I didn't think that I could ever kill anyone, but I was wrong. It was 1988 when I first thought about it. I envisioned a scene where I would use a baseball bat or maybe a strategic push sending him down a full fl ight of stairs. I was only 23 years old, but it seemed like the only way to end it. He was a formidable enemy. He lifted weights, ran track, and beat my sister.
He'd shoved her, belittled her, and mocked
her throughout their marriage, and she'd kept it a secret
from us, her family, for eleven years. And then, she made
the move. She called me from her home in California and
asked me and my fi ancé to fi nd her a home near Salt Lake.
She told her husband that it was just a separation, a chance
for a fresh start. But, in truth, she told me that there would
be no going back.
My husband-to-be and I found
her a place, unloaded the U-Haul,
and baby-sat her three children
while she began her new job and
nervously rebuilt her home life
as a wary and weary single mom.
She was an intelligent, hard
working, and beautiful 30-yearold
woman. It was going well, at
fi rst. She found odds and ends
for furniture and kept food in the
fridge, but then he reappeared
and literally sucked the air right out of her. I noticed the
bruises on her neck, two or three blue marks below her jaw
on the right and a dark grey blur on the left. She admitted
that he'd choked her while demanding that she come back
to him. I made the decision to move in with her and the
kids. At night I rested my head on a pillow and learned to
listen for the idling of a strange engine or footsteps that
would trace the perimeter of the yard. She left for work in
the early morning hours and I became a surrogate mom to
her two-year-old who awoke each morning in his crib and
gave me his fi rst sleepy smile of the day. He would stretch
out both of his tan sinewy arms and call my name over and
over until I picked him up. I loved my nephew and his two
older sisters as deeply as if they were my own. I brushed
their hair, their teeth, and the dirt off their knees. I resolved
to protect them and their mother come what may, even if it
meant a life or death confrontation with their father.
I remember that it frightened me when I discovered just
how fiercely protective I felt of my sister and her children.
I wasn't a fi ghter, combative, or even argumentative. I was
usually the opposite: peaceful, optimistic, and trusting.
But, the thought that someone was hurting someone
that I loved stirred up a primal instinct. An instinct that,
fortunately, I didn't ever have to act on. My sister stood
strong, held her ground, and fi led for divorce. He never
hurt her again, though she carries the scars inside. She is
tougher than other women and still occasionally fl inches
when a loved one reaches out a hand.
I've been to the YWCA in Salt Lake City. I've spoken to
other women whose dreams of happy families have been
broken by abusive husbands. Th ey are victims, yes. But,
they are the strongest of women; true heroines. It takes
tremendous courage to walk away from home, friends, and
familiarity and into a shelter to admit pain and humiliation.
It is true that they are escaping a danger, but it is a known
danger. Th ey are familiar with its smells, its triggers, its
routines. Calling the police, leaving an abusive spouse,
or moving into a shelter all require incredible strength
because they are steps that lead to a safe, but still unknown
future. And, many have made the decision without money
in their pockets and wearing only the clothes on their
backs. Th at is why, to me, they are the bravest of our gender.
But, the women I've met at that shelter and others tell me
something in common that both heartens and troubles me.
Th ey all said they found the strength to leave the abuse
once it was directed at their children. I was heartened that
their basic instincts as mothers inspired them to protect
their children at all costs. But, I was troubled too when I
realized that they didn't value their own lives and futures
enough to protect themselves at all costs. And, it is at a
hefty price. One out of ten women in Utah say they've
been abused physically or emotionally by their partner in
the last year.
In the Summer of 1963, at the foot of the Lincoln
Memorial, Martin Luther King Jr. spelled out his dream
of brotherhood, equality, and justice for all races. What a
beautiful world he described. I'm also hoping for a time
when brothers treat their sisters with dignity, a place where
communities devote all eff orts to stop the cycle of domestic
violence, and a day when women will value their own lives
enough to save them. Th at is my dream.
