Color Me Butterfly

Nothing has quite touched me the way I was touched a few weeks ago while speaking at a prominent hospital in Washington, DC.  After I’d delivered a very heartfelt and frank talk about my families’ personal experiences with 60+ years of domestic violence and abuse, and I finally opened the floor for questions, a man stood and shared a story that split my heart into two.

This man ever so bravely stood before a room full of strangers with tear stained eyes and shared a story of how when he was merely ten years old, how he’d watched his father horrifyingly beat his mother and how he’d gone to her aid and asked ever so tenderly “Mama, is there anything I can do,” and his mother answered:  “Just play in mommy’s hair baby.  Just play in mommy’s hair.”  He went on to explain that he often played in his mother’s hair after a beating to soothe her.  Then he went on to tell that he’d done just that and how hours later after his father returned, how they tried to wake his mother, but she wouldn’t wake up.   And then how after rushing her to the hospital, they later learned, that she had a Brain Aneurysm, apparently brought on by a ferocious blow to the head. 

He ended his story, by sharing that 20+ years later, he still felt responsible for his mother’s death because had he only not played in her hair, had he not let her fall asleep, that maybe, just maybe, his mother would be alive today.  This split my heart into half.  And what made my heart pound with unimaginable sorrow was when he so innocently stood with tears in his eyes and asked me…  “Ms. Marlow what can I do to stop my pain.”  I had no words for him.  All I could offer was a hug.

This man’s story is the story of many.  A story where so many innocent children have bared witness to the horrific realities of domestic violence and abuse.  A story where young innocent children are forced to come to their mother’s rescue.  A story where young innocent children grow up carrying the burden for a life they were too young and helpless to really understand.  A story that unfortunately is more common than we care to imagine.

Our children are falling victim to this horrific epidemic.  And if we don’t do something, there will be more men and women, bravely standing in front of a room full of strangers, with tear stained eyes, ever so innocently asking “what can I do to stop my pain.”