She is dead, not them. Those babies died, not my boys. Those babies are in heaven, not my boys. What now? How crazy am I? I’m not crazy. I’m mourning.
I meet my guardian angel, Pauline, and she has some choice words for me. Who knew angels had such strong opinions?
I remember spending time with Marc before Eddy came and wondering how I could ever love another child like I did my first. I thought there may be no more room. But that was a strange thing. Love doesn’t fit inside your heart – it makes your heart grow.

Abusive husbands want us to be, think, and do everything like they do so they don’t have to worry about what we’re “up to” when we’re apart. They use anger, false love, and many other kinds of manipulation to control us.

Worthless. Poopy. Bad. Careful. Never mind. What is it to fear? In my head or in reality? No more babies. No more pregnancies. Good and Bad. Positive and Negative. Glad and Sad at some times mostly sad. Mad but no one to blame.

PTSD and depression developed during domestic abuse caused visions of my children dying or dead. Fear of life held me tight, but I didn’t understand why.

I know God will change me and my actions, but how do I make all this junk okay for our boys in the meantime? [Answer: I could not. I wish I’d left then, in 1998.]
And God, why do I feel alone in the world? Why is there such a distance between Will and me? Why doesn’t he want to hang out with his boys? Why am I the only one talking to our boys about you, but he’s the one who insists they be Catholic? Why do we have…
He got SO MAD at me! He said that we didn’t have the fucking money for a tow truck and told me to go away. As I walked away with tears in my eyes, he yelled something about What the HELL do you think YOU could do anyway?!