Time is the king of the four-letter words. Time, the ribbon at the end of the race we will never finish.
Three years’ Time has passed since I last locked the door to our marital home. Home. It was hardly a home. A cardboard constructed set, all pretty and done up on the outside and splintered boards on the inside.
Door locked. Life left. Fear packed in with toys, blankies and jammies, and a single thread of self, knotted and pocketed for the unknown, unforeseeable horrors that awaited me after the bruises and bones healed.
Two years of divorce, and one of recovery. Two years of children, and one of emptiness. It’s been a long and sick and hard and tear-wrought three years.
I left what I had called home for only a few months. Florida has no jurisdiction right now, the lawyers told me. Leave while you still can, they said. He moved us a lot. I left Florida before the six month expiration date, and I left him. It took two days to make the drive. We spent one night at my parents house, and then my children and I moved into a domestic violence shelter.
On 10 August 2010 we became shelter residents. We stayed until 24 September 2010 when we moved in with my sister and her family.
By the end of October 2010 I was employed. In March 2011 the kids and I moved into our very own home. It was an old, little rental with a big backyard, families for neighbors, and a leaky back door. We were down the street from an elementary school, the school I’d hoped to walk my daughter to for her first day of kindergarten.
There we lived, happily, until April 2012 when I was given one last month of motherhood before being forced at the threat of jail to turn over everyday life to Donkey. To say that anger moved in and replaced the children is to minimize the absolute devastation. Pain was my best friend. Sleep, a companion of suffering. Anger, hate, and vile and contemptuous thoughts ruled my day dreams and nightmares.
But though I would gladly kick Time in the nuts, it has fulfilled its promise of better days. I am ok now, yes, just ok, but I’m getting better. Life is less vicious. It has been put into submission by Time, for now.