Jeremy's dad and I split up when SonOne was 18 months old. We still got me pregnant shortly thereafter, with Jacob. Jacob was born, and then he died at 3 1/2 months of age. Jeremy was 3 years old. One night, his father came into my house in the middle of the night to have sex with me. This was not unusual... we had a hard time staying apart in that area of our life. (Hence, Jacob!) The difference this time was ... I didn't know about it ahead of time. He didn't knock on the door and I let him in.
I had several minutes of total terror for my 3 year old down the hallway and how was I going to protect him. The layout of the house meant I couldn't sneak into his room without the bad guy knowing it. If the bad quy turned down the hallway towards his room first, I prepared myself to kill him. Luckily, he turned towards my room instead. I wished my husband hadn't taken the gun that used to be stored in our headboard.
The nightlight in the hallway backlit his profile, even tho I still couldn't see anything but a large, dark/black body. It was my husband. My relief was so overwhelming that I did not protest about the sex. I fought at first. But then I became very passive, partly out of relief it wasn't a murderer, partly because our 3 year old son was down the hall, and partly because our baby had VERY recently died. I wanted another baby and if this was what I had to do to get one... so be it. I hoped tho, that I had scratched his back hard enough to leave marks so his girlfriend would see them. He left without saying more than a word or two, nor had I, if anything. The next morning, my heart was still racing with the terror of believing there had been a stranger in my house, and the sex had NOT been consensual. The circumstances had made me extremely passive. Like a robot, I called the cops and curled up in a ball to await their presence.
They took the report and the system played out. His defense was that he was fulfilling a fantasy of mine. He got off fairly light considering he was still my husband, and our "special" circumstances. I had admitted to the cops why I hadn't fought harder. He also had a key I had given to him because he watched my house for me when I traveled to Idaho right after Jacob died to see my parents. I had forgotten he had the key. I had other things on my mind. Actually, I had no mind at all - I was grieving.
I don't remember if the charges were 3rd Degree Rape or 1st Degree Trespassing. He got put in the Work Release Program, where he could go to work during the day, and report to the minimum security prison at night. Ironically, where I worked, but had to quit after Jacob was born.
It wasn't the sex so much - altho it very much was, emotionally - I felt physically invaded. But it was the terror of the invasion of my HOME and the safety of my 3 year old that stayed with me, that I couldn't get rid of. For months, I obsessively got up in the night to check my door locks and for years, I wore long, flannel nightgowns with clothes underneath, to bed. I only got 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night between grieving and that fear that stayed with me. I wanted very desperately to sleep with a knife under my pillow, but I had a three year old in the house. The knife under the pillow didn't start till years later.
The other thing I remember about that night? Right before the "stranger" came in, Jeremy had gone potty by himself for the first time, without calling me to take him.
Between that, and watching my son standing on the back of the couch to look out the window, waiting for his dad, who was supposed to come visit him, and would not show up after all... so I had a heartbroken kid, over and over again...
... I moved 800 miles away, because I was drowning in grief and I needed the help of my parents in Idaho.
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Friday, October 19, 2012
The Skeleton in Our Closet
Jeremy's dad and I split up when SonOne was 18 months old. We still got me pregnant shortly thereafter, with Jacob. Jacob was born, and then he died at 3 1/2 months of age. Jeremy was 3 years old. One night, his father came into my house in the middle of the night to have sex with me. This was not unusual... we had a hard time staying apart in that area of our life. (Hence, Jacob!) The difference this time was ... I didn't know about it ahead of time. He didn't knock on the door and I let him in.
I had several minutes of total terror for my 3 year old down the hallway and how was I going to protect him. The layout of the house meant I couldn't sneak into his room without the bad guy knowing it. If the bad quy turned down the hallway towards his room first, I prepared myself to kill him. Luckily, he turned towards my room instead. I wished my husband hadn't taken the gun that used to be stored in our headboard.
The nightlight in the hallway backlit his profile, even tho I still couldn't see anything but a large, dark/black body. It was my husband. My relief was so overwhelming that I did not protest about the sex. I fought at first. But then I became very passive, partly out of relief it wasn't a murderer, partly because our 3 year old son was down the hall, and partly because our baby had VERY recently died. I wanted another baby and if this was what I had to do to get one... so be it. I hoped tho, that I had scratched his back hard enough to leave marks so his girlfriend would see them. He left without saying more than a word or two, nor had I, if anything. The next morning, my heart was still racing with the terror of believing there had been a stranger in my house, and the sex had NOT been consensual. The circumstances had made me extremely passive. Like a robot, I called the cops and curled up in a ball to await their presence.
They took the report and the system played out. His defense was that he was fulfilling a fantasy of mine. He got off fairly light considering he was still my husband, and our "special" circumstances. I had admitted to the cops why I hadn't fought harder. He also had a key I had given to him because he watched my house for me when I traveled to Idaho right after Jacob died to see my parents. I had forgotten he had the key. I had other things on my mind. Actually, I had no mind at all - I was grieving.
I don't remember if the charges were 3rd Degree Rape or 1st Degree Trespassing. He got put in the Work Release Program, where he could go to work during the day, and report to the minimum security prison at night. Ironically, where I worked, but had to quit after Jacob was born.
It wasn't the sex so much - altho it very much was, emotionally - I felt physically invaded. But it was the terror of the invasion of my HOME and the safety of my 3 year old that stayed with me, that I couldn't get rid of. For months, I obsessively got up in the night to check my door locks and for years, I wore long, flannel nightgowns with clothes underneath, to bed. I only got 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night between grieving and that fear that stayed with me. I wanted very desperately to sleep with a knife under my pillow, but I had a three year old in the house. The knife under the pillow didn't start till years later.
The other thing I remember about that night? Right before the "stranger" came in, Jeremy had gone potty by himself for the first time, without calling me to take him.
Between that, and watching my son standing on the back of the couch to look out the window, waiting for his dad, who was supposed to come visit him, and would not show up after all... so I had a heartbroken kid, over and over again...
... I moved 800 miles away, because I was drowning in grief and I needed the help of my parents in Idaho.
I had several minutes of total terror for my 3 year old down the hallway and how was I going to protect him. The layout of the house meant I couldn't sneak into his room without the bad guy knowing it. If the bad quy turned down the hallway towards his room first, I prepared myself to kill him. Luckily, he turned towards my room instead. I wished my husband hadn't taken the gun that used to be stored in our headboard.
The nightlight in the hallway backlit his profile, even tho I still couldn't see anything but a large, dark/black body. It was my husband. My relief was so overwhelming that I did not protest about the sex. I fought at first. But then I became very passive, partly out of relief it wasn't a murderer, partly because our 3 year old son was down the hall, and partly because our baby had VERY recently died. I wanted another baby and if this was what I had to do to get one... so be it. I hoped tho, that I had scratched his back hard enough to leave marks so his girlfriend would see them. He left without saying more than a word or two, nor had I, if anything. The next morning, my heart was still racing with the terror of believing there had been a stranger in my house, and the sex had NOT been consensual. The circumstances had made me extremely passive. Like a robot, I called the cops and curled up in a ball to await their presence.
They took the report and the system played out. His defense was that he was fulfilling a fantasy of mine. He got off fairly light considering he was still my husband, and our "special" circumstances. I had admitted to the cops why I hadn't fought harder. He also had a key I had given to him because he watched my house for me when I traveled to Idaho right after Jacob died to see my parents. I had forgotten he had the key. I had other things on my mind. Actually, I had no mind at all - I was grieving.
I don't remember if the charges were 3rd Degree Rape or 1st Degree Trespassing. He got put in the Work Release Program, where he could go to work during the day, and report to the minimum security prison at night. Ironically, where I worked, but had to quit after Jacob was born.
It wasn't the sex so much - altho it very much was, emotionally - I felt physically invaded. But it was the terror of the invasion of my HOME and the safety of my 3 year old that stayed with me, that I couldn't get rid of. For months, I obsessively got up in the night to check my door locks and for years, I wore long, flannel nightgowns with clothes underneath, to bed. I only got 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night between grieving and that fear that stayed with me. I wanted very desperately to sleep with a knife under my pillow, but I had a three year old in the house. The knife under the pillow didn't start till years later.
The other thing I remember about that night? Right before the "stranger" came in, Jeremy had gone potty by himself for the first time, without calling me to take him.
Between that, and watching my son standing on the back of the couch to look out the window, waiting for his dad, who was supposed to come visit him, and would not show up after all... so I had a heartbroken kid, over and over again...
... I moved 800 miles away, because I was drowning in grief and I needed the help of my parents in Idaho.
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