Obstacle

Dear Old Friend,

I know you remember how I reacted when my mother married my step-father.  I felt betrayed, angry and afraid and I refused to go to the wedding.  I stayed at your house while they were on their honeymoon, but obviously I couldn’t avoid Bill once they came home. 

He had long since stopped trying to win my favor.  In my mind he was part of the reason for the demise of my parents’ marriage, and even though it was much more complicated than that, no matter how I tried to get past it, I couldn’t.  Although I was never outwardly hateful to him, and for my mother’s sake I tried to get along with him, he sensed the condemnation in me and he knew that I sensed the sickness in him, so his resentment of me grew.

I believe my mother looked at Bill as someone who needed to be rescued, and she thought she could be the one who pulled it off.  I also think that Bill liked the idea of my mother devoting herself to his rescue, and maybe even hoped that her love would be the thing which finally saved him; but, in his mind, I was the obstacle standing in the way of his new life. 

Bill didn’t really need a reason to drink, but it is the nature of alcoholism to assign blame in order to assuage guilt, so in his mind I was the reason.  A pattern developed where he would fly into a drunken rage and my mother would tell me to go to my room and lock my door.  I would hear him smashing things and threatening to kill me, and I sat in my room shaking with terror, praying and clutching my Bible, which seemed like the only protection I had. 

There was a phone in my room, and during one of those times I got the idea to call your mother.  As you know, she only lived a mile or so away, and because she and my mother were friends, she offered to come over.  Soon I heard a knock on the door and then your mother’s voice.  I also heard Bill sneak down the hall and shut the bedroom door.  Your mother acted as if she had just stopped by for a visit and sat down to chat.  Eventually, Bill passed out and it was quiet for the rest of the night.  I can’t tell you how grateful I was for your mother’s bravery and concern for my mother and for me!

Because there were other times after that when your mother "magically" appeared in the midst of his rages, Bill eventually caught on and started taking the living room phone off the hook so that I couldn’t call for help; but on the night after our eighth grade graduation, thankfully, he forgot.  His anger was particularly intense that night.  I held off as long as I could, but I finally called your mother and, bless her heart, she came.  Bill went into the bedroom, but did not fall asleep, and he kept yelling for my mother, who finally told your mother it would be better if she went home and took me with her.  It was my mother’s hope that he would calm down if I wasn't in the house.

I made a pretense of leaving, but somehow this night was different and I was afraid of what would happen if I left; so, even though I walked out of the apartment with your mother, I refused to go with her and she reluctantly went home.  I listened outside my apartment door for a long time as Bill’s fury grew instead of decreasing.  I heard my mother crying and then I heard her scream.  I ran to the door of an apartment downstairs and asked if I could use their phone to call my mother.  When she answered and I asked if she was all right, she said no and hung up.  Terrified, I called your mother again and asked her to call the police.  Then, I started walking to your house. 

Laws were different back then.  I later learned that when the police came Bill assured them everything was fine, just a lover’s quarrel, he said; and there was nothing they could do.  Unfortunately, the fact that the police had been summoned only intensified Bill’s anger.  Although I never got the full story from my mother, the rest of the evening consisted of, among other things, her being dragged down the hall by her hair, and a game of Russian roulette, with the gun pointed first at his head and then hers.

By then I was at your house, frantic because I had no idea what was happening at home.  Naturally I was unable to sleep as the night dragged on, until finally, just before daybreak, my mother knocked on your front door.  She told us that when Bill had finally passed out, she grabbed only her purse and ran.  She then announced that we were leaving immediately for the airport to fly to my grandparent’s home.  I was so relieved that we were safe and the nightmare was over!

Then, on the plane, she told me she was pregnant.

As you know, Bill was a part of my life, in one way or another, for many years.  I confess that I hated him.  I hated him long after he was gone.  There were times over the years when I tried not to hate him, and pretended that I didn't, because I knew it was wrong; but, underneath the “shoulds”, I still hated him.  Even the knowledge that my feelings were doing nothing to him and were only hurting me didn’t help.  I didn’t know how to stop.

As I’ve come to understand the gospel, I’ve also come to realize that we are no better than the person we despise the most; in God’s eyes I am no better than Bill.  Of course I'd like to think I am, but the fact of the matter is, God doesn’t compare us and then decide some of us sinners are better than others.  We do that, but God doesn’t.  Even with all of my attempts at goodness, I never deserved God’s favor any more or less than Bill did.  The only thing that recommends either one of us to God is the blood of Christ.  Without that, we are all only deserving of God's wrath.

That’s a hard truth.  But, interestingly, I find myself hoping that, somewhere along the way, Bill learned that truth before he died.

Love Always,

Bonnie