My name is Grace

My name is Grace
But of which I have seen very little. As a young girl I watched my mother hide in a cornfield from my father's wrath. Then it was my turn. Beaten into unconsciousness, I survived. Time to move on.
Goodbye Daddy
10 years old. A new father, new hope. No hitting, no violence. But a touch just as destructive and hurtful. A little girl forced into the role of a woman. I have to tell someone. Then it's on to court, forced to sit in front of strangers and tell my dirty secrets. I survived.
Innocence Lost
On to my uncle's house, a safe haven, or so I thought. Again a loving touch turns dark and hurtful. And again forced into a role that no child belongs in. I don't want to go to court again. But I survived.
Hope Gone
At age 15, I am pregnant by and married to a man twice my age . Now instead of homework, dances and graduation, I am changing diapers. Back to court again. Single with my own daughter to protect. I survived.
Youth Gone
23 and married to a loving husband. But too late for me. So, as my daughter plays next door, I take my husband's shotgun, put the barrel to my chest and say goodbye. I never survived. I died inside a long time ago.
Soul Lost
Another angel flying home on broken wings

Gracie's Voice

Gracie is/was my mother. She has been gone a long time. I want to share her story so that people can know the consequences of another's actions.

My mother grew up very quickly and yet in some ways not at all. As a young child she had a physically abusive father who beat her and her mother quite severely. Then, at 10 years old, she and her little sister were molested repeatedly by a step-father. She faced her abuser in a courtroom and was able to testify as to what he had done to them. Afterwards they went to stay with an uncle. And they were molested again.
By the time my mother was 15 she was pregnant by a man who was 30. Why not, all she had ever known were older men and sex. At the age of 16 she was actually married to him. One year later, she was divorced and alone with a toddler. She married my "dad" at the age of 20. But by this time, the damage had been done.
On July 10, 1978 I was playing at the neighbor's house on the front porch. I was 6 1/2 years old. I saw my father walking up the sidewalk with an awful look on his face. And he told me that my mother was dead. She shot herself in the chest while I rode a hobby horse in the house right behind her.
She was a non-survivor. The little girl who had the tenacity to testify all alone in front of her abuser and a courtroom full of strangers had finally given up.
I am now 35 and my daughter is 10. I see who my mother could have been if given a chance. She had a very high IQ, a sharp mind, a talented eye, and a strong spirit. Until that spirit was squelched.
So, for my mother and all of the beautiful children now and to come, I say enough is enough. Tell a child that you love them. And mean it. Every time you look in a child's face remember that you are their village. They can't do it alone.