I woke up this morning with mixed feelings. Years ago, I remember wondering what it felt like to be 'old'. Do you suddenly feel ugly? Will I turn all wrinkly overnight? I had to laugh at myself for allowing these silly thoughts to cloud up my mind.
My name is Lilly Gordon and today is my 50th birthday. My silly questions really won't matter, because today is also the day my husband of 25 years will beat me to death with his favorite golf club.
Of course you are wondering how I got to this point. I have asked myself this question many times over the last twenty plus years. I don't suppose I have much time, but I will try to make sense of my life, such as it was.
My husband and I met through mutual friends. We were both up and coming business owners who shared many interests. At least, I thought we did. We dated for six months and with the blessings of family and friends, decided to get married. The first year of marriage was wonderful. The only low point was the mutual decision to sell my business and focus on his. We made a huge profit since my business was doing well; actually better than his. About this time, we decided to start our family. Within three years we had two beautiful sons. He was a great father.
.
*.Does a great father beat the mother of his children??
The first five years were normal, as marriages go. The first time he hit me was the night of our 6th wedding anniversary. As a surprise, I had invited the couple who introduced us to join us for dinner. He did not even remember the date and was embarrassed. In addition to all the other beatings,every anniversary after that, I received a bonus beating. The bruises were never visible, so I was not faced with the humiliation of explaining anything to anybody. He was also careful to only hit me when the boys were away from home.
My husband is a pillar of integrity in our close knit community. He owns a lucrative business. He is a leader in the largest church in our city where he makes overly generous donations. I have often felt that he thinks he is buying his way into heaven.
I have always been too ashamed to tell my family or friends. I was just not strong enough to tell anyone how horrible my life has been. Several years ago, after he cracked one of my ribs, I scheduled a meeting with our pastor. Within the hour my husband was hitting me across my back with his belt. No, the pastor never called me to ask why I never showed up for the appointment; apparently he knew the answer. Needless to say, I had no trust or respect for the person in the pulpit of my church. What can I say? I didn't have any respect for myself either.
Yesterday, my best friend suggested we have an early dinner to celebrate my birthday. I declined because my sons planned to come over after dinner for cake and ice cream. We always planned everything around my husband's schedule no matter how inconvenient it was for anyone else.
Last night, my prayer was somehow,, different. Over the years, my faith has been unstable at best. I think maybe I wanted God to just take me away; like Calgon or something. I realize now that I did not want to be responsible for myself or my choices. I finally asked God to give me the strength to walk away.
After I finished laughing at my silly questions this morning, I called my friend and made plans to have that birthday dinner after all. We had a great time. Actually, my entire day was light and happy.
I did not tell my husband of my plans because I had decided to tell him that I was leaving him. After years of research and discussions with counselors from the local women's shelter, I knew how dangerous it would be for me after telling him of my decision. In my heart and spirit, I was already free; I did not care much about anything else. Or did I??
I was surprised to see his car in the driveway of our beautiful home. A home that had become my beautiful prison. He never got home before 9:00 and it was just a little past 6:00.
When I opened the front door, he was standing in the foyer with an almost comical scowl. I had never gone anywhere without asking him first. He asked me where in the hell had I been??
I smiled.
I only felt the first blow. I was knocked completely unconscious with his balled fist. He broke two of his fingers. I know now that I actually died from the blows of his golf club. He broke half the bones in my body.
He lost it. It was not my smile that pushed him over the edge, it was the look of freedom that he saw in my eyes. He had to have seen it; it would have been impossible for him to miss.
The first person he called was his pastor. He showed up looking totally confused; poor man. Maybe he learned a lesson that will benefit another woman. It was obviously too late for an ambulance, but it took them over 30 minutes to call the police. You see, they were busy praying. I wonder if one of those prayers was for me...
I am so sorry that my babies have to deal with this pain. They loved me, but they also love their father. May God have mercy on my,,no, our families.
How sad that the date of my birth is now the date of my death.
.
I regret not telling the people who loved me the truth, because my life was a lie. They really haven't seen the real Lilly in a very long time. But then, neither have I. I did leave a journal for my sister. Maybe that will help them to understand how this happened. Maybe.
Even now, I do not understand the reason why.
It is time for me to go..
No comments:
Post a Comment