Lioness Roar
A voice for the voiceless, protector, innate prowess and determined maternal instinct. This evolution from abuse bloomed after 40 years. Like the Amorphophallus Titanium, Corpse Plant. Stunning, beautiful and strong the largest flower in the world that blooms after 40 years of parasitic sustenance. The enormous flower cultivates growth, perseveres silently, until the flower blooms magnificently for only 3 days, dies and begins again.
As a child I perfected being silent and introverted. Seemingly content and imaginative I was on alert, listening to words, the tone and volume of voices, creeks of the wooden floors in our old Midwest farmhouse. I seemed to go unnoticed for a number of years tagging along with my Mom mostly in her adult world when I wasn’t in school. I was skinny, undeveloped, and expressionless most of the time. The farm, when the weather cooperated, was magical. I had hundreds of acres to explore, animals to care for, dreams to create and trees to climb. When I was 7 my first brother was born, 14 months later my baby brother was born and my ranking climbed exponentially as the oldest, caretaker and protector.
The stress of life, family, inner demons or whatever inexcusable excuse we labeled as my Dad's outrage, was all consuming. Yelling became fury, discipline became whippings with a thick leather belt, buckle and all. Name calling cut deep into our fragile innocence. Pushing, hitting, kicking and belittling was normalcy, if you were present. My next escape was always in the works, a sleepover, party, school function, anything and everything that would guarantee my absence from my Dad gave me a moment of peace. The biggest regret was when I left my brothers behind, to bear the brunt of the anger. I started to resent them, the responsibility I felt and the protection I could not offer.
I graduated high school early, of course my Dad didn’t even attend my graduation. I was nothing special, not a high achiever, my name was "dumb ass" at home, no one asked about school or ever checked my grades. Three days after graduation I moved out, I was 17 years old.
Two years later I was hit by a drunk driver, rushed to the hospital in and out of consciousness, broken, scarred and helpless. I was forced to convalesce at my parents, stripped of my new found freedom. I was released from the hospital 21 days later, my Mom filed for divorce, and left us all. I was just a child, literally broken with hundreds of stitches, staples and wounds, raw and painful. Confined to the couch, unable to walk I became an audience of one. He would move my crutches out of reach so I literally could not move, I was forced to listen to my Dad bloviate and spew of his heartbreak and rejection. He threatened suicide almost daily and broke down in tears spontaneously for weeks. I finally reached my threshold and my escape artist mentality served me well. I decided to joined a gym, barely able to walk, still on crutches and against doctors orders I taught myself to lift weights. In a few short months I was free again and stronger than before.
My parents battled through divorce proceedings for years. I became the legal guardian for my teen brothers who were trapped in a living hell after they were awarded to the custodial care of my father. The anger and rejection this narcissist exuded was increasingly projected onto the boys; my boys. One afternoon my youngest brother called me to say that "Dad was going crazy" beating, hitting and kicking his brother all over the front yard.
Just as my Father so often brutally abused our dog in the front yard, he attacked his son in kind. An image I can’t erase is this man, my Dad a police officer 6’ 7" in stature, holding our dogs leash in one hand, attached to his choke collar which he lifts him up by INCHES off the ground for what seemed like an eternity. Our dog flailed and fought for breath, I was frozen in terror. When he finally released our dog, he was barely conscious and his tongue was swollen 10 times its normal size. I was witnessing a true sociopath, my Dad, my blood, a very high ranking county police officer who was untouchable.
I called 911, which is ridiculous when your Dad is a lieutenant for the whole damn county and an evil bastard. I agreed to meet the officer dispatched and rushed to my Dads house 12 miles away. The county police showed up, I yelled and screamed at my Dad, my brothers were crying and the responding officer and my Dad were shooting the shit, laughing without a care in the world.
Escape and separation was the only way to survive his evil and rage, sadly my brothers had to endure a few more years, not unscathed, but remarkably well adjusted. My Dad remarried, the abuse began again. Years later I married and had two boys of my own, which seemingly gained me some status from "dumb ass" to a Mom, a hovering over protective Mom in his opinion. We lived 800 miles apart at this point and visits were few and far between. In the presence of my husband and children, my Dad would still bark orders, call me names and once and I mean only ONCE, he threatened to spank my 3 year old son.
My children were all mine, not his possessions to manipulate, abuse or destroy as he had relentlessly tried with me and my brothers. The images flashed, the words so clear and concise, "I wish you had never been born" he would scream in my face". I borrowed his razor once, which was unauthorized apparently, that earned me a litany of curse words ending in "I wish you had been aborted". He jerked the shaving cream out of the medicine cabinet and he hit me over the head with it so hard, the cap broke. I was called fat when I was 110 pounds, I was told my jeans were too tight and that I needed to wear more dresses and look like a lady. I was scrutinized for my opinions, my music, my friends; my entire existence.
Decades upon decades, I strove for perfection, seeking approval from that man who always held the trophy of acceptance barely out of reach. No surprise that I married a man that became abusive also, which I tolerated for a few short years. My Dad encouraged me to stay married. Hell, I had survived boot camp during my childhood, goodness knows I could make my marriage work if I just kept quiet again. My Ex was arrested for his 3rd Criminal Domestic Violence charge, removed from our home in handcuffs, then my Dad "allowed" me to call it quits.
I have only ever asked my Dad for a few things in my life, understanding that he is incapable of elementary tasks regarding relationships. I naively asked him to write an Affidavit on my behalf during my separation and pending divorce, he politely declined. A few months later the truth surfaced and it was known that my Dad had already sided with the Plaintiff, my Ex. My father supplied my Ex husband with a scathing Affidavit full of lies about me, his own daughter. The attempt my father made to persuade the Family Court's decision for joint custody with my Ex failed, miserably. Against all the odds, I was able to prove the abuse and violence that my family endured for 7 years. My Ex husband was court ordered supervised visitation for the next decade and then moved 2,700 miles away.
The blatant disloyalty from my Father precipitated silence on my end. Me and my boys, his only grandchildren, were not his priority. Chaos was.
Almost two years has passed with enormous healing from within. A strong and beautiful bloom has appeared after 40 years, I have finally found peace.
Christmas 2017 my oldest brother was manipulated into a scenario by none other than our Good ‘ole Dad. A DNA test, under the demise of seeking clarity about our family ancestry was gifted to all of us, the three siblings. Being suspicious by nature, I allowed my son to submit his saliva sample which systematically foiled the plan, hence the truth unfolded. The truth; our Father drove from Mississippi to Montana to visit my brother. An act such as this, a deliberate attempt to make the father/son relationship whole again was masterminded for evil not good. After my Dad returned from the trip, he asked my brother to send ancestry kits to me and my younger brother, to solidify the truth about my paternity. My brother, the prodigal son, is celebrated and chosen. The estranged relationship is seemingly repaired after decades of separation and silence, although he is merely the pawn in our father's game. The player that can call checkmate will end the cycle.
Recently we have all been gifted with systematic letters of duplicity, cryptically written by Dear ‘ole Dad. His tone has changed and he has written asking each of us to "help" him uncover the truth. His attempt to create chaos and division covertly with a DNA test failed, now the alternate plan to learn the "truth" is in the form of an allegation that my sweet angelic Mother had an affair forty plus years ago, which now questions my paternity. Sweet Baby Jesus, is my first thought! This news, if true would be better than winning the lottery, albeit not the case.
I forgive this tormented soul, I have empathy and sincere pity for the man that is my biological Father. I do however take great pride in the simple lesson of reciprocity. In his letter he asks for my help so he can learn the truth. My answer is simple, "Do unto others what you would have them do unto you". This is the law by which we all abide by and one that I hope resonates with him through all of eternity.
I am like the lioness, my roar is the voice I give to the voiceless.
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