The Trial

PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) became an everyday thing in my life. Flash backs were a normal occurrence. At night, I struggled to go to sleep because I was in a constant state of hyper-alertness; sometimes I could feel the hair on my arms. Once I went to sleep, my dreams were interrupted by horrible nightmares that I usually could not remember. One night, I cried out in my sleep. My teen daughter came in and said, “Mom, are you okay?” I felt so badly that I had caused her a bad night’s sleep. I knew I needed to get into see a counselor, but there didn’t seem to be time.


We wanted to move all of Grandma’s things out of her apartment before Dad was released from jail, and we had no idea when that would be. The day I went up there with my Aunt was very stressful. My two younger children acted as lookouts. One watched out the front window and one watched out the back window. We were so afraid he would show up and become violent.

We packed the apartment in a hurry, taking her furniture and clothing. Anything of Dad’s that was on her furniture we placed on his bed. I called Mom and asked her if she wanted her dresser back – the one Dad had taken from her so many years before. She did, so I dumped the contents of the drawers on his bed. We left him quite the mess to clean up before he could use his bed – the only piece of furniture we didn’t take. The bed belonged to Grandma, but we connected it too much to him and left it. We forgot to go down to her basement storage locker and get the leaves to her table, but those are just things and we were in a hurry. We left the apartment relieved that he had not shown up.

Grandma missed Dad. She wanted to bail him out of jail, but we wouldn’t take her to do so. My aunt had a restraining order taken out against him which meant he couldn’t come to Grandma’s new apartment. My aunt found her an apartment in an assisted living center. She had her own studio apartment and had people around her. She had lived in her old building for over twenty years, so this was an adjustment for her. She was so cute one night. She commented on an elderly gentleman who lived in the center. She said, “Isn't he a fine looking man. Look at how straight his shoulders are.” I guess when a woman is ninety one things like straight shoulders are pretty important. One day she tried to escape with another resident. This other woman had a car and they snuck out and tried to leave. She said, “We almost got made it.” The other lady was not supposed to drive anymore.

We went to see her often, but she still worried about Dad. I told her what he had said to my daughter about her breasts. I reminded her that Dad was violent and that we wanted to keep her safe. She would call me at work and tell me she didn’t have any food. I would leave work to take her shopping, and while putting her groceries away find that everything she bought had a duplicate in the cupboard. I said, “Grandma, if you want me to come visit, I will. You don’t need to say you are out of food.”

“Well, I was worried you wouldn’t come," she said.

Dad spent sixty-two day in jail before they released him. The trial was still to come. I had been subpoenaed. We didn’t want Grandma to testify because she was so frail. The first court date would decide if we would be allowed to testify on her behalf. I was scared to death to testify, but I mustered up my courage – I didn’t want to be put in jail for not showing up. I was mentally prepared to see Dad in a courtroom with bailiffs and officers as protection. When I stepped off the elevator at the courthouse, there stood Dad. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach; I actually lost my breath. I stepped back into the elevator, closed the doors and went to a different floor. I was shaking and crying. I hurried to a bathroom to try to compose myself. My plan was to leave the bathroom, see if my cousin had arrived – if she was there, I would stay and testify. If she wasn’t there, I would leave the courthouse and go home. I was not strong enough to do this on my own. Damn the consequences – I couldn’t face him by myself.

When I left the restroom, the first person I ran into was my cousin. We were not allowed to be in the courtroom while other testimony was being given. At one point as we sat in the hall waiting to be called, Dad walked out to have a cigarette. His beautiful white hair was shaved off – he looked like an old cancer survivor. He did not make eye contact with either of us. She testified, and then I was called in. I was shaking so badly and trying not to cry. They asked me what Grandma had told me. Then they asked if this was hard for me to do. “Yes,” I answered. I told them that I had always tried to give Dad the benefit of the doubt. I had previously tried to maintain a relationship with him. I had thought my love for him would be enough, so yes it was hard. I didn’t tell the court about my memories, but the nightmares and flashbacks made me feel like a small child again – scared and wanting to hide from him.

The judge asked Dad’s attorney if he had any questions for me. The attorney began to speak, but Dad pulled on his hand, whispered something in his ear, and the attorney said, “Not at this time.”

The judge ruled that we would be able to testify on Grandma’s behalf. We were thankful. I received another summons to appear to testify. The only way I wouldn’t have to testify again would be if he entered an Alford plea which meant without pleading guilt, he acknowledged that there was enough evidence for the prosecution to convict him. We arrived at the courthouse ready to testify. I was a nervous wreck, but I didn’t want to see him get away with another crime. The jury was there. Dad was in a room with his attorney. At the last minute he took the plea deal. The jury was dismissed and we were allowed to go home. He only served the original sixty-two days for beating Grandma. He had to behave for eighteen months. I thought he should have served more time. He deserved more time. He quietly left the courthouse, went back to the apartment he had previously shared with Grandma, and did only God knows what.

I have not spoken to him since he called me from the jail. I wrote him a letter before I testified against him. I told him what I remembered about my abuse. I asked for clarification about his sickening friend. He wrote a letter professing his love for me, but peppered it with how mad he was that he had to spend sixty-two days in jail. After I testified against him, he wrote me a horrible letter cursing me and hoping for my demise. I think he wrote the nice letter hoping that I wouldn’t testify against him. The second letter contained his true feelings.

I talked to the DA about my memories. He said I had three years to press charges. He was very kind and allowed me to cry, but he said the chance of a conviction so many years after the fact was next to nothing. I opted to let it go. I wasn’t strong enough to face him in court again and watch him get away with everything he had done.