and so when i think of you and your shining blue eyes my heart has a small twang and when i think of your freckles and your dirty blonde hair i cant possibly fit all that i love into only so many words because words aren’t enough it’s the feelings too i feel happy and excited and overwhelmed and calm and at peace and safe and inspired and loved all at once when i’m with you and i cant only tell you what i love about you in one hundred words because one hundred words just isn’t enough it isn’t.

“get out of my house!”

my husband grabbed his gun from behind the bookshelf as he bellowed this phrase down the hall. i knew his heart was beating heavily. mine was.

i snuggled my six-month old daughter closer into my chest and listened to her breath softly. as far as she knew, she was safe. and it would stay that way as long as i could help it.

i heard his steps thump down the hall, and i thought about how he was holding our entire lives in his hands. my heart was his heart. my soul was his soul. my daughter was my heart, and my husband was my heart. if i lost one of them, i lost both of them. i said a quick prayer to Jesus and whoever else would listen and clutched my baby girl closer.

whoever had shattered the glass door was about to be shot. i heard my husband cock the gun as he closed the door to the bedroom. i knew he had complete control over what happened next. all i could do was trust and breathe.

we had been sleeping soundly, until the sound of glass shattering woke us both simultaneously. he was gone in a flash, only saying “stay here. i love you.” and scooting Sloane towards me. my heard was pounding inside my skull, my whole body rigid, terrified.

i waited for what seemed like hours, but probably only minutes. i heard nothing. i was terrified. my baby was safe in my arms, and i was safe in bed.

i heard footsteps.

the door handle twisted.

a crack of light came in.

“dale?” i tentatively whispered, PRAYING it was him.

“love? it’s okay. it was just a tree branch, you’re okay. we’re okay.”

i breathed a sigh of relief.

thank you Jesus.

good thing it was summer, the screen door was still in tact and was the only thing preventing anything else from getting in.

he crawled back into bed after setting the gun away, kissing me and our daughter, who grunted softly in response. his arm was around me, his hand in mine.

we were safe. we were safe. we were safe.

i eventually fell back asleep thanking Jesus for a loving husband and a safe bedroom.

we were safe.

it was the evening of july 17th, just late enough so that the sky was a calming purpley-gray, and the grass had begun to dew. we had towels wrapped around our waists, hands clung to sticky red and green popsicles wrapped in paper towels. we sat in gray and white plastic lawn chairs, which were planted in a circle. we talked and laughed, licking and sucking on sweet popsicle juice. we had swam before, tackling one another off the diving board, or forming a “train” down the slide. we’d passed a ball back and forth, and dove for rings like little kids even though we were well into our teens. we were now surrounded by woods and green, green grass. the bright red barn sat up on the hill behind us. the house was beside us, it’s white wraparound porch filled with people of all ages who came to celebrate too. the pool was now still, the floaties bouncing off the edges softly. and the wind blew just right, drying off our wet bodies from swimming just earlier. the air was thick and warm. later we’d play kickball or football, or any kind of game with a ball out in the yard. and then we’d go inside, and shower off the dirt and chlorine and grass and bits of mulch, and put on clean clothes. and we’d sit in a circle again (we were fond of circles) and play cards, maybe trash or egyptian rat race. we laughed and laughed, we ate cake and drank juice or lemonade, and we had leftovers of pasta chicken on paper plates. and as soon as the the fun had started, it ended. we drove home as it started to pour rain, big heavy fat droplets splattering on the cement as we raced to the car. we slept on the lulling drive home, we were exhausted and happy. the children inside of us (who never really got to grow up) had been satisfied, and we had had a wonderful time. we had cousins coming in the next day, and the excitement was so overwhelming (yes, even as teenagers) that we slept so soundly on the way home. it had been a wonderful night, and we were on our way home.

that night was one of my favorite nights. i look back on it and think about the sky being SUCH a purple color or the way the grass bits stuck to your feet when you walked. and i loved every minute of it. the feeling it gave me was such a memorable one, maybe it gave me clarity. that id be okay. or maybe it made me calm for a minute, knowing that all was well just then. either way, i’d never forget that night.

this was her home.

where she grew up.

screams. when my mama fell to her knees after my dad smacked her cheek harder than he’s ever done before. her hand flew to her cheek. i still remember. her eyes filled with fear and pain. my dad full of rage, ready to strike any second. i was crouched behind the couch, invisible to everyone. but i still saw. and i still remember.

laughs. when my mama spilled pancake batter on the floor and my dad slipped and fell. mama broke into laughter. her contagious, bubbly laughter where she throws her head back and her eyes almost shine. spatula still in hand, she reached down to help him up, suddenly forgetting everything he’s ever done to hurt her. he pulled her down with him, both of them covered in batter, dad leaning in to kiss her. she accepted. i watched from afar again.

cries. when dad didn’t show up for three weeks. mama thought i didn’t hear her, but her loud weeps echoed through the hallway. dad had been gone for twenty-two days, leaving nothing for mama. no money, no food, no car, nothing. so i laid there, as she wept loudly in her room, and cried also. i was so numb, but somehow i cried too. i still remember.

so we stood there, remembering everything that ever happened in this house. her home. but she couldn’t stay. there was too much pain there.

and so she picked up her things, and turned back. one last look at her forever home. she held his hand tight, determined to not let go until she was okay.

they looked once at each other, both of their eyes brimmed with tears, ready to fall if they blinked. hands tightly gripped together and to their bags, they headed out the door, determined to never look back.

i was tired of hurting. so, so tired of hurting. my heart and ribs hurt. my chest and lungs hurt. i would shake and cry. i would beg and plead. for anything else to happen. but to me, just pain. it was only ever pain. i’d never known anything else. and i was so exhausted. tired wasn’t even a word. it was always just pain. and i fucking hated it.

moving is different for everyone some people move houses some people move jobs some people move countries or states or cities some move for fun but moving for me? moving is hard because my brain doesn’t move it’s been stuck in this ditch of darkness and dirt for way too long and it cant move so the way i move is numbly but i still move.

i wish there was a place to call home that didn’t hurt. everywhere i go seems to hurt just a little less than before. but then i go home, and everything hurts again. home is supposed to be where there is peace, not pain. i wish i had a home that was painless, that i could escape to when i needed. my pain follows me, i leave my home and it’s still there. i wish there was a place to call home that didn’t hurt.

the furniture held laughter and memories. the walls had brown spots where pictures used to hang. the doorknobs were worn down and changing colors. the kitchen was old but smelled like home. the bedrooms had beds made long ago. blankets that held tears and laughter, now laying there. waiting. rocking chairs stuck in place, waiting to be rocked. you could tell where the plates were put on the table, there were spots. the chairs squeaked softly when you sat down. the doors creaked a little when you opened and closed them. the pillows old and flat, laid on by many. you couldn’t tell who came. you couldn’t tell at all. all you could see was that there was once people. memories. laughter. talking. food in the kitchen, the couches full of cousins. you could tell there was people, you just didn’t know who.

sinking sunlight glittered off the water. i stared at the orange and blue as they washed together. my mind was blank, and i wouldn’t realize until after. i watched my feet dangle above the water, as my eyes drifted in and out of focus. the breeze blew my hair and i leaned back on my hands. i was so thankful to be here, i had waited so long for this. there was an aura of orange in the sky, fading into blue, and then gray. i waited until there was no more orange, only blue and gray. there was cold sand under my feet as i walked to my bike. and then? i was gone. i was gone as quick as i was there.

a truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent you become what you say and day by day your heart starts to harden and carry you away