That’s what they say anyway, that it begins with one step. Well, my journey began on November 8, 2011, after a hectic and tension-filled morning. You see, I was “escaping” a toxic and potentially dangerous relationship. I was told that if I tried to leave, I would do it in a body bag with a bullet in my head.
A little history here . . . my husband of nearly fourteen years is an alcoholic. And not a very pleasant one. He is literally Dr. Jeckell and Mr. Hyde. I never knew who was going to show up when he came home from work. It depended on whether he stopped at his favorite bar on the way home and what he had to drink there if he had. Beer kept him on the saner side but if he had wine or whiskey, heaven help me.
It wasn’t so bad that I had to endure (or survive, if you will) but I also had my twenty-six-year- old daughter and her two-year-old son living with us. I had to get them out of there. She couldn’t afford to live on her own. So I brought them with me on my journey.
We began packing about a month before our departure, little things we called our “un-noticeables.” Stuff that we knew he wouldn’t miss. The things he did notice were gone, went in the trash or to Goodwill. Everything we kept, we took to my nephew’s house up the road. The big pack, as I call it, was done the morning we left. I was awake listening to my husband leave for work, waited until I could be sure he was gone for the day and then we began. Items we wanted to keep, clothes and pictures from the walls were crammed into boxes and packed into the truck for removal to my nephew’s. Not very organized, but good enough. My younger daughter arrived and helped by loading her car, taking it away with the rest. When we had gotten all we had time to get, I put my grandson in his car seat, my car packed to the roof and I drove away without another look. What I forgot, I guess I’ll never know. It doesn’t matter, stuff can be replaced.
