Two months ago

Two months ago everything … well, I guess it kinda hardforked for me personally, and I wrote this piece; a broken story about some pieces of my life... an abusive first husband and our son, an adult child who had made a critical step towards being an abuser himself.

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Recap

My son, who had been exhibiting signs of being an emotional abuser for some months, took that verbal attack and emotional manipulation a step further and hurled a hard backed book at me, hitting me with it. I called the police, who came and ended up telling me that I shouldn’t come over and yell at him.

Having been in a physically abusive relationship for years with Stewart, my son's father, I knew that the police will do this sometimes. Listen to the charming abuser’s story and take his side, so I wasn’t surprised. I was saddened, however. Every time my son is allowed to sway people to thinking he was somehow justified in his abuse, his behavior will be reinforced and much more likely to continue to escalate.

I knew another thing, too, in that moment. I knew that calling the police was not going to be enough of a consequence to change E’s thinking, to help him understand how far from acceptable his actions had become.

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The Next Part

It took me a day or two, but I finally began formulating a plan. I talked to my brother who lives just a few hours away with his family and who had mentioned that he would come down if we needed him to. My brother is the one person in the world that E loves without issue. Slowly I understood what I had to do.

I had to send him to his father. The very man who abused first me and then him. I had no other choice. If we tried to simply kick E out, he’d be homeless...but only until he found his way back to his grandmother’s house. I thought about sending him to his other grandparents’ houses, and knew the same situation would occur.

I wish I could write this post without feeling like I need to justify myself every other sentence. I know I made the right decision. For my SON and for my mother. But my heart… my heart is bleeding and I don’t think it will ever stop.

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Decisions

We decided that my husband and my brother would meet at my mothers house to tell E what was happening next. He was to pack his bags and get on a plane the next morning to his father.

So they did. And it went much, much better than anyone expected. He was unhappy to be going to his dad’s but seemed to understand it was the only option available to him. I wasn’t there, I knew he wouldn’t be able to be calm if I were around, so I stayed home.

My husband and brother helped him pack his stuff and the next morning, he got on the plane to his father without issue. We’ve heard snippets since… we believe he has a job and Stewart seems glad he’s there.

Here’s the thing though. I’m dying. I’m dying inside and I can’t stop crying. I mean, not every minute, and believe me I am pushing that pleasure button whenever and wherever it shows itself... but then a certain song will come on and I’m crushed; raw, terrified and exposed.

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Maybe

See, I sent my son back to his abuser. I sent my son. BACK. to his ABUSER. The man who cruelly and deliberately, over and over again, hit him, abused him… do you know what he would do, E once told me? E’s a little Asberger-y and had a difficult time making eye contact. This ‘man’ … this MONSTER would punch him in the face without warning if E wasn’t looking him in the face when speaking to him.

I hate this person with every fiber of my soul. There is no forgiving him. I can’t; I won’t. I won’t for the childhood terrors he put my son through and I won’t because of the horror nineteen-year old Beth experienced. I won’t for the times he drug me out of bed by my hair when I was pregnant and I won’t because he spent years telling E that my new husband and I would never love him as much as we love our ‘real’ kids. Some things only god can forgive.

And now? Now I’ve given them both a chance at redemption. That’s the only thing in this whole entire mess that gives me any hope… that maybe Stewart will redeem himself and do the right thing for his son. Maybe they won’t both end up in jail after a fist fight. Maybe E can heal from his childhood with his father by his side in a way he was never able to do with me.

That’s all I’ve got for now, is maybe. Maybe I didn’t make the worst decision of my life. Maybe things will work out for the best. Maybe my son will forgive me someday. He hasn’t spoken to me since the day he threw the book.

Maybe my heart will stop bleeding... maybe.

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Images taken from pixabay, with thanks