Monday, October 20, 2008


My mother tried to escape my father on a number of occasions. I remember some scattered details of two of these incidents but fortunately, my maternal grandmother has filled in the blanks for me. I remember my mother waiting for my father to go to work one morning. As soon as he stepped out the door, she started packing franticly. A couple of her brothers came over and helped us move to my grandmother’s house. It was a collaborative mission that was successful – for a time. I was about 4 or 5 years of age (not long after I put my father’s loaded gun to my aunt’s head – see “My favorite Auntie”). I have memories of living at my grandma’s house intermittently. I think we stayed there for about a school year because I remember going to kindergarten in the neighborhood. I found out as I got older that my father convinced my mom that he would commit suicide if she didn’t return home. My father worked for New York City Transit on the train tracks, so he claimed that he would electrocute himself by jumping on the third rail. My mom, being the big-hearted teddy bear that she was, didn’t want that on her conscience so she made the decision to go back to him although her mother advised her not to.

The second time my mother left my father, it was a similar process of last minute packing and running. We ended up by grandma’s house again. I always felt safe by grandma’s house. There were always a lot of people there. It was kind of like a bed & breakfast & dinner for family in need. Our bedroom was large and used to belong to my mother’s two younger sisters. Huge high school cheerleading pom poms that belonged to one of them still hung on the inside of the closet door and on the outside, a multiplication table that my mom made still hung for me from the last time I was there. I was 6 years of age at this time and attending first grade not far from there. We stayed for another school year+ until my father got another bright idea. For some reason, I have no memory of this but apparently my father kidnapped me from school one day. The school day wasn’t over and he never picked me up before. In those days, there were no strict rules as to school pick up as there are now. He just said he was my father and I was released to him. Next, my father called my mom and told her that he was on the way to the airport with me and if she didn’t come back to him, he would take me to his country of birth and she would never see me again. So of course my mother agreed to return to him and that was the end of everything. I wouldn’t live at grandma’s bed & breakfast & dinner again until 9 years later when my father ultimately murdered my mother.

I divorced my husband when he attempted to be violent with me. He also told me that he would kill himself and I advised him to go right ahead. Did he do it? Of course not. Even if he did, I know that his actions had nothing to do with me. The problem was there wayyyyyyy before I came on the scene. These things that my father and my ex-husband said and did were all control attempts. No human should have control over another human being and no one should feel forced to be in a relationship with someone, especially not someone who definitely needs psychological help. There are more programs available today than there were two decades ago when my mother was in need. I took advantage of a couple of those programs to make sure that my ex stayed away from me. I have listed a few helpful websites on this site to your left for those in situations like my mother who need to Escape. Don’t be afraid. Stand up for yourself and your family and take that step to safety, peace of mind - Freedom.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Freedom, that ever elusive buggar...We all seem to be caught in the cycle of our prisons, whether it is a job or lover..I am glad you recognized this poor behavior in your mate before this became ugly. Your strength will always hold you always follow your first mind. If you pack up and go or decide to leave something behind, that what you need to do, leave it. Obviously your subconscious is waving red flags that you are unaware of.

Good story, a hard lesson learned. Keep writing I'm addicted to your unfortunately sad stories.

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