When I was 17, I had an epiphany. It came in the guise of my stepfather, who didn't like my attitude while I did homework and he shouted at me over one thing or another, tossing me like a ragdoll into the corner of the living room and tipping the recliner that I had been sitting on over onto me. He tried to hit me, punch me maybe, I'm not sure which, but I remember he must not have been trying very hard because I had thrown my arms over my head and was blocking the blows. And my mother. My mother just stood there and watched this happen. So did my younger sisters. I don't blame them for not intervening or calling the cops. But
my mother did nothing. And afterward, when I confronted her about it, she denied the entire thing had happened, that I had overreacted and blown this small spat way out of proportion. She tried to make exuses for her husband, when his actions were inexcusable. She tried to gaslight me.
That was when I realized that my mother would deny, deny, deny this man's actions, and keep making excuses for him, until one day she ended up dead at the wrong end of his temper.
He pulled a gun on her the other day. He's been keeping a girlfriend in the home he shares with my mother and pulled a gun on my mom when she dared to demand a divorce. She refuses to leave, refuses to call the cops. She is still making excuses.
She could have died, and she is still making excuses.
I feel sick.
I knew this was coming. I've known it for 13 years. And yet I still feel totally blindsided by all of this.
