As we were visiting and lingering over our diet Pepsi I noticed a well dressed woman come in with a baby in a car seat. She was striking in that well tended, immaculately dressed, manicured, coiffed way that speaks affluence to me. She ordered her food and then was on her way to set her baby down with a friend who was already waiting for her at a table near us. In route to her table she stopped at ours as she was a friend of my friend and wanted to say hello and let her get a peak at her new bundle of joy.
Like most people do when they see someone that haven’t seen for a while they were also catching up. The new mom reached into her bag to get out a paper and pen in order to give her number to my friend, and in doing so she grabbed a receipt that was within reach in her oversized bag. As she was writing I could see where it was from and what it was for and was awestruck. It was from a store that had delivered and installed five (5) car seats. These infant car seats were priced at $260 each and throw in the delivery and installation charge and the bill was, well up there.
She had a beautiful little pink bundle all wrapped up against the elements with one of those elasticized covers over the entire seat. So all I could really see was the little pink face through the opening that was held up by some Velcro. The new mom wrote her name and phone number on the invoice and gave it to her friend and said the usual “let’s do lunch soon.” Never mind that she was interrupting our lunch but that is one of the advantages of getting out of the house and going to meet friends for a bite to eat, you sometimes see other friends as well.
Have you ever had a moment where you see something that is almost like a trigger for your emotions? For whatever reason seeing this newborn in her car seat was definitely that for me. It struck me so hard that I almost felt nauseous sitting there waiting for their quick little chat to end. In that relatively short span of time my mind went somewhere else.
I thought about the day that I left the hospital with my first born son. I was in a hospital in Hamilton, Ontario away from my immediate family. Back then it had just recently become a law that you had to have a car seat in order to leave the hospital with your baby. No car seat, no baby until you came back with one. Luckily for us there was a programme in the hospital that offered car seats at the subsidized price of $15.00. It was one of those rears facing jobs that looked like an egg that had been cut in half on an angle and flattened a bit on the bottom. Since then there have been some obvious design changes.
I remember my husband coming to pick me up for the ride back to our apartment in Brantford, Ontario. We had recently moved into a two-bedroom apartment on the third floor in an apartment complex on Grey Street. The nursery consisted of a crib I had gotten from my cousin and a dresser that I bought at the Salvation Army that also handled the duties of a change table as well. I had sewn the comforter, and curtains myself. I don’t think there were even bumper pads back then like there is now.
We had only one car and therefore only needed on car seat. Soon after I arrived home from the hospital to begin my new life as a mother things shifted somewhat in our marriage. My husband was not really ready to be a father. We had been married for three years and life was good up until that point. He began to go out after work. Our son was only weeks old when one weekend he didn’t come home at all. He had gone to work on a Friday morning and didn’t find his way home. By Saturday night he had not called me and I was both scared, and bewildered. I had called all his friends and family but couldn’t locate him. On Sunday morning I had one diaper left so I bundled my new bundle of joy, and he was such a beautiful blue l bundle as I put him in his buggy and walked a dozen blocks or so to Zellers in order to get him a small bag of diapers.
He was born in April so that day it was quite cold out, bitter, arctic cold. I barely had enough money to buy the diapers so calling a cab was out of the question. Calling my family was not really an option either mainly because of the embarrassment that would have caused. I would have to explain why I had no husband there to send to store, why I had no car to use to go to the store. So my pride being what it was then didn’t allow me to humble myself enough to make a call for help. I just bundled him and myself up and walked to the store and back that cold Sunday morning.
I think that when we purchased the buggy I envisioned idyllic walks to the park, walks around the block, using it at the Indian picnic and Border Crossing to show off my beautiful boy. While buying the stroller it never crossed my mind that I would have to use it in the middle of winter pushing it thorough snow drifts just to get something as basic as diapers. Lucky for him and for me I nursed him so I didn’t have to worry about getting baby formula too. If only I knew then what I know now.
Later that Sunday night or more like early Monday morning my husband finally came home. He was drunk and reeked of alcohol. I didn’t hear him come in the apartment as I had fallen asleep on the couch waiting to hear anything from him or about him. What woke me up was a punch to my face that he delivered as he began to berate me an accuse me of running around on him. I jumped up and tried to get out of range of his rage and his fists. I went into our son’s room as he was crying then from all the commotion he was hearing. I picked him up and my husband followed me into the room and hit me again so hard that I fell in the hallway holding our son in my arms. I was stupefied trying to figure out how the situation had escalated to this point. My forehead was cut and was bleeding. I went into the bathroom at the end of the hall and locked the door. I got toilet tissues and pressed it against the wound. To settle my son down I nursed him as I sat on the toilet applying pressure to the gash on my face. My husband kept pounding on the door but I didn’t come out.
Someone in the complex must have called the police because they were soon banging on our door. The first of a few visits they paid us while we lived in that apartment complex. They took him out of the apartment for a few hours but eventually returned with him. He passed out in the bedroom but somehow was able to get up and make it to work that morning.
It was this incident that ran quickly and lucidly through my mind as I sat in Mighty Taco with my old friend. She was concluding her chat with her friend as I returned to the present. I wanted to cry, I felt that tightness that comes before you breakdown and I just kept swallowing, swallowing my long suppressed grief and rage at my ex-husband for all the abuse I had suffered at his hand. Some much of it I still don’t want to think of but weighs on my mind and body as if I was carrying it around behind me in a large garbage bag over my shoulder, make that two garbage bags full of pain and misery. It is way past time to let that all go, to leave it in the past and to move forward.
My friend knew that something was wrong but it was neither the time nor the place to discuss something so personal with her. I couldn’t trust myself to even begin remembering it aloud with her. The pain was too present and I wasn’t ready to voice it. We finished our visit and made our promises to each other to keep in touch and set up another lunch date for a couple months down the road. Only after I got home was I able to revisit that memory and process it piece by piece.
I think that the thought of someone who has perhaps five different vehicles and probably never will have to take her baby out into the cold like I had to that cold April day over two decades ago ; just brought the day to the forefront of my brain. It brought back the isolation I felt that day and how in a moment of clarity that day I saw that my life had to change in order to get my needs and my son’s needs met.
My son is 28 years old this April. He is soon going to be a father himself this year and I wish for him only that he will have the ability to be the parent that his father was never able to be to him.
THINGS I DIDN’T KNOW THEN ABOUT…Domestic Violence
Domestic Violence is a pattern of behavior used to establish power and control over another person through fear and intimidation, often including the threat or use of violence.
Emotional abuse
Being insulted, intimidated, humiliated or isolated are some of the more hidden signals that a relationship may be abusive. Abusers often maintain power over their partners through behaviors that lower their partner's self-esteem and make them feel helpless. Abusers may use both emotional and physical abuse to exert control. Even if it does not leave scars that you can see, emotional abuse can cause serious harm. Depression, anxiety and low self-esteem can be lasting consequences of abuse.
Physical abuse
Being slapped, kicked, punched, pushed or choked are more obvious, physical signs that a relationship is abusive. Bruises, scratches, welts, cuts, broken bones and abrasions may result, but abusers may consciously hurt victims in ways that avoid detection by the casual observer.
Sexual abuse
Sexual abuse can include a wide range of forced or unwanted sexual activity, including touching and suggestive or offensive comments. Being forced to have sex against your will is rape, even if the perpetrator is your partner
Financial abuse
Being denied access to money is a more subtle sign of abuse. Taking paychecks and withholding bill payments are a few examples of economic abuse. This leads to financial dependence on the abuser, an effective method of power and control.
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