From the very beginning, the pain and hurt of abuse racked my soul, forever etching its scars into my heart. In fact, I am bothered to say that even the earliest of my memories are tainted with the pictures of violence. Pictures and memories that no child should see, must less recall over the span of a lifetime. Nevertheless, they are there and are my true reality.
These memories and recollections don’t come in fancy wrapping or coverings, but rather they are viewed through the war-torn and scarred heart that has to replay them. Reels upon reels of violence and sorrow, hurt and pain, guilt and shame have long played themselves through my heart and mind so many times. There is a true meaning to me when I hear the phrase, “I know it by heart”, because unfortunately I do and many of you may know this as well.
What the heart has come to know can never be extinguished, forgotten or discarded. For some there are times when those memories may lie dormant for a spell, but rest assured they too will surface. Whether these memories come through daily replays or sneak peeks of the past, they hurt and that pain is unfathomable and unforgettable. Life brings its abundance of struggles on its own, but to have to relive the haunting memories of the past adds an undefined element to the heart that has to live it.
I will give you a slight glimpse of the long ago recorded, but ever so vivid memories of my early childhood. I was the middle of three children born to a beautiful couple. However, what appeared to be an average middle class family to the outside world was nothing of the sorts within the walls of the homes we resided. For behind the doors was a life that was not just a true picture, but the real experiences of a nightmare relived day after day.
As youngsters, our days were filled with happy times as my brother, sister and I were reared by a wonderful Mom. She took us on outings in the woods, laid with us in the yard as we picked pictures out of clouds, filled us with Bible stories, made up ridiculous stories that we still laugh about today, let us help her cook the best sweets ever (kids always swarmed our house for her desserts). Even after we started school she was still there as the room Mom for all three of us in different grades. Class parties were awesome because Mom never came to one empty-handed and we were the envy of all the kids. Needless to say, my Mom gave us some really great memories, but as great as the days were with her, they would ultimately draw to a close and call forth the evening, which we despaired to come.
Why was the evening a dread, you ask? To three frightened children it meant the end of happiness and fun and the arrival of harried expectation that rose to its peak as our Dad would pull in the driveway. To guess the mood that he would come home in was a pretty easy thing to do, because if you chose “bad” you were most likely to be correct. Don’t get me wrong, there were occasions that he was peaceable, but those times seemed to me as rare as stumbling upon an oyster shell housing a real pearl just lying on the beach…just not too likely to happen. However, what was predictable was that the night most likely would not end without some sort of disaster. If we were lucky he would just grumble, fuss, cuss, holler and complain and eventually go to bed. However, that didn’t happen near as much as we prayed it would. Sometimes he would start an argument and then leave, but the leaving meant that he would return again and that was never good. Yet, all too often he stayed and most of those nights you didn’t have to close your eyes before the nightmares began. They took place right before three pair of innocent and horrified eyes as we watched the torment that our Mom was subjected to and listened to the hatred spew forth like venom.
Three hearts, three minds, three souls forced to look on, dared not to cry and scared to the point of immovability. While our bodies may not have moved, our minds never stopped. For these minds were being burned with memories that one would only hope to gain freedom from, but later would actually serve to be the source of each one’s individual bondage.
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