Connections

 

I may have written about this life story in my former blog. I don't see how I could not have included it since it was such a traumatic experience, one you do not forget. I certainly won't.

 It was near the end of my marriage. I knew it was over, had known for a very long time. I was absolutely miserable, and being miserable, I became depressed. My daughter was very young, having just started first grade. I remember dropping her off at the bus stop and watching her as she boarded. Then I went home and slept the seven hours she was gone. I smoked too much, barely showered or cleaned the house. I knew I had to tell him soon before my sanity left me. I was terrified, though. I had no future exit plans, no money, no job, but our life as it was needed to end.

 We lived in a very wooded area in a faux log cabin. We had neighbors but didn't interact with them besides the monthly neighborhood meets. Usually it was just a hello or wave as we went about our busy lives. I occasionally saw an elderly woman whose property abutted our back yard. She never waved or said, hi, and was always alone.

 One autumn afternoon as we were outside raking leaves and making the house ready for winter, I could hear men laughing behind me. I turned to see two young men standing in the old woman's yard, looking at me. As I turned back around and leaned on my rake to take a short break, I heard and felt a whoosh go past my left ear. I can't recall why I didn't turn around to look, to be curious or even concerned. I simply went back to raking leaves.

 About a week later as I started to feel better, knowing I had to confront my husband regarding our future, I started cleaning the kitchen. As I mopped the floor near the window looking out to our backyard I noticed a piece of metal. It was small and had a pointed end. It wasn't a bb. It was larger. As I held it in my hand I glanced up and noticed a hole in the glass. I started thinking about that day I heard that whoosh. Did someone shoot at me?

 I looked out the window towards the old woman's yard but saw nothing. I couldn't believe someone would intentionally want to hurt me. Days passed. I never thought to mention it to anyone. Why? At the time I thought so little of myself, I shrugged it away. 

 I also let it go because I needed to focus on what I had to do.

 That moment was and still is one of the most painful things I have had to do. He did not expect it. After I finally stood before him, with every inch of me shaking I said the words, "I want a divorce." I watched him as he visibly deflated. It's the only word I can use to describe the change in him. 

 In the weeks after when I was focused on working on the future, I didn't think about that metal piece or the tiny hole in the window. I didn't care about the house or anything within it. I had already turned my back.

 A few months after I had left and was certain I had made the right decision, I was sitting in my new-to-me, small, ugly living room, painting with oils again, something I had given up during my marriage. I had the television on to the local news and I looked up just as they showed a live image of a familiar house, one across the street from the cabin. A reporter stood in front of the house relaying the horrific news that a young woman had been found murdered Friday evening.

 I had never seen her before and neighbors mentioned in interviews she kept to herself. She had been found by her sister after she failed to show up for a date. She had been bound, raped, then strangled. There were no suspects.

 Two weeks passed before they finally arrested someone. It was the son of the woman whose house abutted the cabin. Her house faced directly towards the victim's door. As more details were revealed neighbors recalled the son would sit outside in a wheelchair and watch her house. After awhile he'd then stand up and walk into his mother's house. On a Thursday evening the young woman came home carrying groceries into the house. He followed her inside.

 He had been staying with his mother after being released from prison after serving three years in a six year sentence for burglary. He had a long history of criminal activity and imprisonment.

 It is more than likely it was he who shot at me that Fall day. 

 I think of that poor woman still. I think of the what ifs... What if I had been hit that day? Would that have changed what happened to her? 

 I don't dwell too long in the past. We make decisions, some that will affect not only us but others. It hasn't been an easy life, but I don't second guess my decision to leave an unhappy marriage. It was best for both of us. I don't take one minute of my life for granted.