“It’s never going to be enough”, I shockingly realized as I folded the laundry. I still loved him but it didn’t matter anymore. “Nne, never underestimate the strength of your mind no matter the weakness of your body” I remembered these words of my grandmother who gave me the strength to hold on in a marriage that…I was brought out of my reverie by the ringing of my phone.
As I dropped the call, Linda’s news of Susan’s death left me stone cold. I stood morose for long minutes, blinking hard and trying to keep the tears at bay. It felt like a dam had opened and I was helpless to stop its flow until there were none left to shed.
My Susan was gone, another victim added to the long list! Social media was trying but so much was left unsaid and many nameless victims without a voice.
A quick look at the clock brought me to my feet as I morosely walked to the kitchen to prepare lunch for my husband. The sight of the knife hanging in its stead brought back the painful memories, the ones that hurt me in a way I could never recover.
It was my fault; I was not the perfect wife. Maybe I should have prepared more exotic dishes and read his mind to know that the shirt he left on the bed should have been ironed to perfection.
Perhaps, I should have dressed sexier and satisfied him better sexually. Maybe he wouldn’t have used the knife more, after which he would cry in remorse, get drunk and rape me. It was more bearable when he used the rope; he was good at it and never left visible scars that would cause a second glance.
On my wedding day, my aunt had called me aside and told me my husband was the god I saw on earth, so he should be honored. In my mind begged the question “If husbands were the gods we saw on earth, was mine a mistake?”
We looked like the perfect happy couple when we attended service last four Sundays. God doesn’t make mistakes was the concluding statement of the guest pastor, leaving me more confused than ever. It was on that day I finally accepted Susan’s invitation to a support meeting.
After the meeting yesterday, I knew my husband was neither a mistake nor a god. He was simply a man incapable of loving any other person but himself.
Forgiveness was a long road but I was at the start line and would head to the highway in time. I finished cooking and set the table. I walked to our bedroom where my bags were packed and made my way down the stairs.
The fresh breath of freedom called out to me and I was done ignoring it. Susan and I had begun this journey together but her death gave me the needed push. I vowed there and then not to let Susan’s death be in vain and help others in abusive relationships find the strength to get out of it.
I heard freedom begins with a step but I was taking three steps at a time. I was free at last.
Love,
Diane.
