Warning: May trigger as this is a story of violence and abuse
I have written several poems and a couple of stories on the subject of intimate partner/domestic violence. As a male volunteer with a not for profit organization, my awareness had been increased exponentially and I had made a commitment to go beyond what I was doing as a volunteer. I wrote this story in November 2024 with the intent once again to contribute to increased awareness of this terrible social issue that directly touches and impacts thousands of Canadians every year.
“Mom, can you hear me?” sobbed Dylan. “Please Mom, be alright.” Dylan laid his head on his mother’s chest and wrapped his small arms as tightly as he could around her. He was frightened, and could not hold back his tears. He could feel her heartbeat but needed to see her eyes open and hear her voice. Lifting his head at the scrunching sound of car tires outside, he looked about, afraid of who it might be.
At that moment, his mother, Faith, opened her eyes ever so briefly. She could see Dylan out of one eye, the one that was not swollen partially shut. She tried to speak but her voice was but a whisper. Hoarsely, she said, “Dylan, I’m ok.” She attempted to lift her head but knew that was futile. Her body could not move and her head was pounding. Faith breathed slowly as she tried to focus on her situation while knowing that Dylan was scared beyond imagination.
Dylan turned back to face his mother, and with a huge sigh of relief saw that her right eye was looking at him, even as she also tried to smile. “Oh Mom. You’re back.” He threw his little six-year-old body at her, hugging her as tears started afresh. He wiped his face on her shirt and then sat up.
Faith, with a stronger voice, “We’ll be alright Dylan. I just need a moment. Could you please get me a glass of water and a face cloth.”
As Dylan ran into the kitchen, Faith again slowly lifted herself. Pain shot through her left shoulder and down her side but she was at least able to sit. Dragging herself to the sofa, she leaned back against it, and surveyed the living room. Such a warm and inviting room she thought with all of the touches of a loving home, made extra bright by Christmas decorations. Now however, those decorations lay strewn about on the floor alongside the Christmas tree which was now horizontal rather than vertical. The lights slowly blinked on-and-off, casting light across the floorboards.
Dylan walked quickly back into the room, gently sloshing some of the water onto the floor. He handed her both the glass and a wet dish cloth as he worriedly took in Faith and the state of the room. Tears rolled down his cheeks again as he plaintively crying out “Why Mom. Why did Dad do this to you? Why does he hate us so much?”
Faith set the glass down, and while holding the cloth to her left eye, reached out and took Dylan’s arm. “Come sit beside me dear.” Dylan crumpled down beside her, and gently hugged her. Fortunately, he was on the right side. They sat for a moment, just being close. After a couple of minutes, Faith continued, “I know you’re scared and angry, and hurt. Me too. But we will be alright. Okay?”
Dylan answered with a tightening of his arms, which did not help Faith’s side but grimacing, she said, “Now let’s get up. We have things to do. Help me onto the sofa, and then I am going to ask you to do a couple of things alright?”
Dylan stood up, watching Faith closely and holding her hand. He did not want to let go. Inside his head, there was a voice, I am so scared. I have never been so frightened, even after the other times. And now Mom is hurt. He tried to smile as his mother raised herself onto the sofa.
Faith sat back against the cushions on the sofa. That feels better. She felt a cold December breeze on the back of her very sore head. She slowly turned her head and saw the front door was not firmly closed. “Dylan, honey, go quickly and close the front door. Then lock it okay.” Nolan, her husband must have slammed it but not made sure it was closed when he ran off into the night. Faith glanced at the clock in the kitchen, and could faintly make out that it was about 6:30 p.m. Sighing as Dylan ran back to her side, she said “Thank you honey. That is a big help.”
Dylan stood in front of her, gazing at her and waiting. Waiting for what I wonder, thought Faith. A loving and caring father who did not abuse his family? The sound of police sirens? The order to pack the bags, again? Or what…
Faith bent forward, grasping Dylan about the waist and held him tight. “I love you so much little guy. You are so precious.” Then as she cast her eyes about the room, she noticed the lamps and end tables that were broken, and that there was blood on the floor where she had been lying. She had not really taken this in earlier, although maybe it was simply the fact that her sight was now beginning to clear up. Thinking to herself, what do I do this time?
Tears gently rolled down her face as she continued to hold Dylan close. Faith did not want him to see her crying, knowing it would upset him and start him again. Snuffling quietly, she gently sat up straight up and looked into his worried blue eyes. God he is so damn cute, and so does not deserve this. “Okay buddy, I need your help to find my phone. I think it is in the bedroom. Can you get it for me? Walk carefully, as I don’t want you to slip.” Dylan walked slowly and carefully out of the living room, and down the hallway. Faith heard the bathroom door quietly shut, realizing she had a few more minutes.
It’s time to get going, Faith said as she raised herself slowly from the sofa. But I need my phone. She decided to look for it herself, and stiffly walked down the hallway. She heard Dylan in the bathroom as she walked by, quietly talking to himself. Then, entering the bedroom, she stopped suddenly. The room had been tossed. Clothes were everywhere. Dresser drawers were hanging out. The bedside table lamp lay broken on the floor. The closet door was barely hanging onto its’ support track. This is where it had started this time. And the memory of what had happened quickly came into focus.
Nolan had come into the bedroom as she was changing into her at-home relaxation clothes after her day at the dentist office. As a hygienist, she had been on her feet all day and was exhausted, and hoping that Nolan had made dinner for once. Probably not as that had not happened for years. With a sigh, she just hoped that he had not been drinking and working himself into a tizzy because she had arrived ten minutes later than usual.
The bedroom door had slammed shut, shaking the walls in the bedroom. Turning, Faith was pushed onto the bed by Nolan. He had roared at her, “You are late again! Where have you been? If you can’t be home, then what good are you…”. Then he had punched her, not just once but twice. She had tried to push herself up but he had reached back, grabbed the lamp and hit her with it on the head. She had rolled over and onto the floor, out of his grasp but he had picked up and thrown the table at her, which had bounced off and slammed into the closet doors. Nolan had stumbled as he tried to round the bed, and with that she had run.
Faith was crying with the pain of it all, and only realized that Dylan was now grabbing onto her legs, screeching out at the top of his lungs “I am scared!” She turned and led him out of the room, ushering him into his bedroom. Quickly, she gave him a hug and said “You are okay. I am okay. Stay here. I need to get my phone.”
Stepping out of the room, she looked down and saw her phone on the floor in the hallway. How did it get there, as she grabbed it.
Walking back into the living room, she took it all in. The rest of the memory came back in a rush. She had run into the living room with Nolan storming behind her. At 6’4”, compared to her 5’5”, he had towered above her. She had had no place to hide. She had heard Dylan shouting in the background. The beating had continued, with punches to her side, and to her face. Lamps were thrown and then she had been heaved onto the table. That was her last memory as she had blacked out.
The next thing she remembered was Dylan lying on top of her, crying and hugging her.
Faith punched out a number on the phone. Her sister, Heather answered. Faith did not even let her say a word, “Get over here. I need you. He has done it again.” Heather started to speak but Faith interrupted, “Please Heather. Just come now.” Heather lived with her husband and kids in a small apartment about ten minutes away so it would not take long. Hanging up, she then took photos of everything: the living room and the bedroom, and herself. Then she called 911.
She knew she should go be with Dylan but collapsed on the sofa. It was happening all over again, and this time, I have been beaten worse than ever. Faith thought back to the past eight years with Nolan. It had been so beautiful for the first couple of years. Then he had started controlling what she did, verbally abusing her, calling her names and shaming her in front of others. He had even taken control of her pay cheque and their finances. She had left him once, only to come back. Dylan had then been born. There had been quiet for six months, and then it had started all over. She had threatened to leave, and it had only escalated from there.
Faith grabbed at a blanket on the sofa, and held it close. She had left three other times, only to return days later. The threats followed by pleadings of endearments and love had worked their way in time and time again. She had felt no other choices were possible, and that he would change. Faith sobbed out loud. The doorbell rang and rang, breaking through the sound of her crying. She had not even heard the sirens so she was surprised when she saw who was at the door.
Both the police and her sister were standing at the door when Faith staggered to open it. Heather grabbed her and hung on tight, crying together. The two police officers entered and walked into the living room area. The female officer asked “Anyone else here?”
Faith nodded, and murmured “Dylan”. Heather answered for Faith, “There will be a little boy in his bedroom. His name is Dylan.”
Both officers went down the hallway, noting the physical damage but more importantly, Faith and her condition. They returned moments later with Dylan, and he ran into Faith, hiding his face in the blanket that she continued to hold. Faith could not stand up, and stepped over to the sofa, where she sank into the cushions again. Dylan tried first to sit on her lap but slid to her side, while Heather dropped down on the other side.
Thirty minutes later and the police had finished taking a report on what had transpired. Faith had shared the photos she had taken. They asked Faith of her plans. She indicated that she would next be phoning the women’s shelter she had previously stayed at with the hope they would have room for her and Dylan, this time for a longer stay. The young male officer encouraged her to do so, “Ma’am you may want to do that now. We’ll stay until we know you have a place to go and that we can make sure you are safe.”
As Heather went with Dylan to pull together a couple of suitcases, and to pack his computer games, toys and books, Faith called the “Transition House”. They recognized Faith. She was quickly assured that they had a room for Dylan and her although it would be only temporary until they could make other arrangements with her. Faith assured them “that is fine. I just need a safe place for now.” Faith confirmed a few other logistical matters, and closed with “see you in an hour.”
Twenty minutes later, and both Heather’s and Faith’s cars were packed to the brims. The police officers had spoken of next steps and about security, and asked Faith not to return to the house without a police escort. Dylan was listening in and there was not a lot Faith could do about that as he would simply not let go of her. Tears had started to roll down his cheeks once again. Faith hugged him close and thanked the police officers, then locked the front door.
Faith hugged Heather after getting Dylan into the car seat in the backseat, amongst all of the bags and clothes. Heather headed out first, with Faith following. They were off. Heading down the driveway, Faith looked back. She stopped. The lights were still blinking from the downed Christmas tree, and along the eaves of the house. Tears welled up in her eyes.
There was no going back this time. With only a moment of hesitation, she put the car back in gear and moved forward, slowly building up speed. The light dimmed on the house and the past as the street lights and future beckoned. There would be no more tears.