happened. Keep in mind that this was not the first time that they had been called to our house - there had been several instances of violence when he was in a drunken rage, so the officers were familiar with the situation.

I told them that I understood that they couldn't arrest him - that time - but that I just wanted him to leave the house. With the house being in both of our names, they couldn't legally force either one of us to leave, but they did talk to him and strongly encouraged him to disappear for at least the night. The last I saw of him that night was his back as he rode his bike down the street. I found out later that he went to our pastor's house to talk to her, as she called me later and asked if I would pack some clothes and things for him and put it out on the porch so that she could get it for him.

Before the officers left, one of them looked at me and said, "How much longer are you going to put up with this?" He wasn't saying it to be nasty - the tone of his voice showed that he understood the position that I was in at that point. He had been to our house on numerous occasions so he saw the pattern that I had chosen to ignore up until that moment. I looked at him and said, "I'm done." And I meant it.

I was done. I was done with the lies, the drinking, the verbal abuse, the physical abuse, the threats, the name calling...everything. I was done with it. He never spent another night in our house again.

The past two years have been a rollercoaster. For the longest time, I stuck my head in the sand and ignored everything that was falling apart around me. I was in a deep depression, but very few people saw it or understood the depths of it. I look back now and I wonder how I made it through those times, because they were by far the darkest times of my life. There were times that I really questioned whether or not I could go on - but my kids kept me going.

When I was finally able to file for the divorce, it was a feeling of relief. I feel horrible saying that now, but it really was. I needed to take that next step in the reclaiming of my life. I celebrated when it was final, because I could finally feel the control coming back to me. When he died 20 days later, I went through every emotion in the book.

I still struggle. Life isn't easy - at all. But now, 2 years after I made the decision to take my life back, I truly feel that I am in control of what happens to me. This is MY life - and I can do what I want to do with it. I don't have to answer to him or anyone else. I can and will do what needs to be done to take care of myself and my kids.

I spent the day at my friends' house, working in the garden. My friend took the boys with him while he ran errands, so I had close to 5 hours of quality time to myself - I planted seeds and enjoyed the feel of the sun on my face and the wind on on my skin and just reflected on everything that has happened over the past two years. For the first time in a very long time, I can honestly say that I'm happy with where I am.

I took the kids out for supper tonight - mainly because I'm too tired and sunburned to cook - and caught this shot on the way home...

It just seemed peaceful - something that I am finally feeling for myself.