I sit here, not knowing where to begin and what to write. Not because I don't have the words but because I'm too afraid to share them.
One week ago tonight, my world was shattered.
As some of you know and many did not, my parents have been in the process of a rather difficult divorce since November. In hopes of keeping things amicable, my mom has been seeing my dad every once in a while. Last Friday evening was one of those nights. Unbeknownst to me, she had gone up to his home in Rockford to have dinner with him.
All evening long on Friday my gut felt like something just wasn't right. I had called her right after we finished dinner to see if she wanted to go with us to see the progress on the new house - no answer. I tried the home phone - no answer. While this wasn't completely out of the ordinary, I had grown more accustomed to her "flying off the radar" for periods of time since the beginning of the year when the divorce truly started to get messy.
Because I currently live across the street from her, I was able to see that the house was dark and the garage was closed when we left that night. And that nothing had changed when we got home an hour later.
I knew in my heart that she had gone to see my dad. Honestly, I was angry about it because I just didn't understand why she kept allowing herself to be involved with him considering his abusive past and controlling ways.
Mike and I continued about our night, putting the kids to bed and and watching television as we do every Friday night. While I usually fall asleep on the couch by 10pm, this night was different. I was more alert than usual and even as I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed at 11, I found myself not tired. It wasn't until 12:30 that my head finally hit that pillow.
30 minutes later, at 1:05 am, my phone rang.
It was a 391 number, which I remember thinking could only mean one of two things: 1) I had forgotten I was on call and someone from work was trying to call me or 2) something had happened. Because any time a Spectrum Health phone number calls you at 1:00 am and it's not for work purposes, it can't be a good thing.
I sat up immediately. On the other end of the line I remember hearing a woman's voice stating her name and that she worked in the Spectrum Health ER downtown. Without pause, I asked her what was wrong. She said, "I'm here with your mom and she's been assaulted. We need you to come down." Immediately, my response was, "Assaulted by my dad, right?" When she verified this, I explained that I was on my way.
As I picked up my sister and drove downtown, my mind was racing. "How could he hit her? How bad is it?" My dad, though an angry and emotionally abusive person, had never reached the level of becoming physically abusive. There were many times in my life that I expected him to lash out at one of us in that manner but he was always able to maintain his composure. I asked Brittany as we drove, "Do you think Dad would ever kill himself?" This was the first time we had ever had a conversation like this and I was surprised to hear that our answers matched. This was something I had been concerned of for a while, but knowing that she too was concerned about it made it so much more scary.
At the time, I had no idea just how serious of a situation we were walking into. I figured that an argument had errupted and my mom had been hit by him, left the house and went straight to the ER. I worried that if he had hit her, that he'd try to harm himself while waiting at the house for the police to come.
I wish it had been that simple.
As we walked into the ER, the triage nurse informed us that we would have to wait for the social worker to come get us. My gut knew immediately that this was a bad thing. As Ruth greeted us, she escorted us back into a private hallway and then into a conference room. While walking I asked, "Is my mom okay? How is she?" She paused in her response and stated, "Your mom is alive." It was in that moment that I knew something far worse than I had ever imagined had in fact taken place.
Ruth explained that my mom had been the victim of a murder-suicide attempt. She discussed some of the details with us and then escorted us back to my mom.
When I turned that corner, all I could see and smell was blood. It was everywhere. All I could hear was moaning.
I remember crumbling as I stood in that doorway, not sure if I could emotionally or physically handle taking another step.
But then my mom saw us and called out for us. She reached for both Brittany and I and grabbed my hand as I was the one closest to her. She held it so tight that it hurt.
I stood next to her and watched as the blood continued to pour out of her. She was unrecognizable. How could this be my mom??
As the trauma team cared for her, she remained alert and was able to verbalize the key components of what had happened. She was in so much pain though and the only thing I wanted to do was take that pain away from her. Fix this in some way. As they began the sutures, Brittany and I both knew that we needed to step out. It was then that we started making phone calls to our family - Mike, Dan, our Uncle Den and Aunt Amy - and asking them to come down. We needed them there. I wanted to call my Papa but I knew he wouldn't be able to handle these initial sights so I held off. Nana was out of town, which didn't help the matter.
As one of my mom's primary concerns was for her dog (if you know her, this should come as no surprise to you) whom she had taken up there that night, Brittany and I decided that one of us needed to go up to the house to get Bailey. As Brittany was struggling a bit more with the blood and the care my mom was receiving, we felt it was best that she go and I stay.
Our Detective arrived about an hour after we did. I stood next to her, holding her hand as she gave him the details of exactly what had happened that night. As she discussed the details, I could so easily picture every action taken and word spoken and it felt as though her words were playing like a movie in my head. The only thing I still cannot picture, thankfully, are the faces of my parents as this all happened. The look on my dad's face as he beat her with multiple blunt-force weapons. The look on my mom's face as she laid there on that floor, not knowing if she was going to live or die that night.
I still cannot believe she was able to discuss the details of the attack with such clarity after suffering such severe head injuries. A blessing from God for sure.
I remember the reaction of each person as they walked into her hospital room and saw her for the first time. The look of pure shock and disbelief spread across their faces, the tears they shed.
Saturday was about survival. Hers. Ours.
Sunday, for me, was a day of disbelief. I woke up at 5 am and the first thing that flashed through my mind was the image of my mom laying on that ER hospital bed, covered in blood. I immediately knew that I wouldn't be going back to sleep so I chose to get up, get showered and get to the hospital.
The minute I started washing my hair, it hit me like a brick wall. I cried in that shower for a good 30 minutes and the minute I walked into my mom's hospital room and saw her laying in that bed again, I lost it some more.
How could he do this to her? How could he do this to us? What if she had died? Losing my mom would have forever devastated me, especially losing her in this manner. My mom, the pillar of strength, laying in that hospital bed and so badly injured was impossibly painful to deal with.
Add on to that the fact that my dad was the one that caused all of this pain simply made it unbearable.
Throughout the weekend I was too focused on my mom to pay much consideration to my dad. Yes, I had spoken with his nurse via telephone call (he had been taken to Blodgett for observation rather than Buttterworth for safety precautions) and asked the questions I needed to. But aside from that, I cared less about what had happened to him in the midst of this process.
Monday, my world came crumbling down all over again. We had been forewarned that this might make the news but I never truly believed that it would. When Brittany suddenly said to me, "Haley, come here a minute" while escorting me out of the hospital room and then handed me her phone, all my eyes could focus on was his mugshot picture splashed across the screen. It was in that moment that something in me died.
The thing is, my dad did a horrific thing to one of the people I love most in this world. But he's still my dad. And all of our memories with him aren't bad. He helped raise my daughter for God's sake. So to see that picture spread so publicly and to know the implications of what this would mean for his life as well as ours, it was devastating.
I went home Monday night only to realize that reporters were scouring our neighborhood looking for someone to give a statement. Fox 17 went door to door and thankfully, struck out time and time again. When they approached my home they had no idea that they had arrived on the (temporary) doorstep of my father's daughter. They parked their news van on the corner of our street, stalking me as I hurriedly walked to our long-time neighbors house in tears.
Tuesday and Wednesday have been numb for me. I recognize that certain things "should" make me cry but more often than not, the tears just don't come. I feel paralyzed in my grief.
Thursday, I went to the Rockford house. Everyone thought it was a bad idea for me to go up there alone but I knew in my heart that I needed to do it. Not only for the sake of the house but for the sake of my heart. The room in which the attack took place needed to be cleaned before even more damage set in. (We hired someone else to do that job, by the way.) And for myself, I needed to step foot into the place in which my life was shattered. I needed to see the space in which my dad spent his final "free" days and gather some insight into where his head was at. I cleaned the kitchen up from the final dinner they shared. I took out the trash, cleaned out the fridge, did the dishes, wiped down the counters.
I spent more than an hour in that house before I decided I was strong enough to see where it all happened. To see where he had attacked her, where she had tried to fight him off but ultimately had to play dead in order to survive. I saw the spot in which she layed for hours, easily identified by the blood spilled onto the carpet there.
This whole experience has felt surreal. On Monday night, while getting ready to head back up to the hospital to spend the night with my mom, I made a sarcastic comment to Mike about how my life was "a living nightmare." I laughed the minute it came out of my mouth. "I've said that so many times before but this time, its actually true," I told him.
These things are supposed to happen to other people. I never expected my life to take a turn like this - to be standing next to my mom's hospital bed in the ER, not sure if she's going to survive or not. To see my dad's mugshot on every local news channel. To be faced with the reality that he's likely going to spend the rest of his life in prison. To know that he hurt her, and us, like this and did so intentionally with a great amount of premeditation.
I struggle with triggers, just as my mom and sister do.
Tonight, I turned on TV and while looking at the guide, I realized it was 8pm because Last Man Standing was on. My mom remembers the timeline of the attack based on what was playing on the television. It was in that moment that I thought, "One week ago, right now, this nightmare began." The smell of blood sent me reeling yesterday when a hangnail began to bleed. Last night I had my first nightmare about this, though I thankfully didn't remember the details of the nightmare once I woke up.
My children and my husband miss me but right now, I'm needed more elsewhere. When I'm at home, my anxiety is much higher than it is when I'm with my mom so for the most part, I stay with my mom during the daytime hours.
With regards to Liana, we explained to her that Nana was in an "accident". While I know that someday she'll learn the truth about her Papa, she's too young to understand his actions right now. We had cut ties with him about six weeks ago after an argument between him and I in which he blamed me for the divorce. While it had been painful to keep her separate from him, I'm now so incredibly thankful that things happened the way that they did and that we don't have to deal with that pain now on top of the pain we're already feeling.
These are the darkest days our family has ever experienced and the nature of what has happened is incredibly isolating. The media attention has made this feeling a lot worse, too. So many people have reached out to us with help and support and while each facebook message, text, or phone call means the world, I feel all alone in this because there's not a single person that can even begin to understand what this feels like. The only person that can truly understand what I'm going through is my sister but even we feel differently in some ways. My friends are there if I want to talk but where do I even start? Even if I could find a starting point, my thoughts are so all over the place right now that it'd hardly make much sense.
Eleven days from today, we will sit across the courtroom from my dad. I have a lot of anxiety already when it comes to thinking about that day and the range of emotions I will feel. I've been told that the media will be present, which only makes this so much worse. Never before have I felt so vulnerable and exposed.
My mom continues to get stronger each day. She's able to ambulate on her own with the use of a walker and sometimes without (though she tends to get yelled at by yours truly when she takes a step without it). Her bruising has turned a lovely shade of yellow and by the improvement we've seen so far, I'm lead to believe that most of it will be gone next week already. She received more than 40 staples to her head and hundreds of sutures to her face, all of which will come out on Monday and Tuesday. She remains quite forgetful which is likely due to the concussion but may also be worsened by the pain meds she currently needs. Next week is full of appointments, all of which I will be taking her to because I can't handle the thought of anyone else doing it for me.
Even though this is at the forefront of my life right now, its unlikely that I'll be able to write about it much because of the court proceedings.
Please continue to keep my family in your prayers. We covet them right now. While we've had some terrible days already, I anticipate that the preliminary hearing and subsequent trial will be worse as we are forced to relive this tragedy, face my dad in court, and cope with the fact that our darkest days are entertainment news to others.
