The Fantasy

I am having a coffee in a corner cafe in DC while my teenagers sleep in. I notice a father gently sweep his toddler into his arms and kiss the top of her head, then replace her little feet onto the floor. As he zips her coat she throws her arms around him and he hugs her as he once again kisses her still baby fine brown hair. I can’t look away. The scene stirs a dormant melancholy from the pit of my stomach.

I want desperately to remember holding my toddlers so lovingly. Instead the image that comes is that of sitting in a chair recording a video message of love to my small children, to be played in the event of my death. To acknowledge that I knew, or had some sense of what was to come when I set about with determination to be sure my children would remember me, disturbs me.

I didn’t want to believe the words, threats. I didn’t want to know, didn’t want my view of the world tarnished. I wanted to believe all people are good. I insisted on believing the man I married was good and that was all just a bad dream and he would one day sweep us up in his loving arms. Yet somewhere inside I knew. As it simmered in the background, waiting to consume us, I could not give my children that father, nor be the cheery happy girl I once was.

For that my sweet children, who I love more than anyone or thing in life, I am sorry. You deserved so much more than you received from both your parents, together and separately. I didn’t risk leaving because I wanted you to know me and know how much I loved you before I died. I wanted to impart the beauty of life and the completeness of a mother’s love. I wanted to watch you grow up and be who you are destined to be. I wanted to be your mother and I wrongly believed all the nastiness and threats would just go away if I ignored it.

Who I became was not who I set out to be and in the constant maneuvering to accommodate peace there was no peace at all. I only managed to leave two beautiful souls to fend for themselves.

As I look at that dad and his daughter walk out hand in hand I know my chance to do it the way I’d hoped has passed, and with that comes the mourning of a mountain of mistakes I’ve made that can never be undone.

About Lisette d. Johnson

Murder-Suicide Survivor, Mom, Writer, Speaker, Serial Volunteer in the Intimate Partner Violence and Sexual Assault Arena, Entrepreneur, &amp Friend. I survived, my kids survived, and I am here to tell the story.
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1 Response to The Fantasy

  1. Julie Dedes says:

    The very thing that I desired, more than anything in the world, was to not make the same mistakes as my parents,
    However, the more I tried to not make mistakes, to learn and grow, the more horrid my mistakes got. Horrid, because once you make THAT mistake, it cannot be erased. God does not let some mistakes go, for there is a lesson. Today I learnt another lesson, the damage a broken relationship does to the son.
    4 years ago, I had to end my relationship with the hateful friends who did not cherish me, but betrayed me every Sunday, and caused me to say the most nasty things to my children. There is simply no way to live it down for being in a cult of haters.
    5 years ago, I came to the sudden realization after 20 years of daytime nightmares as I tried to bring up my babies, that I was the sole witness to my mothers murder, but I ran away so fast when I saw my father throw her backwards to crack her skull on the pavement.
    44 years ago, I watched as my brother tore out my mothers tooth in a hysterical rage.
    43 years ago, I watched as my father accosted my mother for hours and hours as I hid close by and then march her to the outdoor lavatory to take out the bottle of valium from the dung pile.
    I am now 50.
    I have just had the biggest fight of my life with my son who tried to continue to destroy my life with his misery…..I fought back, not in hate, BUT IN A SHEER SHOW OF STRENGTH, that I was prepared to be killed to stop him. I filed a report against him and he became more sadistically virile than Hitler himself, I had to leave my house for 18 hours, and returned with a determination and prayer that he was to go…….. in the space of 2 hours, the virile exchange turned,
    he is 24 and finally leaving.
    He is 24 and finally confessed that his life is worthless.
    I sympathized with him and reminded him that his misery is only destroying him….
    Minutes later,
    he offered to wash the dishes and discussed why the dog was not eating to me
    (this issue is what started the barrage and battle, the dog had not been eating and I queried him why the dog had not touched his breakfast 2 days running)
    Immediately I went into mother mode, and spoke to him about my divorcing of his father is where his problem started, and that it was not his fault.
    Furthermore, I reminded him that life is hard and he needs to work through this dark phase, for life is ever so hard and it will destroy him….
    this is the first time ever that I have ever been able to talk to this man child of mine, for he was a conceited little devil who lied about anything and hated everything.
    ……….Finally, perhaps the Lord can take over and give him the comfort that every human needs, and that is the LOVE OF THE FATHER, and an eternity of Peace.
    At 24 his journey is just about to begin, he has not idea of the pain ahead of him, but I will be his mum to help him across every hurdle until the Lord takes full command of my sons mind and spirit.
    Life is a journey, I am prepared to fight now, its ok to resist misery and fight hell and high water for your children,,,,,, one must.
    My parents never did for me,
    perhaps I am nothing like my parents,
    I have finally broken the CYCLE of what I was taught as acceptable, but in actual reality is reprehensible.
    See? The Lord waited 50 years, and kept me alive from being killed until I could come to realization of MY MIND CAN BE MY MASTER, OR I CAN MASTER MY MIND.
    The tough reality was, that I always ran away.
    but for my son, I began to fight!

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