Got us out

I know you tried your best.

You were young, in your early twenties, an art major. I sure it was exciting to fly from Cincinnati to Philadelphia, unbeknownst to your parents, to sneak home on a weekend and see him. 

You never told me the details, but I know you never finished college, you got married, and your parents were beyond angry. 

You told me they disowned you; whatever that means. It never quite made sense because it's illegal to own another person.

He was an orphan at the age of 10. His father wasn't in the picture; his mother died of a "female cancer" at a young age; it was never discussed back then. He lived with an aunt and uncle. He became an electrician.

At some point he became active addict; his drug of choice was alcohol. I know he also used marijuana. And probably a myriad of other substances; it was the seventies, after all.

He became verbally and emotionally abusive to you. Eventually it turned physical.

My first memory is of you hobbling down a flight of stairs with a full leg cast. I was watching Sesame Street and remember feeling badly for you in your struggle.

It was never clear to me if the abuse started before, during, or after your pregnancy. But it doesn't matter. You took me and you left. And in 1976, when I was only 3, that was a really difficult thing for a woman to do.

But you got us out.

And for that, I thank you.