A Tribute

I sink to my knees in tearful prayer

Begging forgiveness for I know not what.

The pain almost unbearable,

A silent scream escapes my lips.

The world passes by unaware.

My soul is shattered, my heart broken.

Trust is utterly destroyed.

Adoring love is met with cold brutality.

The foundation of life eroded away,

I reach out and find only emptiness.

Full retreat, shutters closed.

I sink into darkness.

Agonizing silence.

Stark loneliness.

I grow smaller and smaller.

Then the gentle touch,

And a soft voice whispers,

I am here – for the duration.

I know your pain.

I have walked your path.

Walk with me and talk with me.

Together we will face your demons.

Hand in hand we will conquer your fears.

It will be a long, hard journey,

But you are no longer alone.

Whose hand touched you, you ask.

It was yours. You touched me and lifted me.

Whose voice did you hear?

It was yours – sharing your story.

You gave me strength to slowly open the doors.

Thank you for having the courage to share.

Thank you for having the strength to come each time.

Thank you for caring enough to listen.

Thank you for giving me hope.

Thank you for being you.

Written by Sharon, age 61

A Child Came

A child came to you

Arms outstretched, palms up,

Pleading in her eyes,

Love in her heart,

Her soul battered and bruised.

A tear rolled down her cheek,

And your gentle hands wiped it away.

Her trembling body

Was wrapped in the strength of your arms

And, at long last, she felt safe.

She laughed again

And she played.

Her smile brought the sun.

The deep wounds began to heal.

Her love for you was overwhelming.

But then the clouds came.

They shut out the sun.

Now the eyes held fear,

The laughter was silent,

And the trembling returned.

Words of ridicule and hatred rained down.

Hands rose and fell in anger.

Her eyes now asked, “Why?”

A tear rolled down her cheek.

A slap swept it away.

A child came to you….

Written by Sharon, Age 62

The Shots: Homicide and Suicide, Despair and Hope

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, embracing her, drawing her to him as he had so many times before. “Sorry Baby. I have to do this,” he said, pulling her closer.

She saw the gun in his free hand and recoiled slightly. That quick, small turn saved her heart. The bullet pierced her side and lodged near her back. Bleeding and scared, she ran across the street for help.

He took the gun to the bedroom where their two boys had been sleeping. She doesn’t know everything he said to them, but he did tell them to close their eyes before he shot them, then himself. He died sprawled over his sons.

Their 8-year-old boy died. Their three-year-old survived after dying and being brought to life on the operating table of the local hospital. He is physically damaged for life.

Domestic violence had lived in this family for years, causing numerous break-ups followed by get-togethers. A divorce was finally becoming a reality when he chose the gun as a solution. “I didn’t see it coming,” she says. They hadn’t owned a gun and she doesn’t know where it came from.

She’d heard reports of him drinking in solitude in the local bar instead of hanging with his usual buddies. Friends said he was having a hard time.

She wants everyone to know that he was not a bad person. “He loved his kids,” she says. “He was irresponsible as a parent, but he loved his boys. I know that he loved me too.”

It’s now been over a year. Mother and son cope. He gets professional help: physical therapy, speech therapy, and occupational therapy. They both see counselors.

Scars remain. The child asks for his brother, his father. While she wants to know more about the last few minutes of her firstborn’s life, she’s careful not to probe or push too hard on her youngest child’s memories. What should she do with the anger she feels towards her husband?

She is trying to move on with her life, but questions of suicide are on her mind. She still has bad days, even with support from her religious life, from her family, from her friends. What were the final words her son heard before he died? Did he know she loved him? How could her husband do such a thing?

New life is growing inside her, bringing memories of her first pregnancy. She is in a stable relationship with a loving man. She says she doesn’t want to marry again. Determined to create a good life for her son, she endures, pushes ahead through sheer willpower. Scars from the bullets remain on her body and soul.

Written by a HCWC counselor about a HCWC client, age 27

Vigilant--Evermore

Her soul mate turned killer, and she was his prey.

They were married 21 years, and many of them were wonderful years, years she looks back on with nostalgia for the goodness and for the unexpected, miracle child born when they didn’t think they could have children.

She remembers that the day she became pregnant, he changed. He stopped sleeping with her. He stayed drunk and high on drugs. He quit his job and refused to go back to work the entire time she was pregnant and for the first years of their child’s life.

She was in shock. Along with the challenges of a first baby—little sleep and a post-partum body in recovery from pregnancy—they were in financial crisis. So she went to work when the baby was 4 weeks old.

He was responsible for the baby while she was working. But one day she came home to find the baby under the bed, its head caught in the open box springs, and her husband passed out on top the bed.

He verbally abused her and the abuse increased after their child was born. He accused her of being an incompetent mother. His approach to child-rearing was to treat his toddler as a best friend. She knew the child needed a father. The tension grew.

This family of three lived in her inherited mobile home on family property. Very suddenly one day, she sensed that death was coming. She left, taking their child, the child’s night-night Barney, a basket of laundry and $200 set aside for the house payment. Her vehicle was not street-legal, she had no job, and no real plan. She reached a relative who put her and her child in a motel room for the night.

She got a protective order and started divorce proceedings. She and her child moved back into the mobile home. Her husband stalked her, vandalized her vehicle, and lit fires around the mobile home while they were asleep inside. He continued drinking and drugging, and was in and out of jail. He finally broke into the house and was apprehended by the police, went to jail and received a 10-years sentence for a first-time felony.

Support from HCWC helped this client put her life in order. She got a job, set up a home, and bought a car. She has been committed to learning new skills through counseling, both as an individual and as a member of a support group. Children’s counseling helped correct behavior her child had learned as a result of living with an alcoholic parent.

Eventually, this client met a wonderful man and married again. After nine years of marriage, when that man abused her, she knew what to do. Though shaken, she still left, and she took along her self-esteem, a vehicle, a job, and knowledge of how to set up a household for herself and her child. She says today that her only mistake was to minimize the verbal abuse she experienced the past few years in this relationship.

Story written by HCWC Counselor about HCWC client Robin, Age 38

The Evolving Me

As I slip through the shadows

Escaping into darkness and returning again in ecstasy,

The face dances tauntingly before me.

It is a void and empty face

That beckons me deeper inward.

The faceless form laughs and threatens, pleads and curses.

I am of a grayness encircling me,

But the face is all that I see.

I glance away, and it becomes enraged;

I retreat once and it rushes insanely after me.

It races ahead in temerity;

Yet, it always returns to dance its seductive dance.

I become locked in limbo

As the face is engulfed by the faceless serpent

Who laughs and taunts as it swallows the face.

I watch – the laughing face dissolves into the serpent

And darkness becomes entity.

Written by Sharon, Age 20