The Afterwards Series

In this book, I write about the incredible journey my soul undertook to find the answers that were plaguing my every thought as a child, and later, overwhelmed me as an adult. I talk about my desperate search for answers during an anger phase that was untaught to me from the circumstances I reluctantly found myself in. My torment and agony as a child led me to question all that I thought I knew and believed to be true as I began to pay attention to 'the fight inside,' and ignore how people thought I should cope. It may be that they too, were asking these haunting questions. They too, might have been searching for a way out of an ambush. But, they never found it. I told her about the door handle that turned at night, and that no matter where I hid, be it under the bed, in the closet, or in my sisters' bedroom, he still found me. I told her that sometimes, he'd bring others with him and that it scared me. I told her not to cry because we were still okay, but that I worried about my Lily. I told her that I thought the monster was what was making her sick, and what had brought the seizures to her. I told her that Lisa was crying, but that she couldn't see her tears. They were bouncing around inside of her. I told her that we knew he was beating her, and we would hear her cry in the night. I asked her to stop him, we are afraid he might kill her. I told her about the firearm he kept hidden in his closet, and how often he brought it into my bedroom to remind me to keep our secret. I told her I had learned how to use it. I told her that the next time he drove us at full speed, aiming for a solid brick wall, that he might not want to stop and that we would ultimately hit the wall. I told her that I didn't want my sisters to die. I told her that when she left for the stores, to please let us go with her because when she left us behind, he did things to us. I told her that when she went to Church and left me at home to keep an eye on him, he did things. I told her that sometimes, I could feel my heart beating so loudly that I hoped she could hear. I told her that I wanted my father back, and that I wanted my sisters to live. I told her that I could remember the day it all began, and that it was the precise instant he left. I told her that most nights, it was pitch black around me and that my eyes often struggled to penetrate the darkness, no matter which way I would turn. As the boogeyman would come closer, it would be as a diffused glow ahead of me. I told her how heavily it weighed on my shoulders and how the darkness would brood and rotate around us all. Listening to the boogeyman's threats made me feel isolated and secluded, and scared me like I had never known fear before. I told her that as much as I wanted to run away from it all, I couldn't move. I was frozen. I couldn't fight. I was paralyzed. It was as though I was being slammed into invisible barriers all around me and that the piercing moaning of the boogeyman made it hard to breathe. I told her that hell was our home and that the devil was living amongst us. It was waging a battle against us, trapping us in fear and striking out at us with each ounce of aggression he could muster up. I told her of the lies he has convinced himself would turn into the truth, desperate to erase his brutality. I told her that I hated him and living one more moment with him would only guarantee more hatred, betrayal, hostility and pain. I told her that I knew she didn't know, and that I knew she didn't hear our screams. They were silent, bouncing around inside of us. I asked her to help us stop it, because I couldn't stand one more night in the darkness. I told her my sisters wouldn't survive. And then, I told her how truly sorry I was, and how I wished we could go back to before.

In this segment of my journey, I address mothers of broken daughters and hope that you might understand the thoughts, the pain, the guilt, the shame and the regrets I went through, even though it was lost then, and will always be lost to my own mother. Being here means that you are nothing like my mother was. For that, I salute you. Perhaps, a little insight into what I desperately needed from my own mother might be the guide you need, in an Afterwards of your own, and one that is untaught to you, and you're your broken daughter. There is a mountain ahead of both of you, but it is one I have no doubt you would climb a hundred times over to release you of your unfounded guilt, your child's intense desire to be exonerated from any wrongdoing and allow you the insight into putting your family back together. The last chapter deals with the death of my monster and the truth about my broken mother. xx --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I thought I'd never forgive him or mourn his death. I thought I would then be free. I thought that ignoring his calls, his messages, and his desperate attempts to apologize to me would preserve my glued-back-together-brokenness. I thought I wouldn't shed a single tear and that finally, my life would be unbroken. I thought that I would never look back on what could have been with my mother. I thought that she could never be to me what I am to my daughter. I thought she'd never change and that she'd hate me forever. I thought I'd never miss her. Or him. I thought I would never reflect on the moments that were good in my childhood. There weren't many and the bad was just too bad, overshadowing any good that there was. All I thought I knew about my own brokenness was a lie. I did not fully understand or realize how terribly broken she was, and how my father shattered her life. With no family, mother or father to ask for help, she was trapped in a life she was desperate to escape. My father broke her, and then he went on with his life. We were all products of a darkness in this world. We were all caught up in an evil we couldn't escape. Not my father. Not my mother. Not us. I understand that today, and most things make sense. I still have moments of anger towards my father, but it's different now. They are moments of anger infused with an overwhelming sadness that causes me to shout out to him about all our what-if's and what-should-have-been's. Some days, I berate him loudly for his stupid mistakes, and other days, I wonder what broke him? The thing is, I don't know much about my father's younger years or childhood. I don't know about a traumatic event he might have suffered, or if perhaps history was repeating itself. I don't know? I never asked. I never wanted to know because, at the time, it would never have justified what he did to us. So today, I want to ask mothers and daughters to talk about this. Talk about your brokenness and don't wait three decades to get it right. Understand one another and pick up your broken pieces together. Broken Mother, tell her about your own shattered heart.

This is the part of my journey where I speak about you and hopefully, to you. I hope that after reading this, you will realize that the abuse you suffered was never your fault, and that speaking out was the right and only thing you could do. I know you are trying to overcome and accept your scars, your fight and your pain. I know you feel guilty about surviving, and I hope I can teach you to celebrate your victory. I know that you have spent every moment since you found your voice to choose right over wrong, even when others didn't. I know you get up and show up each day, even though you'd rather crawl into a hole, and live there forever. I know you are clinging to a life that has let you down, that confuses you, that has betrayed you, and that has desperately disappointed you. I know you are holding on for dear life. I know that you sometimes can't breathe when the waves of sorrow come crashing down on you. I know you are trying to find your place in a broken world, filled with broken people. I know you force a smile, when all you really want to do is cry. I know how much you hate yourself each time you look in the mirror, unable to find a reason to love yourself. I know you are trying, even when no-one else can see it. I am trying too. I am with you. Believe only this if you can believe nothing else. If you had told me a week before I woke up different that I would be stronger, braver and determined to banish my monsters back into the abyss, this time without me and my sisters, I would never have believed you. I was afraid, I was complicit, I thought I was loved, but more than anything, I loved the boogeyman. One morning, I woke up different, and so will you. You will be removed from those against you when you figure out who those are that serve you. You will no longer care about those who watch from the sidelines, unable to commit to picking a side. Those that pretend not to know, not to hear, and not to see. You will discard all that no longer offers you peace. You will value your opinion more – others won't matter so much. Your only validation will come from you, no-one else. Loyalty will first be for you. You will reclaim the you that was once stolen from you, and from the world. You will reclaim your heart, body, mind and soul. You will eventually reclaim your joy and your happiness. You will ultimately reclaim that inner you that was stolen by the monsters of your days and of your nights. More than anything, for the remainder of your life, you will remember that you were called to a war, many others weren't. Perhaps you've seen too much. Perhaps you've felt too much and been through more than you should have. Perhaps, you've been asked too much of, and perhaps, you've lost too much of yourself along the way. I am here to tell you that all the too-much'es can never dim your beauty, your strength and your you'ness. You will find your way, because despite the too-much'es, you are still here. You are chosen because of the too-much'es, others would never have survived. It happened to you, it isn't you. It doesn't define you and it will never be who you are. Their truth will never be your truth. You are grace.