Moving Forward

Today is November 16, 2016.  This is not a date of any particular significance to me, except that it is ten days following the anniversary of the day my ex- husband almost took my life. Yet, I find myself in a panic because November 6th somehow managed to tiptoe past me without so much as a whisper.

Usually, I make it a point to take time on November 6th to reflect. I usually reflect on how far my children and I have come among other not so pleasant thoughts that have a habit of sneaking themselves in. But, this year November 6th did not play any significance. The day came and went and never once did I even allow a conscious thought of the incident to play into my psyche.

In the past, I have  always remembered this day. Sort of a second birthday, I flag it, mark my calendar, set reminders, put up sticky notes and everything else to pay tribute to the day God gave me a second chance on life. But, this year... nothing.

I had the epiphany as I mindlessly glanced at the calendar and all of a sudden my stomach sank to my feet!
"How ungrateful could I be?, I can't believe I forgot!, On the fifth anniversary, though?" are just a few of the thoughts that flooded my mind as I quietly reprimanded myself for the oversight.

But, wait!

What if it's supposed to be like this? Over the past five years, I always set subconscious reminders of the incidents that ravaged my family at the climax of our deep encounter of domestic violence. Recently, however I find myself able to openly discuss good memories of their father with my children. I indulge them with tendencies that he had, things he liked, his favorite shows, and so on. In these moments, I catch their smiles or spend the next couple of minutes answering their questions about the man that was once an everyday part of their lives.

And in this reflection, I acknowledge that although for me November 6th was a day of deliverance, it may not be the same for my children. Although I often say that we were all delivered, I am speaking from the perspective of a mother protecting her young. From a woman held captive by the powerful grip of domestic violence. But, I am quick to forget that just like I had to mourn the loss of a husband  at some point, my children had to mourn the loss of their father since November 6th, 2011.

They have expressed to me that they have forgotten his voice, his laugh, his scent, and his mannerisms, but they vividly remember the images of the monster that he morphed into that evening.

Isaiah 43:18 tells us "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past."

And perhaps  for this reason I did not remember to relive the horror of November 6, 2011. I do not believe that it is only by coincidence that I have started to discuss the positive attributes of their father with my children. I think that it is all falling into place by divine purpose. I believe that this is part of the healing process as well. And while November 6th will always signify new life for me, I will no longer let the malice of that day lead. 

SLANDER

"The action or crime of making false damaging statements to someone's reputation."

I shouldn't be surprised or shocked, but I am disgusted.  Since this was an attack on me in totality, I have decided to house it on both blogs. 

There was a time that I wouldn't say anything. I'd just take it all. I may have written my words in a journal somewhere in passing because my writing has always been my therapy, but that would be the extent of it.  Those days have gone. I write now because it is my gift, my purpose, my therapy, my sanity,  my ministry, my testimony,  the very core of who I am.

I do not write to offend, I do not write to spread false truths, and I do not write to anger. What I write is mine. It is my story, my experience, and mine to share with whomever is willing to lend me their ear and pour into them something that may help them or someone in a similar situation. I am not a fool, I know some indulge simply for entertainment, or to get a glimpse into what I allow them to know, but I cannot nor will I ever try to control their reasons. 

What I will never do is stop. 

I have always been a writer, but I started my expository writing after my family's extreme exposure to domestic violence.  "From an Officer's Wife", "Through a Child's Eyes", "Hardest Hit", and "Deliver Me".  All touch on some aspect of what my children and I went through.  Some touch on how the lives of others were dramatically affected by my misfortune, and one touches on my young children trying desperately to understand.  But, ALL of them are derived from truth. Every reenactment, every poem, every scene. 

See the thing about truth is that it speaks for itself. There are no inconsistencies or variations. 

Here is where my gift comes in... GOD gave me a story, GOD delivered me, GOD gave me a talent, GOD gave me a platform, and GOD gave me a testimony and I will use that concoction: GOD +TESTIMONY + DELIVERANCE + GIFT + PLATFORM = MY STORY, to glorify HIM and to bless others. 

The beauty of it all is that NO ONE can stop that. They cannot take it from me, they cannot erase what I have been through and they cannot touch where it will take me. But, what they can do in the typical fleshy way that human beings operate is try to defecate on my experiences, try to break me by accusations that my experiences of domestic violence are fraudulent, try to intimidate me with threats of putting before me what God has already delivered me from, try to attack my integrity by accusations that I will throw domestic violence charges against someone who has not offended me in that way,  try to hurt me by defiling the most painful part of my life, just to satisfy their own demonic purposes. 

I do not have to fabricate a tale to create my story, the truth again speaks for itself and just a bit of research will clarify that. My abuser is a repeat offender. My abuse has been documented in photographs on hospital shelves, the scars on my children's souls will corroborate it. I just think it's funny or rather sad and desperate that my character is being assassinated, my integrity is being questioned, and that my ministry is under attack. But, the enemy is a petty creature especially when you have been released from his hold. 

This brings me back to the title, "SLANDER".

The enemy will try anything to infiltrate God's blessings. So I am not offended by the attempt at defiling my character. I take solace in knowing that God knows and sees all. God knows my heart, my truth, my experiences, and what  I will write before  I even think it. 

In the end, I am a writer and art imitates life. I will continue to share my experiences because they are mine. I will continue to write because that is my gift.  My style is my own, if  it offends you, stay away.  Do not seek what you cannot handle. On the other hand, if it entertains you, read on; if it blesses you read on, and share. Even if my writings go unread, I will always write. 

I will write about domestic violence, I will write about being a single mother, I will write my plays, my novels, my children's stories, and so on and so forth. 

I encourage others to use their spiritual gifting as well. Use it to glorify God, use it  as therapy, use it to bless others, just do not let it go to waste.  

I bend, I don't break!

I'm sitting here in reflection exactly four years after my ex husband tried to take my life.

It was November 6, 2011. Funny, I have no recollection of the time though. Everything just happened so fast. One moment I was doing just as I am doing now, writing. However, the next few moments would find me defending the lives of my children and myself. 

I think it is interesting, though not by coincidence, that on the heels of such a life changing event, I find myself once again in a tumultuous situation regarding my child. I love how strategic God is in the way He works. His timing is everything. 

Here I am four years later, and I have a chance encounter with my former abuser in a tattoo shop of all places. I mean really? A tattoo shop! And on my birthday of all days? While I was getting the name of my newborn daughter branded on me? What's the likelihood? And of course, as one would hope against, but imagine nonetheless, he was belligerent. Calling me out of my name and trying to intimidate me with his belittling "Little Girl", and his puffed up chest and balled up fists. He picked up where he left off four years ago when his manipulation held me captive.

In that moment, I ignored him. I remembered my deliverance and I felt sad that he was still captive in the same place. I must admit, however, that I was shaken as all of the bad memories flooded me at once. The adrenaline powered me as I left that shop in a hurry slipping into another to escape the awkwardness of the situation. 

That evening I searched my soul for an answer. "Why would God allow me to see this man after all of these years?"

"And why in this condition?" I mean after all , I only have three of his children who he hasn't seen or asked about since 2011. "Why didn't he ask about them?" I couldn't understand it.  But finally,  in the gentle, calming, and gentlemanly way that God often reveals things,  He offered a response... "Trust Me." And just like that I knew.

I didn't see my ex to throw me into a panic, nor did I see him to see how stagnant he had become, but rather God allowed that encounter to strengthen me. God allowed me that meeting to remind me of where he had delivered me from. God used that moment, he presented my ex in his vulgar, threatening, and irrational  behavior, but I walked inches in front of him and he did not harm me. God did not allow me harm from what he had delivered me from. Instead in that moment God said, " Claudine if I delivered you from this, then there is not a single situation that is bigger than Me."

After that, I knew it was pertaining to things to come. 

Low and behold, weeks later, I receive insight that my newborn's father is taking me to court. A man that does nothing for our innocent baby, but hides behind the lie that I will not allow him the chance to visit with his child. And in that particular moment, when I felt tears of anger and feelings of rage building, I remembered the incident that occurred almost a month before and I found joy. 

I serve a God that already has this situation handled. Just like He delivered me exactly as life began to escape me in 2011, He will handle this situation as well. God sees all and knows all and I praise Him now more than ever for November 6, 2011. I praise Him for what He has done and what He will do. I am excited for my future. But, most of all I thank God for a bendable, but unbreakable spirit!

Father by Blood

What were you Thinking?

So many times I get asked this question and my answer is always the same... death was not an option.

Maybe it was the Holy Spirit talking to me on the many occasions when I was in the heat of the battle with my ex husband, but either way I never once believed "He's going to kill me". I don't really know how to explain it but I always knew that there would be an end to the episode. Quite honestly I thought he would kill himself before he would kill me.

Contrastingly, my biggest fear when I was not engaged in war with him was a murder suicide. Maybe I fell victim to the all too common "It won't happen to me" epidemic, but looking back I'm not sure if that was really it either.

Even now I still can't briefly answer this question so let me just paint the picture...

"Come with me now" Claudine!

Father's Day

Take Your Ring!

"Give me your hand Claudine!"

"No! Stop it! You're going to break my finger and right in front of the kids!?!"

I pulled my hand away from him as he fought unrelentlessly to take hold of it.

"Get out of the car or I'm going to pull you out."

I thought for a second knowing that he could very well make good on his threat. But something inside of me told me that things would only get worse if I followed his command.

"Look, I'm not getting out of the car. Stop being irrational and I'm not giving you back the ring. We are married, I am your wife! What is going on with you?"

"What's going on with me?!? You the one walking around here with make up, lip gloss and tight a$$ pants on!"

"What?!? Are you serious? I'm out with you and my clothes are not tight! They are just not baggy, I'm not a man! If that's what you like then I can't help you!"

As you can imagine my careless choice of words did not help the situation. Almost immediately he reached into the car and pulled me half way out of the window. I tried with all of my strength to resist his pull but lost to his size and strength.

"Stop, stop! Please! You can have your stupid ring! You are scaring the kids and hurting me. It's not that serious."

My daughters whimpered in the back seat as they sat witness to their father's brutal treatment of me, but he had no regard for them and completely ignored the fact that they were even there. I fought with my now swollen finger to get the ring off, but it wouldn't budge. Shades of purple began mixing with a greenish blue to replace the natural brown tone of my ring finger. Finally, he grew tired of my failing attempts and grabbed my hand ripping the ring from my finger.


PAIN radiated down my entire hand and I pulled it close to my heart desperately trying to ameliorate the throbbing and sharp ache that had taken over.

I could only imagine what the neighbors were thinking as this entire scenario unfolded directly outside of one of the houses in my parent's neighborhood. But, at that point any pride that I had was replaced by agony and anger at my oversized bully of a husband.

"You have your ring, now leave!"

But of course to add insult to injury(literally) he took my ring, an alleged symbol of our love, and threw it clear across the field near the houses.

"There! Now go get your ring! Since you don't want to be my wife that's where it belongs. In the street just like you!

Almost instantly, I forgot about the pain in my hand replaced now by the pain in my heart. Without a word to him, I drove off. And I could hear him yelling...

"See! I knew you didn't care!

At a loss for words, I caught a glimpse of my girls in the rear view and tried hard to dispel thoughts of the damage being witness to that ordeal would cause. But, the reality of the matter was that they were once again the hardest hit...

Didn't See That Coming..

At a Loss

A Way Out

Moving on... when is the right time???

My Story

Questions

Forgiveness

Regrets

By Faith

Murder Suicide

"Okay okay... just put the gun down. I'll come with you! I'll do whatever you want, just put the gun away, PLEASE!"

He pushed me up against the wall, gun to my face.

"You think I need a gun to kill you?!?! I can use my bare hands. You think I'm some punk b@&c!? I can snap your neck right now if I wanted to."

The smell of liquor was fresh on his breath. He pressed his body up against mine pinning me against the wall. My blood ran cold though my veins and the only sound was the thunderous beating of my heart. 

He held me there for a moment before continuing in his drunken stupor...

"Are you cheating on me?!?! Are you f&*k!ng some ni&&a?"

I swallowed to keep from crying, but a tear escaped anyway. I had no idea what he was ranting about!!! Nothing had happened. One minute we were having a quiet evening at home, the next he was literally at my throat. My children of course were off somewhere taking cover as usual and I  tried to comply to diffuse the situation.

Today I feel so far removed from that awful scenario which was once my grim reality.  Everyday I woke up in fear that one day my children and I wouldn't wake up!!! I was sleeping with one eye open, keeping watch over my kids by bunking in their room just to make sure they were safe. I would find any reason to stay up late, or better yet any excuse to stay over my mother's house for the evening.

I was scared! Terrified that my unstable police officer husband would neglect his civic or rather domestic duty to PROTECT his family and actually endanger or FLAT OUT take our lives. I waited in fear for him to load his weapon just to unload it into our flesh. I waited in horror for him to lose it one quiet evening and shoot us soundly as we slept before taking his own life as well.  I prayed that my family would never have to endure the grief that the headlines "Murder Suicide at 1627 Howard Chapel Court"would bring them.

I was afraid but I stayed, crippled by fear, immobilized by threats, waiting for an escape or waiting for it to happen.  I look back now and I am shocked by my actions, but I can remember that overwhelming feeling of loneliness and being trapped.

I remember wondering if this was it, every time a fight would ensue. I remember being worried for my children, and I remember being mad at myself for neglecting to take action...

And when it almost happened, when he cornered me into a closet pounding me with his blows. When he promised that he would take my life and his. When he terrorized my oldest child lifting her to the ceiling and throwing her to the floor, when he struck my baby boy, and put fear into my youngest girl with his illogical questions, when he near killed me, when I had no way out... GOD rescued us!!!

TWO YEARS LATER...

It's been two years since that day. A blessing and a curse at the same time. I was almost killed, but delivered instead. I think of it like a second birthday, because God gave me life for a second time when he released the hold from around my neck... when he perfectly coordinated the ring of the doorbell with the very instant in time that I was slipping from consciousness, when he pulled me from that darkness and directed me back into the light... that day changed my life. 

It was November 6, 2011. It gives me goosebumps to think of what could've happened if things would've taken a different turn. If God hadn't spared me... and what about my kids?!? Would he have killed them too? Two years later and for sure it would've been the anniversary of my death...

He grabbed my neck! I squirmed...

"Let me go! Get off of me!"

But he only squeezed harder. My children just a few feet away on the other side of the wall, while their father compromised my airway with an effortless grip around my neck. So many thoughts flooded my mind... "He's gonna hurt the kids", "I have to live!", "This is finally it!", "GOD Help Me!!!"

The look in his eyes was emotionless, he stared directly into my eyes with complete darkness, like I could see through his soul. There was no evidence of humanity... just evil. 

I fought him... I tried gouging at his eyes, kicking his groin, scratching, and other remedial methods to break free, but I was only wasting energy and feeding his wrath. The angrier he became, the tighter his grip. In little to no time, I COULDN'T breathe!!! I felt dizzy, I couldn't speak, there was no passage of air, then the fuzziness and the darkness came, and there was an eery peace... I knew I was dead, and I said a prayer for my children...

I find myself fighting back tears as I am writing this. 

It's strange to imagine  that I could have died right there on my kitchen floor at the hands of my own husband. Right beside my children. 

But instead, the doorbell rang right as I was prepared to depart with my life. For the first time in the midst of one our battles had the actual thought and acceptance of death entered my mind, but when I gave up on myself God did not and made His presence known.  

The police had arrived right on time, but not by coincidence. 

Now fast forward two years later...

There is peace of mind, my children are no longer afraid of their own shadows, I no longer live paranoid that he will be waiting for me behind a bush, or in the parking lot of some public place, my children laugh again! They play, they sing, they love, they excel in their interests, they do exceptionally well in school, they are free to be children! 

No more being afraid at home, no more screaming matches instead of lullabies, no more witnessing fights, no more crying, no more, no more, no more...

So I am thankful for November 6, 2011. I could've died that day, but instead God delivered my family...

Put the Baby Down!

"Put the baby down Claudine!"

"Why, so you can throw me across the room?!? "Our" child is screaming because of you. He's scared!"

"You have one more time to raise your voice at me. Now I am going to tell you again. Either you put the baby down or I will."

Not sure what he meant by that particular statement, I did not want to chance it. I only had seconds to make a decision, so I walked past him slowly and gently placed my screaming  newborn son in his play pen. Our girls slept peacefully in their beds unaware of the mayhem happening right outside of their bedroom door. 

 I was afraid to turn around, as I knew this 200 plus pound bully was waiting to attack. 

"Now you were talking all of that s&*! when you had the baby... what's up now now, huh? You think I'm some punk a$$ ni&&a off the street. I'm not a bi*$@, your husband can actually hold his own."

He continued his mindless banter and I desperately searched for an escape. While he bounced around like a boxer in a ring, my mind went to my children. My three babies 3,2, and just a few weeks. How would I get out of this one? This time I didn't even know what the argument was truly over.  He left the house early that evening, which had become a pattern. Shortly thereafter, I received a phone call from a "Gina" asking when he would be arriving to the party. Naturally, upon his return, I inquired and from that point World War 3 had erupted. I watched him, in his fighting stance and wondered how he could think that this was an equal match up, but I did not utter even a single breath...

"So you just gonna sit there and disrespect me? You don't hear me talking to you?" 

He pushed me down into the glass table and a pain seared down my side. There was blood but it was superficial. I wasn't too badly hurt. My newborn on the other hand was crying so hard that he was gasping for air. I was at a loss for what to do! I ignored my pain and stood to my feet. I politely said excuse me and walked around the near 300 pound monster standing before me.... Wrong move! 

He grabbed me by arm ad slung me onto the sofa...

"What the fu*! is wrong with you?!?! Where the he!! do you think you're going?"

"_________ the baby is crying! Please let me get to him, he needs me! He can't breathe!"

"Oh, so he needs "you"?!? What the fu*! am I? You don't think he needs me?"

Of course he found a way to twist my words. Then my heart sank and jumped to my throat at the same time! He walked toward our son and tears just flooded my eyes.

"Oh my God! Please________! Don't hurt him, he is just a baby! He doesn't know any different, he is crying because he wants to be comforted and he hasn't eaten! Please!!! I didn't mean anything by saying he needs me... only that I have to nurse him!

 I pleaded with him not to hurt my baby boy.

"Shut up! I'm not going to hurt my son! He's crying because he needs ME! Now look at that, he stopped. Ain't that right buddy? you wanted Daddy, not your dumb ass mother."

He walked to the kitchen and got the baby a bottle. He sat down for the next hour or so feeding, changing, consoling, and all the while speaking derogatorily about me to our newborn. He dared me to get up and I sat frozen in fear of so many of the deadly scenarios that consistently played through my mind. 

After one of the longest hours of my life, finally my beast of a husband fell asleep. I carefully picked up my baby and trembling I took shelter in my daughters' room. Afraid to leave, I locked the door and sat staring at it, waiting for him to come back for me. 

He didn't. Eventually I heard the front door. I had no regard for his whereabouts, instead I just took my children piled them in the car and like I had done so many times before sought shelter at my parent's home. 

Happy to see us, they did not suspect a thing. And again we were safe.

Is My Daddy Dead?

"But Mommy I don't see him anymore, and when you don't see people anymore that means they're not coming back.  Is Daddy dead?"

My son never ceases to amaze me. We had just returned home from burying my great uncle and all of a sudden he became curious about death. His question made a lot of sense, and I could tell that he was really confused as he tried to wrap his little mind around the events surrounding him.

"Baby, your daddy is not dead, but you're right you don't see him anymore. I'm sorry, it's kind of hard for you to understand right now, but you'll get it one day when you grow up."

"No, Mommy you're wrong, Daddy is dead. If he was alive he would come pick me up."

With that he ran happily out of my room. Now what is wrong with that picture???

Did my four year old just justify his father's absence with death? And he was content. I mean when I think about it, I guess it could make perfect sense. There is less pain in thinking that someone is staying away because of death rather than to accept the truth that they are making a conscious decision not to be a part of your life.  But he is four!!!

It's amazing how the mind compensates for the illogical. Finding reason within nonsense. Protecting the heart, protecting the very being from the harsh realities of life.

Now, surely my little boy did not fully comprehend the concept of death. Even after seeing his uncle lying there lifeless in his casket, even after saying goodbye to him with a kiss, even after crying for him to come back when he saw the closed casket, and breaking down when his uncle was lowered into the ground. I mean even after all of that he still speaks of his uncle as though he is just a phone call or car ride away. But, in his constant conversation about his uncle he finds peace. He knows that he will not see him again, he knows that he will never get to sit on his lap again, and he knows his most adored feedings by his uncle will never happen again, but still I do not think he understands the absolution of death. He doesn't grasp the permanency of death or the severity that his loved one is gone forever.

He just knows that he used to see him all of the time, then he went away for a while, and soon after he died.  By the same token, he used to see his father all of the time, then he went away for a while... so like his uncle, Daddy must not be alive. But, instead of sadness it brings him peace. However, once again it breaks my heart that my young son has to deal with such grown up thoughts. Whoever said that children don't understand, must've never met a child in emotional pain.

And I can't even debate it, because as surely as my great uncle is gone so is his father. As surely as we had to mourn the loss of my uncle, my kids had to mourn the loss of their father. Only three, five, and six when they last saw him. And now they will be five, eight, and nine and he is dead to them. Just a memory, that's all they have left.

Sadly my son was right, Daddy is dead...