It's not for the faint of heart.

Welcome to my slightly silly, often odd, and mostly messy life.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

God, this killed me...

My Ex likes to tell anyone who will listen that he never did anything to hurt our kids.  He has declared to the court, the police, therapists, family and friends over and over that he was the victim in all of this and that the kids have no reason to be upset.

This is a draft of my 13 year old's final for Language Arts. She is supposed to write a vignette about a moment in her life that changed her.  The spelling is horrible, but hey, that's not Chef's strong point.  This is also just her first draft.  Reading it was very powerful for me.  I cried my eyes out.... it makes me hate that man with a passion I feel for no other living person. 


People are like oxygen, we need them, they surround us, giving us light and energy. Sometimes that light disappears, and other times, it gets taken away.

He left us in the white van the smell of upholster and rain dampen concrete invading my senses. The sound of the traffic coming by blasted my ears with wanting, wanting to be somewhere, anywhere else. I joke on the outside my sisters young smiling faces making the gnawing fear a little more bearable each second. Until I saw them, they came one by one with packages, big, tall, wrapped up and hiding the deathly thing that lays inside. The sign of the gun shop will always be burned into my mind.

He lays there like nothings wrong, twirling the bullet casing in his fingers like it's all a joke, like it's not something sick and wrong, like it's an innocent toy or play thing. I watch it glint in the sunlight and listen to my sisters sobs, rubbing her back reassuringly, while my mind is trying to stay calm and not hear the words coming out of his mouth. It scared me relentlessly, what he's saying so rationally, about something so wrong.

The gun was loaded, car was ready, alaby set, his footsteps thunder with finality as he walked through the door, and hopefully, out of my life. The clock strikes seven, the days long gone, I still hear those footsteps song as he steps out of the door with finality. I didn't think he could do it, I didn't think he would try, but then again, people aren't always what you think.


  1. Jesus.

    This is the kind of stuff the courts need to see.

    My offer of clubbing still stands.

  2. Whew.... I would cry my eyes out too if my baby had to be witness to this.

    Much love to you all.

  3. If an unfortunate (un-arranged) clubbing were to happen. There is always that chance that someone could be rewarded for such an act. However, this would have to be all unofficial, off the record and such...