A Childs fear for her mothers life

Lacy grew up as the daughter of an abused mother, the daughter of an
abuser, and now she is presently the stepdaughter to a battered woman.
The things she saw as a young child scared her brain with shrilling
memories forever. Nights her heart pounded so hard she thought it would
just pop right out of her chest. The feeling of an uneasy shake threw
her whole body. Scared for her mother's death, she would spend endless
nights with her ear to the floor wondering if they were fighting. Or if
it was just plain laughter, but there was rarely laughter in her home?
she would cry all the time and wish that after the fights were over,
her mother would still be alive. Never did she picture in her young
childhood that her mother would be put threw a wall, or thrown out of a
moving car, but as always she was proven wrong. As a child she was
forced to grow up fast. She acted as a mother to her younger sister.
Always protecting her from the "unknown", from the abuse. She used to
have this theory that if she told her "daddy" to stop he would. If she
tugged on his pants and cried he would just stop. She would put her
self-right between her fearful mother and ragging father. She was
stupid huh?
Lacy remembers up from when she was 5 years old. Her mother would be
busy during the day dragging her sister and her along where ever she
went.
They'd do normal day things like any other normal family. But when it
was time to come home and cook dinner all hell broke lose. She
remembers being afraid. Being afraid all the time. Her mother would get
weary around 4:30, her father would come home at 5:00 and they would
never know what kind of mood he was going to be in. She remembers all
threw the day her and her mom would crack jokes, about her fathers mood
hoping that it would be a good one. All the while knowing deep in their
soul that these jokes weren't really funny at all, but ways to elevate
some of the fear and pain. All the jokes stopped around 4:30 each
day.
Lacey's father was Robert Dematina. He was an Italian man, dark hair,
around 6-foot. He was very much intimidating. He was a big massive guy,
over weight, who ate pasta and pizza, and spoke of times in Brooklyn.
He would act as if he were "connected" in the mob. Lacy soon found out
as everyone always did what a big talker Robert actually was. Robert
never had a steady job. Though he let people believe he did. He was the
"boss" of his own contracting company. "Of course he made the big
money", "always drove the fancy cars, had the fancy house, threw the
fancy parties." But no one saw the times when Robert was down. When he
didn't have a penny to his name. Everyone always saw the good? The good
was easier to believe?
Robert was obsessed with his mother. His mother was his "god". Gave him
all the answers. If his mother said jump of a bridge, he would go get a
life vest and jump. His mother's name was Tonella, and his father was
Roberto. Nothing Tonella said was wrong in her "sons" eyes. As much as
Robert was obsessed with his mother, his mother was obsessed with him,
maybe even a little more considering that was her child. Tonella also
had a second child named Daniella. Daniella always was trying to win
over her mother's affection. Her mother always favored Robert, and
Daniella knew it. She spent her whole life trying to become equal next
to her brother. But she never did. Robert was "the one and only" to
Tonella. Roberto, Roberts's father was a frightening man. He would
never give anything to a "conversation". Always listened, never spoke.
He would be the one at the head of the dinner table, just listing. It
was kind of spooky in a way, how quite he could be. He was just waiting
to lash out, waiting for the right time to pin someone. So much anger
was locked up inside of Roberto that he was actually dangerous. Years
before, Lacey's mother had a conversation with Robert about his father.
It was then, and then only, that Robert did confess to his father's
brutal acts of violence. Roberto beat his wife constantly, and abused
Robert in ways a normal human being would never think of.
Lacey's mother always said, "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree",
and in this instance she was right.
Lacey's mothers' name was Laura. Laura was a kind-hearted person. Was
never selfish, never once thought about herself, always reached out for
the one in need. Laura was a person of dignity, had a warm soul. She
was a 21-year-old girl of hope, and love. Always wanted to get married
and start a family. Never once questioned Robert about his love for
her. In her own way Laura was running. Running from her home. Running
from her family. She never felt as she was equal to her other three
brothers and sisters. She felt as though she were a loner, wanting to
get free. Well, in doing so she broke away from her family and ran
right into the devils arms, where she would never see the light of day
again. Little did Laura know that her friends, family, and life as she
knew it would be demolished forever.
When Laura met Robert, she was immediately, swept right off her feet.
Robert had all the charm and good looks that made Laura fall. He had
the "money" and the family compassion that Laura was looking for.
Robert did show signs of abuse after about six months, but Laura was to
sucked in to realize it. She always made excuses for his screw ups or
blamed herself for his blowups. It was never Laura's fault.

6 years later, Lacy is now 5 years of age

One of the most remarkable events for Lacy between her and her sister
Amy, was when she hid her sister in a clock?
It was around 5:00 and Lacy and her mother were busy bustling around,
knowing full well that Robert would be home any minute from work. Lacy
would make herself sick worrying whether her father would be in a good
mood. Her mother was cooking rice pudding, which she knew Robert loved.
She thought that by doing things he loved, it would put him in a better
mood and he would see how much Laura really loved him. It didn't matter
what Laura did it was never enough. So, Lacy was playing with her
sister upstairs in their playroom. All of a sudden she heard the
screaming. Her father was not in a good mood that night. She opened her
door and heard her mother crying. She ran down the stairs, her sister
behind her. She took her sister and told her to hide in the clock until
she came to get her. Amy listened to Lacy, and loved her, so she got
into the clock and closed the door. Amy was only 3. Lacy then ran to
her mother's aid. She saw what was happening and just kept shouting
over and over again, "daddy please stop, stop it, mommy will listen,
please, we can talk it over daddy, just please stop, daddy I will talk
to her daddy, stop it daddy." Lacey's father the screamed at her and
told her to leave the room, as he had Laura's hair by his fist.
Grabbing it so that her whole neck was twisted back over the stove. He
then took the pot of rice and poured it over Laura's head. His words
before he left the room were, " You filthy animal, you deserve
everything you get, you are a lazy piece of shit". Lacy just stared in
fear that her father would do something more, she reached out and ran
to her mother after her father left and hugged her so tight? After the
incident she had forgotten that her sister was in the clock, she went
to open the door, and Amy looked like a baby who had just woken up from
a dead sleep. Lacy was glad that she had saved her from the harsh
reality of their life that night.
To this day Amy never really knew the abuse that went on in her own
home. She was too little to remember. In a way that makes Amy a
stronger person, but Lacy wishes that there were incidences that Amy
did remember so that she wont Get close to someone like her father
Robert.
Lacy never really slept at night. She was always so scared for her
mother. Lacy felt as if she were the one who was going to save her
mother. She felt that if she did sleep and something happened she would
never be able to forgive herself for not being up, to try to stop it.
One specific afternoon, Lacy was coming up the stairs to her room,
hearing her parents fight, she entered the doorway. All of a sudden she
saw her mother go flying across the room. Like a rag doll, as if her
mother had no weight on her what so ever. Lacy watched her mother go
straight threw her bedroom wall. That night Lacy was fearful being only
6 that people were going to come out of her wall and grab her. It
seemed like ages Lacy had a hole in her wall. And finally one day out
of nowhere her father came up to fix it, like if was just a wall that
had seeped in for no apparent reason. He didn't act as if he had just
thrown her mother threw it, he acted as if it were a normal hole that
he was fixing. That's what astonished Lacy the most. Her fathers way of
"forgetting" or making light of something that was so horrific, in
Lacey's heart.

Lacys story:
12:36 am February 8 2004

He's a big man, he weighs about 200 pounds, I can't handle him, and I
only weigh 102 my self? I'm sorry you have to come out so late I know
you have better things to do, people to save. I wouldn't have called
you but my kids are up stairs sleeping and I am afraid that he might
kill me. I think I need an ambulance, but just get here first. I want
him out of the house?. He sleeping know? he's passed out he has
drinking to much."

I grew up as the daughter of an abused mother, the daughter of an
abuser, and now am presently the stepdaughter to a battered woman. The
things I saw as a young child scared my brain with shrilling memories
forever. Nights my heart pounded so hard I thought it would just pop
right out of my chest. The feeling of an uneasy shake threw my whole
body. Scared for my mothers death I would spend endless nights with my
ear to the floor wondering if they were fighting or if it was just
plain laughter, but there was rarely laughter in my home? I would cry
all the time and wish that after the fights were over, my mother would
still be alive. Never did I picture in my young childhood that my
mother would be put threw a wall, or thrown out of a moving car, but as
always I was proven wrong. As a child I was forced to grow up fast. I
used to have this theory that if I told my "daddy" to stop he would. If
I tugged on his pants and cried he would just stop. I would put my self
right between my fearful mother and ragging father. I was stupid
huh?
The years went by, cops came to our house every other weekend, or when
money was tight, my father had a new company every year, I would go
from one school to the next, weather it be catholic or public, and then
my mother finally called it quiets. She divorced my father in the year
of 96' after seven years of being battered. My father later remarried
and continued his patterns with his new wife, now my stepmother. My
stepmother would never call the cops, feeling very strong in her self
she would try to talk back to my dad, that just gave her two black eyes
instead of one. Finally my dad had gone to far and pushed my stepmother
too far. She finally called the police and pressed charges on my
father. Later that year she got back with him and had a baby boy, now
my stepbrother. The beating went on and on after that, not for any
reason but his dinner was cold, or his socks weren't dry, or she spent
too much money in the local drug store? My father had gotten away with
it, but then once again pushed my stepmother to far, and now she had a
son to look after?

12:15 am February 8 2003

"Don't come in my room" I heard my stepmother say as she slammed the
door to her bedroom. Then with my eye lids half open I sat up straight
and turned to my sister who was already sitting up straight looking to
me for the answer with her eyes as big as golf balls. I looked at my
baby brother who was sleeping, and then I turned my eyes and saw my
father RUN after my stepmother into the bedroom and shut the door. He
shut the door? the worst case of abuse to me in the world? the unknown
sight? the ability to hear but not see is the worst thing I have ever
experienced. I found threw my child hood it hurt more then physically
being hit, by my father.
At this moment I felt as if my stomach was going to come out of my
mouth, and my body might brake in half from the pounding of my heart. I
heard my stepmother scream. As I listened to the shrilling pain of my
stepmother being beat up, it sounded as big cement 4 by four bricks
were being thrown at the wall. A shrilling cry, "you're hurting me,
please oh my god, please you're hurting me, and cries of pain and fear
followed every bang. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up you fucking bitch" my
father screamed.
Two minutes later silence was heard and my parent's door opened. I hid
under the covers so no one would know I was up. Then I heard the door
slam once more. Finally after another two minutes the door slammed for
good and out comes my stepmother. She then proceeded to shut every
single light in the house except one in the kitchen.
My sister and me looked up at each other. Questioning what just
happened, and why everything was silent after such and episode. All of
a sudden I heard my stepmother dialing the phone. She only dialed three
digits? It was then that I realized she had dialed 911. My dad had hit
her all the time but never did she call the cops!
I went down stairs. It was dark. Then I came to the corner, where I
saw my stepmother unlock the front door. She refilled my brother's
bottle and saw me lingering. She then handed me the bottle and told my
sister and me took my brother upstairs and close the door. She told us
not to come out of the room. It was then when I saw her face. Her face
was all blue on one side. It looked as if she had holes in her face. It
was disgusting. I later realized that she was severely bruised and she
might even have internal injuries. The holes that I thought were in her
face had always been there. She was emaciated, because of all the abuse
she had been threw. The only reason why it looked as if she had holes
in her face was because the bruised blue color in her face brought it
out.
As we headed up our stairs, I heard her dial the phone once more. I
sent my brother and sister into the bedroom, and lightly closed the
door. I silently sat out side by the stairs and listened. "He's a big
man, he weighs about 200 pounds, I can't handle him, I only weigh 102
my self? I'm sorry you have to come out so late I know you have better
things to do, people to save. I wouldn't have called you but my kids
are up stairs sleeping and I am afraid that he might kill me. I think I
need an ambulance, but just get here first. I want him out of the
house?. He sleeping know? he's passed out he has drinking to much."
Then she started to head towards the front door. "The police are at the
wrong house, oh god, there at the wrong house". Then all of a sudden
seven cop cars sped down the road into our driveway, flashing lights
and all. All the cops proceeded to our front door and my stepmother
showed them to the kitchen. There she proceeded to tell her story. I
listened on the back staircase silently, in the pitch-black
darkness.
A cop asked her " what started the fight." My stepmother replied in a
"numb way", "what ever starts the fights. I didn't love him enough, or
he thinks I don't love him, or a slammed a door any thing starts
them.
At that point my stepmother had lowered her voice. I didn't hear what
she said, but some how got to the part in the story with what actually
happened. She she was walking up the stairs and he grabbed her by the
back of the ankle and pulled her down the stairs. She managed to get
out of his grip and run to the top step. "He then grabbed me and threw
me off the banister where I landed on the tile floor. I flew literally
between the chandler and the clock. I grabbed on to the clock to break
my fall. (The banister was 15 feet high) Then my stepmother grew
silently once more and I couldn't hear what she was saying. The next
thing I heard was I got to the hallway, told him to not come in my room
and slammed my bedroom door. He then came in the room and followed me
into the closet. He threw me on to the granite floor, and slammed my
head down on the tile floor I don't know how many times. Pined, I was
helpless. He kept telling me t shut up. He then retired to his bed. I
slipped out of the room when he was asleep and called the police. I was
scared that my kids would wake up and find me died lying on the
bathroom floor. I was sure he would kill me. The police listened to her
story and wrote it down. Then they sent her upstairs into our room
because they were now ready to arrest my father, who had slept threw
the entire thing. I saw the police come up the stairs, as they climbed
the stairs they pulled out bars, I guess incase he resisted. They
entered the room and turned on the light.
I saw my father's reaction when the police had explained what had
happened. He looked surprised and "bummed" he had to get out of bed. At
that moment I had to make a decision, I think it was the bravest
dissuasion I have ever had to make in my life so far. I had to decide
if I wanted my father to see my face when he was brought out of the
house.
I decided yes! Yes, I wasn't afraid of him; I was going to show him my
face. I wanted him to know that I knew what had happened and that it
wasn't acceptable, and that later he couldn't cover it up with a
lie.
My father was arrested on February 8 2004 at 12:45 am.

Fifteen hundred American women are murder by husbands or boyfriends
each year. A third of all women's injuries coming in to emergency rooms
are no accident. Most are the results of deliberated, premeditated acts
of violence. And frequently they occur over and over until the women
are killed. Thirty four percent of women homicide victims over the age
of 15 are killed by their husbands, ex-husbands or boyfriends.
Approximately two thirds of reported domestic violence incidents are
classified as "simple assaults," which is a misdemeanor rather then a
felony. But up to 50 percent of these "simple assaults" result in
physical injuries that are as, or more serious then 9 percent of all
rapes, robberies, and aggravated assaults. Women ages 20 to 30, and
increasingly, adolescent girls are of the greatest risk. Battered women
increase their risk of murder when they try to escape. 1/3 of American
women report being physically or sexually abused by a husband or
boyfriend at some point in their life. For more information of domestic
violence you can contact the national domestic violence hotline at:
1-800-799-safe (7233) or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY)

a word from the writter: hi my names mikki. i am 15 years old. this
story isent finished yet but i want some reviews so far on what i'v
written. I want to know if people think my story will make it if i go
on and publish it. please email me at xoxoxo892@tahoo.com
thank you