Kenny never drank at home and we didn’t keep liquor in the house. He simply stayed away from home and drank after work or he’d come home, initiate a fight, take a shower, put on his cologne and stay out till all hours of the night, all the while blaming me for the fight. It gave him a good excuse to get drunk. I also learned alcoholics need a reason to make excuses for their drinking. I was beginning to quit blaming myself for his drinking.
I was slowly learning what serenity meant. God became my higher power but it was not easy to trust him with my fears and emotions. For instance, every time Kenny went out I would ask God to help me to think positive and to not blame myself for him leaving. I tried not to take it personal every time he left to go drink. I also asked God to help me sleep at night instead of lying awake wondering if Kenny would come home safe. I could actually fall asleep feeling peaceful. Although at times, I felt like I was taking one step forward and two backwards, but at least I was working the program and trying to grow and change.
Kenny began to get suspicious. “You’re too nice. How come you’re not begging me to stay home? Are you messing around on me?”
I refused to argue with him. It was hard to hold my tongue when he started accusing me. I desperately wanted to defend myself and I was sure all my good actions would someday lead to his sobriety. I finally got honest with him and told him I was going to my meetings.
Not long after I started going to my 12-step program we went on our first vacation. It had been six long years since I had moved to Colorado and we decided to go back to my childhood town. Driving to my old neighborhood in Fontana, California, I was excited to introduce Kenny to my old friends who I still kept in touch with. The two weeks we spent there was amazing. Kenny even spent time playing with Jeremy, who was nearly three. We seemed to grow closer and we didn’t argue about anything. There was even talk about adding a second child to our family.
As soon as we returned to Colorado we were fortunate enough to buy a house. It was a three-bedroom ranch-style home on a corner lot. It was about five miles from where our parents lived. We were thrilled to be back in Security. Kenny’s mom and dad lent us the money for the down payment and we moved in with hardly any furniture. But we didn’t care. It had a big fenced-in backyard, and we got our first dog and named him Toby. Kenny enjoyed doing yard work and he expected me to help every weekend. He was overjoyed to finally have a place to wash and maintain his Chevy Nova. Kenny hadn’t taught me how to drive a stick shift. I was twenty-one and I hadn’t driven for nearly three years.
Life seemed peaceful in our new home for a while. Kenny even stopped going out drinking. We acquired furniture, Jeremy and Toby played outside every day, and we made friends with the neighbors. I was getting used to Kenny working overtime nearly every Saturday. At first it was hard, but the extra money sure was nice.
One day the neighbor across the street noticed I never drove the car.
“Debbie, do you know how to drive?”
“Yes, but I never got my license renewed after I turned eighteen and I can only drive an automatic, which we don’t have.” I didn’t think it was important to tell her about me taking the blame for the car accident when I was nineteen.
Betty kindly let me practice driving her car and a few weeks later she took me down to the DMV to get my license. Of course, I had no car to drive but at least I had my license.
I was still attending my weekly 12-step meetings. Since things were still going so well between us, Kenny didn’t try to stop me. Rosa still picked me up. Our house in Security was even closer to her. Rosa and I became good friends on our drive to and from the meetings.
25
Kristy
Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord. The fruit of the womb is a reward.” Psalm 127:3
Kenny and I were almost twenty-two. Kenny had gotten rid of the Chevy and bought a used Dodge Dart and this car was an automatic. Occasionally, he’d let me drive him to work then I was able to use the car to run errands or go to my job. I had just started working at a nearby elementary school as a part-time, on-call teacher’s aide. I was so grateful that my neighbor, Betty had offered to watch Jeremy whenever I was called into work. She had four girls and one was Jeremy’s age. I think she liked having a little boy around.
I loved hanging out with the school children and felt more comfortable on the playground with them instead of sitting in a stuffy break room filled with women eight to twenty years older than me. Even when I didn’t have playground duty I’d still go outside and the little kids would come up to me. “Teacher, can I hold your hand.”
Actually, I loved them all vying for my attention and we’d walk around the play yard laughing and talking. It wasn’t long that I began to get an uneasy feeling as I watched the little girls play. I was a little child their age when my dad molested me. I noticed how tiny they were and felt physically sick thinking about what he had done to me. Sometimes on the way home I’d cry for the little girl I once was. Other times I felt comfort as I held the children’s tiny hands throughout recess. I never wanted the bell to ring. I wanted to keep all those little ones safe, so they wouldn’t have to ever experience what I had gone through.
In the summer of l977 we prepared for the birth of our second child. My baby was almost due and I begged God for a girl this time. Sure enough, Kristy Debra was born twenty-four hours after my water broke. Even though labor was a lot harder and more painful than with Jeremy I still opted for a natural childbirth with no medications. This time I read books and Kenny had even gone a few times with me to my Lamaze class. I proudly held my tiny five-pound baby in my arms and thanked God for his precious gift.
Months earlier Myrna, my old high school friend and her husband bought a house behind ours. She had just had her first child whom she was breastfeeding and she talked me into trying it with Kristy. At first, I thought it was gross, a baby sucking at your nipple but Myrna began to convince me it was normal. After all, that’s why women have breasts, she’d say to me.
She lent me a book about nursing, I read it and was eager to do the best job I could feeding my baby.
Kristy was born two weeks early and had a condition called jaundice. Jaundice refers to the yellow color of the skin and whites of the eyes caused by excess bilirubin in the blood. I tried to nurse her right away but my doctor asked me to stop, he believed that breast milk made the jaundice worse. Kristy was put under special lights at the hospital to help rid her body of the excess bilirubin. It was not a serious condition but it was heartbreaking knowing I couldn’t bring my baby home from the hospital for almost a week after she was born.
Myrna encouraged me to pump my breasts and freeze the milk. “There’s still a chance you can nurse her.”
I went to the hospital every day and spent time with my baby giving her a bottle. Finally, it was time for Kristy to come home.
“Are you still going to nurse her?” Kenny asked.
“Yes, I want to try. I have been looking forward to it, since I didn’t with Jeremy.”
“I think you should just give her a bottle. She is used to having one now.”
“Please, can I just try?”
“All right but if she doesn’t eat today, you just better put her back on the bottle.”
Reluctantly, I agreed, I was still afraid to do anything without Kenny’s permission.
All through the morning I tried to put Kristy to my nipple but she refused. I called Myrna, feeling discouraged. “What should I do? Should I keep trying?”
“Don’t give up. Even though she’s used to having the bottle I know she’ll come around. I’ll come over and get Jeremy. After he’s gone and the house is quiet, relax on the bed and take off your shirt let her feel your skin. Try not to tense up. Please don’t give up. It will all be worth it, I promise you.”
This was something I really wanted to do. But I could hear Kenny’s words echoing in my head. If she doesn�
�t eat today you better put her back on the bottle. Just forget about trying to breastfeed her.
All day I refused to give her the bottle and I continued to try and coax my newborn into nursing. I still had to clean the house and start dinner. It was six o’clock and Jeremy had been home for a couple of hours. He was playing in his room. Dinner was warming on the stove. Sitting down with Kristy, I unbuttoned my shirt, but she still refused to drink and I was getting worried, Kenny would be getting off of work soon.
Just then, his car pulled in the driveway. I knew he’d question me. Did she eat? And then he would order me to bottle feed her, even though I didn’t want to. I knew I would not be able to fight his control. Please God, let her eat, I said under my breath. Instantly, I felt her latch onto my breast and heard her gulp. She was nursing. She was nursing!
As Kenny walked in the door, he glared at me. “Did she eat?”
“Yes,” I said with a satisfied look on my face.
From that day on Kristy nursed until the tender age of twelve months.
The reprieve we had in our relationship was only temporary. Kristy was just a few weeks old when Kenny started drinking again. Since having the baby, I hadn’t gone to any of my meetings.
Kenny got impatient when the baby cried. He got angry cause his dinner wasn’t on time. After late night drinking bouts, I started arguing with him again. He didn’t like me hanging out with my only friend, Myrna. He’d show up more often during the day, unannounced, hoping to catch me in compromising circumstances; such as the time I had a water fight with the neighbor kids in our back yard wearing a two-piece bathing suit. I should have been inside scrubbing the floor. “You just want those teenagers to see you in a bathing suit,” he had accused. Other times he’d say, “Why are you watching TV? The dishes have not been washed. Dirty clothes are on the floor and you’re sitting here wasting time while I am out working my butt off for you and the kids. This place better be clean when I get home.” Of course, it always was.
One morning after I had cleaned up Kenny’s vomit, fed the kids, changed the baby’s diaper and put dinner in the crock-pot, I started feeling overwhelmed again. I thought things had really changed and I was disheartened. Kenny had not really changed his bad habits and it was too easy for me to fall back into mine. I was tired of being afraid of my husband and his violence. I was sick of his accusations and the things he did to control me. I was worn out from walking on eggshells all the time and trying to defend myself. It was just too exhausting now that I had two kids to care for. I felt like a child asking for permission to do the simplest things. “Can I drive the car or go to my meeting? Can I take my neighbor who doesn’t have a car to the grocery store? Can I have a few dollars?”
Even though I had gone to meetings for over two years I felt like I had no right to my own opinions. My life still revolved around how Kenny would act, react or feel about something. I wondered, was it really supposed to be like this?
One morning after a fight with Kenny the night before, I was standing in the kitchen doorway talking to my friend on the phone. “Myrna, I’m so unhappy. Kenny never helps with the baby. He always comes home late. I never know where he’s going after work. He tells me he got drunk and fell asleep in the car. Come on, almost every night till four in the morning! He constantly yells at me and accuses me of wanting to be with other guys. Even the smallest things make him angry. Either I made the wrong thing for dinner or the house wasn’t clean enough. I’m still so afraid of him.”
“Debbie, does he ever hit you?”
Hesitating, I finally blurted out, “Yea, sometimes he does hit me.”
Just then I heard footsteps behind me, the phone went dead immediately, I felt a sharp pain between my shoulder blades. I turned and Kenny had his fist raised towards my face, ready to hit me again. I ducked!
“I heard what you said. Next time I’ll hit you in the face. You’ve never had it so good. If you don’t like the way I treat you, get out. Go back and live with your mom. You were in the poor house till you met me. You’re lucky I married you.”
Raising a fist, he taunted me; I cowered in the corner of the laundry room.
“Why don’t you ever stand up for yourself?” Dropping his hands to his side, he gave me a dirty look and walked out. “You are pathetic! You’re lucky I have to go to work now or I’d hit you again.”
This time I watched him drive away, still sobbing, I called Myrna back.
“What happened? Why did the phone go dead?”
“Kenny overheard me! I thought he had already left for work then he hung up the phone and slugged me in the back. He told me to leave if I didn’t like the way he treated me.”
“Debbie, you need to get out of there now.”
“I can’t leave! I have a six-week-old and a four-year-old. Where am I supposed to go? I’m so scared of him. I don’t know what he’d do to me if I left.”
“Call your mom. You can’t stay there. Don’t you realize you are an abused wife?”
“What do you mean?” I wailed into the phone. “Kenny doesn’t hit me every day, just once in a while. I probably deserve it, anyways. Sometimes I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. If only I didn’t talk back to him. I should not have been talking about him. And I really should try harder to keep the house clean. It’s all my fault.”
“Don’t you realize you are never to blame when someone hits you. He’s making you believe it’s your fault. Remember what you told me about your mom’s boyfriend he used to hit her and she blamed herself. You sound just like her. You’re repeating your mom’s past. What’s your mom’s phone number? I will call her while you get the kids up and ready to go someplace. We need to get you out of there right away.”
Halfhearted, I gave her my mom’s number although I really didn’t want to involve my mother. I still did not understand anything Myrna had said. What did she mean I was an abused woman?
Thankfully, my mom made arrangements for me to stay at a place called the County Poor Farm. One of her AA friends had just purchased it. Myrna came over and we packed the kids and a few belongings into the car. We did it as fast as we could in case Kenny showed up unannounced for lunch, which he often did. Myrna drove me to the County Farm. I had never been so scared in all my life. I was leaving my husband. I had no money and no possessions, only my two children at my side. Myrna stayed long enough to help me settle into my room.
The County Farm was a huge house on several acres. I was told it might have been an orphanage at one time. There were several dormitories, a kitchen, several bathrooms and offices. Families who were homeless could live there for a few days or weeks until they got on their feet.
We stayed in one of the dorms. There were over fifty beds in one long room. Jeremy thought we were on an adventure. We chose a bed toward the back of the room. I scooted our twin beds together and placed the bassinet near us. Kristy was easy, all she did was eat and sleep. Jeremy was good-natured, he took my hand while I carried the baby and we explored our surroundings. I felt brave and scared all at the same time. But I felt guilty because Kenny had no idea where we were.
There was a pay phone outside the cafeteria. I had enough change to phone my mom after dinner.
“Kenny called again looking for you. I told him I didn’t know where you were.”
“But Mom, he’s going to be so mad at me. I don’t like this.”
“Debbie, your husband needs to go to Alcoholics Anonymous and stop drinking. He needs to realize he can’t mistreat you anymore and you are the only one who can convince him of that. Please don’t call him. He needs to think about the way he treats you.
“Okay, I won’t call him but what if he finds out where I am?”
“He won’t and don’t worry you’re safe there. Everything’s going to be fine. Just take some time to think about your life. I want you to get to a place where you never allow your husband to hit you again.”
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br /> “But Wes hit you and you always said it was your fault. Sometimes I think when Kenny hits me and I deserve it and I’m too blame.”
“I was wrong for putting up with it, when a man hits a woman it’s never the woman’s fault.”
“But Mom, he doesn’t hit me all the time. He’s only hit me a few times since we have been married.”
“Once is too many times. I was wrong to put up with it. I didn’t know any better and I was drunk most of the time Wes hit me. Hopefully you can learn from my mistakes. You’re still young, don’t wait as long as I did to believe you deserve to be treated better.”
The first night was lonely. It was frightening to be in that great big room with all the empty beds surrounding me. When we arrived, we were the only ones at the County Farm except for the employees.
After tucking the kids into bed and waiting for them to fall asleep, I laid awake with a bright lamp overhead and thought about my life. What was going to happen? I loved Kenny and believed if only he stopped drinking all our problems would be solved. When I got tired of thinking I pulled out a book I had found in the library earlier that day and began reading until I fell asleep.
To my surprise, a couple days later another family arrived, a man, his wife, and their two toddlers. Finally, I had company. The woman, Leslie, and I enjoyed each other’s company right away. She and her husband were homeless. They invited me to go to the drive-in that night. We all climbed inside their old station wagon and watched as the movie began. Her husband pulled out a bottle of wine and a few cans of beer and began to drink. During intermission, Leslie and I took the kids to the playground and laughed and played with them. I had done something without asking Kenny’s permission. It felt good.
Leslie’s husband drove us back to the farm, clearly drunk, and it didn’t occur to either Leslie or me to drive. Obviously, we both shared the same kind of life. The next few days Leslie and I spent a lot of time talking, but I didn’t talk about my husband’s drinking problem or his violent temper. I had learned to keep secrets. She didn’t talk about her husband’s drinking either.
Something About Those Eyes Page 17