Shards of My Heart

by Moore, Nicole Andrews

  other guard: Good job!

  me: Thank you.

  Then I rode the elevator to the same floor I had been on just over a week before and walked confidently into the very same courtroom. It seemed...familiar and scary all at the same time. Just as before, I was stuck sitting in the room through case after case, waiting for my turn while this new judge stood before me.

  Several times I had been pulled out of the room by Victim’s Assistance. The new case worker wanted to introduce herself to me, ask how everything was going.

  me: At the moment he’s in Billingsley.

  It was strange to me how a location and a place could become synonymous. Maybe that was only here in the south, but I had discovered that time and again it rang true.

  caseworker: Oh, so you are safe and he’s getting help. The judge will likely give you a continuance since he isn’t here.

  me: Actually, I need to have the order modified. The social worker asked me to make sure that he can come home when he is released next Wednesday so that he can participate in some court mandated intensive outpatient therapy program.

  She looked at me with concern.

  caseworker: I think this is a terrible idea.

  me: I get it. I’m not thrilled either, but I am trying to do the right thing. Before any of this happened I knew he needed help. It turns out he had a psychotic break because of the meds he was on.

  It was obvious that she was still concerned, but rather than argue with me, she simply nodded.

  caseworker: We’ll see what the judge says.

  Then we went back in the courtroom. The interminable waiting frustrated the heck out of me. My case would be quick, but slogging through the other slew of cases was the problem. When at last it was my turn, I walked up to the table to be sworn in.

  judge: So, Mr. Powers isn’t here?

  me: He’s in the hospital on Billingsley. I have a letter from the social worker as proof.

  judge: Well, I’ll have to continue this case. We can’t proceed without him.

  me: Wait! I was told by the social worker that I need to have the order modified so that he can come home when he is discharged. They want to have him in a special program.

  Truly, I felt ridiculous. Honestly, I was asking the judge to remove the one part of the order that guaranteed my safety. It was the same as dismissing the case altogether, really. Only, I didn’t want to do that. There was enough fear in me to keep it in place, if possible...somehow.

  From the way he looked down from his seat and peered at me over his glasses, I could tell he thought I was as ridiculous and clueless as I felt.

  judge: So you want him to be able to come home, but you still worry about your safety?

  me: I was told that I could call the sheriff to pick him up if he doesn’t take his meds as prescribed, or if he fails to continue with therapy.

  Using every last bit of confidence I managed to scrape up, I continued to look the judge in the eye. Apparently, it worked. The judge agreed to modify the order and I soon walked out of the courthouse feeling pleased. We still had to return on November 7th to finalize everything, but for now Shane would be happy and a happy Shane was a safe Shane.

  Before I had managed to get back to the parking garage, he had already called me.

  Shane: How did it go?

  me: The judge modified the order. When you are released, you’ll be able to live in the house again. We have to go back, both of us, on November 7th to finalize things.

  Shane: Great! I should be getting out tomorrow.

  At first, I was alarmed, but then I remembered how many times I had heard this from him over the past week.

  me: The doctor hasn’t spoken to me yet. We’ll see, okay?

  Shane: Well, I told her to call you.

  There it was, that arrogance...thinking he could control everyone and everything around him. That was half of his frustration. It wasn’t so long ago that we had ended up in a huge fight because he wanted to sell the house, but his sense of the home value was skewed. He had yet to realize that the value wasn’t what we thought it was, it had little to do with what we paid, or the money we had spent renovating. Value was determined by how much a buyer would pay and how much an appraiser felt the home was worth. While I merely struggled to explain that, he took it as me being pessimistic.

  Shane: You are so negative! Why can’t you just be positive once in a while?

  me: I’m being realistic!

  Shane: If this house were built a mile away, it would be worth over $300,000.

  me: Yes, but it won’t be appraised on that, it will be valued at its actual location. So that doesn’t matter.

  Shane: We put so much money into this house.

  me: Yes, and I warned you then that we were pricing ourselves out of the neighborhood. Remember our discussions on return on investment? I knew this was going to happen. Why do you think I merely updated my house when I lived down the street instead of upgrading? It was more practical.

  Shane: Well, if I can’t get at least $250,000, we’re not selling it.

  Fighting him was fruitless. He wouldn’t believe anything I said. Sure, we had the nicest house in the neighborhood, but honestly, smart buyers wouldn’t care.

  me: Okay, let’s see what the realtor says.

  When the realtor arrived and asked Shane how much he wanted to list it for, he nearly choked on the response. I watched as his eyebrows rose. They walked around and Shane pointed out the high end finishes, the special touches. The realtor was...more grounded.

  realtor: Yeah, the hardwoods are beautiful. When will the baseboards be finished? The paint is nice, but are you going to add crown molding to cover the sloppy edges?

  That’s when I earned the ugly eyes. After all, I had been the one to do the edging. Hey, I never promised to paint well. In fact, I hated it, sucked at it, and asked to be left out of the entire mess for just this reason.

  And that brought us back to the present where Shane was bossing around the doctor and telling me he’d be home tomorrow.

  Shane: I shouldn’t be in here. I’ve been very patient with them. Today, I warned her that if she doesn’t let me leave, things are going to get nasty.

  me: So you are in there for anger management issues and believe that threatening the doctor caring for you will result in an earlier release?

  Shane: I’m here for withdrawal problems from the Xanax.

  me: Okay.

  It was easier not to argue, to just agree. How many times a day did I have to remind myself that I’d rather be happy than right? So I swallowed my words, choked them down, and just kept the peace. That practice had served me well.

  me: Let me go. Traffic is terrible and I still have to take Brynn home.

  Hours later, around 7pm, I realized that I had missed a call from the hospital. It was the doctor. After many attempts on both sides, a ridiculous game of tag, we finally caught up with each other.

  doctor: As you know I’ve been treating your husband, Shane.

  me: Yes.

  doctor: So, we’re looking at letting him go tomorrow.

  My heart stopped. In that moment, it just ceased beating altogether.

  me: He threatened you and you caved? I thought you were supposed to fix that.

  doctor: Well, quite honestly, we’ve done all we can for him.

  me: The social worker had me change the Order of Protection. I was under the impression he wouldn’t be released until he was safe and exhibiting self-control. Instead, you tell me he’s being released because you have basically given up? That doesn’t bode well.

  doctor: I think there is a problem because you both have very strong personalities.

  me: Bahaha! I have to. Can you imagine how broken I would be by now if I didn’t? I’m about the only one in his life who calls him out...not that it has worked out well for me, mind you, but even you are giving up.

  doctor: He should be fine as long as he takes the medication as prescribed.

  me: You say this and y
et you have his file, which means you know that he has a tendency to completely self-medicate, over-indulge, and completely disregard the recommended dosage. He took over fifty Somas in four days! How is this ever going to work?

  doctor: Quite honestly, I am afraid for you and your daughter. Your evaluation of him hit a nail on the head. He is delusional, and has an inflated sense of self. Clearly, he has an addictive personality and is often depressed, not to mention his victim personality...where everything is someone else’s fault.

  me: So are there anti-depressants that you have prescribed?

  doctor: No, we gave him Seroquel.

  me: It’s for schizophrenia, bi-polar, and major depressive personalities.

  doctor: It’s an anti-psychotic.

  me: Right. That doesn’t make it sound better.

  We were silent a moment before I finally spoke. The weight of all she had said was heavy on my heart and in my mind.

  me: What do you suggest?

  doctor: Have a ditch bag and a plan. If he loses his temper, don’t stick around.

  me: Awesome.

  doctor: I can sense your frustration.

  me: Yes! I’m extremely frustrated. You are releasing a ticking time bomb into my care five days earlier than I was told, the day after I had the Order of Protection modified. Is it any wonder?

  After Kylie fell asleep, I went through some of the paperwork that I had received from Victim’s Assistance. There was a list of documents that should always be kept together in case of a quick departure.

  Domestic Violence Emergency Documents:

  Copies/Originals of All Identity Documents:

  birth certificate

  social security card

  passports

  permanent residency card

  driver's license

  Certificates, Proof of Income, All Types of Accounts, Pictures of each family member:

  copy of marriage certificate

  copy of most recent (2 years) W-2's for all employed adults in the home

  Bank account information, numbers and copy of a statement w/names

  List of all credit cards, numbers, security code, name on card, copy of statement w/name

  Utility account numbers and copy of a statement w/names

  copy of deed for home

  copy of vehicle titles, or car registration

  list of inventory of everything in the home with model numbers and pictures if possible

  copy of will

  copy of all insurance policies and/or statement

  copy of insurance cards

  When You Leave... Don't Forget:

  Domestic Violence Proof:

  copy of all current court orders & police reports

  photos of most recent property damage/physical injury... if you can get these safely!!

  If you took your abuser's original identity documents, make copies for your records and find a way to safely return the originals (mutual friend, pastor...)

  Luckily, we have a home office. Making copies was not a challenge. As I collected and copied everything, I stuffed it in a big manila envelope and then placed the envelope in my computer bag. Never would I leave the house without it. Somehow, this seemed like a step in the right direction.

  Our morning was quiet. Kylie played in the bathroom while I showered. We ate breakfast together, enjoyed our routine…with me working on the computer and her playing with toys and watching learning shows. Somehow, the time passed so quickly that I didn’t even think about it...almost...until Shane called.

  When I answered, he sounded incredibly upbeat and eager to make his announcements.

  Shane: So I heard you talked to the doctor last night.

  me: Yup.

  Shane: Well, be ready because I should be getting out this afternoon sometime. I’ll call and let you know.

  me: Sounds good.

  I wasn’t lying. In some ways, it did sound good. When we talked and he was all pleasant and positively bursting with happiness, it was incredibly contagious and I wanted to bask in the glow of his good mood. At the same time, when that mood fizzled, I had learned to snatch up Kylie and leave the vicinity...moving to another room in the house. Now it seemed like I would have to move from the house altogether. Then, of course, I worried, felt guilty, what if I wasn’t even giving him a chance. What if I was just being as negative as he claimed I was all the time?

  Rather than spend the rest of our wait time working myself up into a frenzy before I picked him up, I decided to do a few things for myself, things designed to make me feel better. So, I gave myself a facial and when that was over, I fed Kylie and laid her down for a nap. When she woke, we went to get my hair cut. The ends were looking ragged and I needed a style. It was one of the few fun things Brynn and I had spoken about when she was staying with me. The rest of the time, the dark side of life took center stage.

  The salon didn’t end up being the relaxing experience that I had imagined it might be. First, Kylie was on alert to every single thing that the stylist was doing to me. There was whimpering while my hair was being washed. Somehow I managed to distract her with the falling hair during the actual cut to get her to giggle. Then, during the blow drying...she came completely undone...screaming, wailing, huge tears streaming down her face. It was ugly crying at its finest.

  All of a sudden, the phone rang.

  Shane: I’m ready.

  me: Okay. I’ll be there as quick as I can.

  That was my intention, really it was. Of course, then I stopped at McDonald’s so that I could pick up a soda. Then I pulled into a gas station to fill up the tank. By the time I really was on the road, I was stuck in bus traffic. Amazingly enough, I felt calm about it...completely at peace with my decisions.

  After parking, I grabbed Kylie’s stroller and strapped her into it. I had no idea how much walking we would have to do, or waiting. He had mentioned that when he was discharged, there would be scripts to fill and a pharmacy on site.

  We entered through the handicap entrance because there was no way I could do the turnstile with Kylie. Walking briskly down the hall, I was met halfway by Shane. He was thrilled to be out and eager to rush out the door to freedom. Though I had no exact experience to relate to, I imagine it was something like leaving the hospital with Kylie after one of her long hospital stays.

  As excited as our little one was to see her daddy, he seemed just as eager to hold her. For the first time, it wasn’t so scary to let him. It had been just shy of two weeks since he’d touched her, seen her.

  Shane: She’s bigger and heavier.

  me: Yup.

  Shane: I’m dying for some food, real food. You hungry?

  me: Yes. I stopped to get you a soda because I figured you might be craving one.

  Shane: Great! Thank you.

  Then he leaned over and kissed me, gave me a big hug like he hadn’t in such a long time. It had me unsettled, like I couldn’t decide how to feel about it, how to react or respond. After he offered me a huge smile, I could feel that heart of mine melting. Soon, I started to think...maybe he is better. Maybe this will work. We might just have a future after all.

  When he walked into the house, I could see him trying to make sense of things.

  me: What do you remember?

  Shane: I don’t know. I don’t know how much I remember and how much is what I was told happened.

  me: Apparently, Corinne asked you about the damage to the house and you said something about leaving when the sheriff served you and when you returned, the house looked like this.

  Walking around, he checked out the house, room by room. Judging by the look on his face, it bothered him greatly.

  Shane: They said it was a complete psychotic break, that I just lost control of my mind and my actions.

  me: Yeah, I would agree with that.

  In the hall, he paused in front of the thermostat. The new one had yet to be installed, the LED screen on the existing one was completely messed up and impossible to read.

&nbs
p; Shane: We’ll have to fix this today.

  me: The new one is on the counter, I just couldn’t do it. I think I’m too short...and I was plenty busy…

  Shane: I can have it replaced in minutes.

  Reaching over, he caressed my face, as if he were trying to rub the worry from it before continuing into the bedroom. The minute he opened the door, the sound of plastic blowing around alerted him to the window.

  Shane: I should measure that and call in the glass today.

  Nodding, I walked over to the bags he had just dumped on the bed. It only took me a few minutes to sort the dirty clothes and return his toiletries to their rightful positions in the bathroom. The rest of the day would be a constant effort to return to normalcy.

  To say it was a challenge would be an understatement. I’ll admit that I watched him like a hawk. I had to. Time and again he had shown that he couldn’t be trusted with prescription drugs. Even the doctor had suggested that I watch for a sudden change of moods. Still, it is impossible to live in that constant state of readiness, always on alert. It will take a toll on a body, just as much as recovering from the meds had a taken a toll on his.

  When he suggested we go to bed at 9pm, just after Kylie fell asleep, I didn’t argue. In fact, I needed the rest for my mind, even more than for my body. Tomorrow was another day.

  Saturday was completely unremarkable, literally nothing to write about. Shane called it his day of rest, citing a need to recuperate. Again, I found myself trying not to drive myself crazy watching him, while balancing taking care of Kylie and writing. The assignments and motherhood never ended. Really, I wouldn’t know who to be without either title.

  Sunday, however, was a completely different story. Late in the evening he had made plans to deliver a trailer full of excess equipment to a guy in South Carolina. Given how tired he had been, I offered to make it a family outing, suggested that Kylie had never ridden in the truck and that we could use it as an opportunity to just relax and unwind, talk, get to know each other again.