His name isn’t even spoken in our home anymore. The kids have figured this out on their own. On the off chance they bring him up in some random off the wall conversation, he’s called “you know who.” Allowing T.W. into our life was easily the worst decision I ever made. Ever.
How it began, how it progressed, how it deteriorated…I hate even bringing those memories to the surface long enough to think them through. The feelings that he created made my skin crawl. What kind of mood would he be in, would he even care to speak to us when we walked in the door, would he yell or argue or berate, would he direct his venom only at me and would I be able to shelter my children?
One morning my son ran to me in the kitchen and threw his arms around me in the middle of an argument with T.W. My boy did this because he thought he was protecting me. My judgement that had been so clouded before became crystal clear that morning when later he told me that he knew why mommy cried. He said he knew that T.W. made mommy cry.
T.W. and his special brand of hell left two years ago this week.