Silent Screams

After years of abuse and pain, one woman finds the courage to fight back and find a life of security without fear and unconditional love. 

When the nightmares come to haunt her, can she find a way to keep her life or will she lose the fight.  This is Silent Screams.

Bravery and an ever hopeful attitude guide her through her life and to becoming a strong woman with strong children. 

It is a true story, though sometimes not chronological and names have been changed, and many things left out.

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For my daughters who gave me the strength and courage to write this book and face the past.  Thank you.  You know who you are and I love you.

My only regret in this life is the inability to protect you from pain.

Silent Screams

Introduction

I sometimes wonder if I’m not going crazy.

I lay awake at night and listen to the sounds of the house.  Buzzing that never seems to stop, the hint of voices whispering, the sound of cries that could only come from a lonely animal, and the quiet snores from my husband. seem to surround me and I find myself fully alert, waiting for the next noise and trying to identify each to insure myself a safe night.

I sleep in short spurts, awake with every movement of the bed, knowing that with the kids all grown up and out on their own, my mother safely tucked into bed at my sister’s house and the grandchildren in their beds at home, I reach over to check for my husband, take a deep breath, and go back to sleep.

There are times when I lay there thinking.  I wonder if the sounds are in my imagination.  Am I dreaming the shaking of the bed?  Maybe it’s a weekend, my house is full of people and my loneliness is unnecessary? 

I begin to think, wondering why I am feeling lonely.  Is this what it feels like when you die; this nothingness, this feeling of absence of something, yet everything there, only you can hear it, feel it?  A shiver goes up my spine, and I cry out.  In his sleep, my husband pulls me close, patting my back, and whispering, I’m here Baby.  It’s just a dream.

But, is it a dream?  Or the silent screams of my mind.  A mind that has been closed for so long, hiding it’s secrets, covering up the past and leaking so few memories to anyone.  Maybe it’s time to release the anger, allow others in, silence the voices that haunt my dreams, knowing my safety is no longer in the number of people that are around me, but here, in the arms that are trying to comfort me, and the voice that floats to me from his own sleep to soothe and let me know I am safe in his love.

Chapter 1

Someone once told me that being a teenager was tough.  Too many emotions.  Feeling like an adult, but still wanting to be a child. 

Now I tell my own children and grandchildren to slow down.  You only have eighteen years to be a child, and then you’re an adult for the rest of your life.  I wish I had been able to have that advice given to me forty years ago.

With high school graduation came a time of sweetness and a time of sadness. 

Once high school graduation was over life became boring.  August came with the same monotony as June and July.  Wake up.  Go to work.  Come home.  Talk to some friends.  Write a letter.

The letter was probably the most interesting part, yet the most boring, always trying to find words to write on to the paper that was becoming drudgery to compose, the constant search for a new way to say the same old things and hopefully a spark of imagination to make it interesting.. 

He was such a sweet guy; stuck out in the middle of nowhere while Vietnam continued to wind down, engaged to a girl who thought of herself as a woman when accepting the small diamond, a token of his love.  Why was it becoming so difficult?

Almost as if by their own volition, my fingers started penning the words I didn’t know were about to come out.  I am so sorry.  I care for you.  You have been my friend for so long, and I don’t want you to hurt.  I even love you.  It’s just that I just wanted what the rest of my girl friends had.  I’m not ready to marry.  I’m not ready to be your wife and mingle with the wives of officers and be a mother with children running after me.  I’ve never been in love.  I’ve never really dated.  I want to live before I die.  I looked at the wet spots on the paper and realized they were from my tears I hadn’t felt falling.  I signed with only my name, put the letter in an envelope, and before I could change my mind, I took the letter out to the mailbox.

Six agonizing weeks, thousands of shed tears, several outbursts of anger, and countless sideways looks from my parents later, I heard back from him.

You’re sorry!!!!  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on you.  I am glad you lived because if you hadn’t, I couldn’t wish you were dead.  I hate you.  I want my ring.  I want my necklace.  I want to never hear your name again.

I cried that night.  I sobbed so hard my eyes hurt.  My mom and dad tried to comfort me, but I didn’t want them to.  I needed to feel this.  I needed to feel the guilt of what I had done to him so I would know to never do it to anyone again.  And then....I wanted to start living.

The following weekend my brother came home from Florida.  He came to visit for a week and brought his best friend and roommate home with him.

I paid very little attention to the man.  He was homely.  His hair was too long.  He was cocky and he didn’t talk much.  He sat in the house talking with my brother and my parents as I sat on the porch banister listening to the traffic from the road.

My brother came out and nudged me, nearly pushing me off the railing.  Hey.  What’s up?  Didn’t you miss me?

Yeah.  I missed you.  I gave him a weak smile.

Everything ok Sis?  You don’t look so good.  He picked up my hand.  I get it.  I’m sorry.  Wanna talk?

I shook my head.  I’m fine.  I just need a little more time.  I just heard back from him four days ago.  It was harsh, but I deserve it.  I should have told him in person and after he came home.  I just didn’t think it was fair to let him get home, expecting to get married and get jilted instead.  It’s better this way.

From someone who’s been jilted before, there is never a good time or a good way.  He winked and chucked me under the chin.  Especially when it comes from a beautiful girl.

I glanced up at him.  In eighteen years my brother had never given me a compliment.  He always said I was fat.  I was ugly.  I was OK as a sister, but no man would want me.  Me?  Beautiful?  Did that Florida sun blind you?  Or do you just feel sorry for me?

Who knows?  Maybe too many drugs.  With that, he sauntered back into the house.

I sat there, nodding my head and smiling.  My brother actually cared.  Then I heard an outburst.  Come on Mom.  I’m not a babysitter.  I have plans for this evening.  She’s a big girl.

I couldn’t hear what was being said, but from the tone of my father’s voice, it wasn’t good for my brother.  He slammed the door, his friend behind him, glared at me, and said, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.

My mom came out after he left and stood looking at me.  Daddy and I are taking the younger ones and going to New Jersey to see your Uncle.  Will you be ok for the night?  I asked Will to stay with you.  I don’t think it’s a good time for you to be alone.

I rolled my eyes.  I’m eighteen.  I am ok without my brother to watch over me.

Not watch over you, just to keep you company.  I know what you’re going through.

Years later, I was to learn, she was serious.  She had experienced the same thing as I just had.  He was in World War II. 

It’s funny how few times I had looked at my mother as a person.  She was Mommy.  She was Mother.  She was Mom.  But when did she become a woman in my eyes. 

As I looked at her, I realized what Dad had seen in her.  Her thick, curly hair, still hung down around her shoulder.  The brown polka dot dress she wore was cinched at the waist and told of the beautiful slender figure she still had, even after six children.  She wore red lipstick, which gave