Freedom

I stood there, in my father's kitchen uncertain what to say.  We were visiting for an early Christmas and my father had just asked me how my sister was doing.  This is the sister that he had traumatized so badly when she was a child that she has regressed into a shell of the person she once was.  I have watched in horror as her mental health has declined over the past decade unsure of what I could or should do.  I looked at him with a blank stare on my face trying to formulate an answer.  "Not good" I finally blurted out, looking at the ground.  I slowly raised my eyes and looked directly into his looking for some type of response but found none.  My sister had been staying at our house for the past five days and I have been continuously assaulted with waves of anger, guilt and frustration resulting from her declining mental health.  I continued to look him in the eye and said "it is always a constant struggle with her.  She has been all but abandoned by her kids and she is struggling just to hang on."  I lowered my gaze and in a hushed tone said "it has been very difficult". 

I am not one for meekness, especially with my father.  I can remember the day when I no longer feared him.  I was seventeen and we shared a cockroach infested apartment in the low rent district of Nashua.  I was walking down the stairs heading out for the day and he was apparently annoyed that I had not washed the dishes to his satisfaction.  "I will deal with them later" I called up the stairs.  "Going to see your whore-girlfriend" he shouted back.  I stopped mid-step and with no hesitation turned and leaped back up the stairs three at a time.  I threw him against the wall and with my hands clutching his collar, my face inches from his, said in an enraged but controlled voice "if you ever again refer to K as a whore, I will kill you.  I released him and he slumped to the ground.  I suddenly felt a tremendous wave of relief sweep over me.  I was no longer scared of my father!  He would never beat me again; never verbally abuse me.  I would no longer cringe in fear when I thought about my Dad calling me to come home so that he could punish me for whatever offense I had committed that day.  I was free...