Posts (page 2)

After arriving in Yemen on April 12, 2006 and discovering that Ahmed was even meaner than he was before, I tried to stick it out. But after the end of the first week, I had had enough of him hitting, slapping, kicking, punching, pinching, andscreaming at my children. I believe that any mother who cares about her children could not stand by and watch what I watched him do to my children. After the end of the first week, I demanded that we leave Yemen and return to America.

Before I tell you how that conversation went, I first want to share some of what I saw and endured, but I understand that no words can describe the horrors that are now burned into my mind. But, I have to try. There were so many incidents, but I'll just share a few here.

Ahmed treated me badly, which didn't bother me too much because I went there so that he could see the kids and they could see him. He constantly blamed me for his time spent in jail. See, his original conviction was a conviction for domestic violence. When he was arrested in Oct. 2001 but the Dept of Homeland Security, the initial charge was that he was going to be deported because he had a DV conviction and a conviction for violating a protection order.

He had hit me so many times, starting right after we married, and I kept telling him that I would not tolerate being someone's punching bag. He didn't get it. I told him over and over and over again that, in AMERICA, it was against the law to hit a woman. He didn't understand or he didn't care, I don't know which. I left twice and went to battered women's shelters, but with no money, I had no place to go. The shelters permitted me to stay for 30 days, but the waiting list for housing assistance was 2 years long. After 30 days, I got kicked out, regardless of whether or not I had a place to go. Since I didn't have anywhere to go, I went back home to live with Ahmed.

One day in December 1998, however, we went to the mall to look at buying a treadmill since I had gained a lot of weight from my pregnancy with my second child, and I had my own money to be able to buy one. While we were in Sears, I chose the one I wanted. He didn't want to be there, and he was impatient and angry. When the salesman went into the back room to see if he had that one in stock, I saw another one with more features that was the same price. So when the salesman came back to the floor, I told him, "I think I'd like this one instead". He said he would have to go into the back and make sure they had it in stock. When he left, Ahmed freaked out. He grabbed me by my hair and said, "What's wrong with you? You already chose one. You're selfish, and you're bothering people and you're embarrassing me. We're leaving! You will NOT get a treadmill".

After countless fights with Ahmed, I had already learned not to fight back because it was always days of heartache with no chance of winning. So I just turned around and walked out of the mall and got into the car. He soon followed with the stroller and the two girls, and he put the girls in the back seat. He then got into the drivers seat, but wouldn't turn on the car. Instead, he started screaming in my face, telling me what a horrible woman I was, how selfish I was, how much I bothered people and embarassed him, how he couldn't take me anywhere, etc. He was screaming so loudly, and the girls were crying. Unfortunately, the girls had already seen too many episodes of his anger and knew that this was going to end up with him hitting their mother. My oldest daughter was always standing up against him to protect me, even though she KNEW that that would get her hit, as well. I wish to God I had found a way to leave and get away from him with my children early on, but I didn't. And this is how the story went.

I can't stand to hear my children cry, so I kept calm and just kept telling him, "Shut up, Ahmed". He continued his tantrum and his screaming. Several times I interjected and said, "Shut up Ahmed!". He got angrier and told me "How dare you speak to me like that? Do you know that, in India (his whole family is originally from India & Pakistan), women bow down and kiss their husband's feet every morning so they can remember their place? And you DARE speak to me like that?" After he continued on and on, I had had enough - the kids were hysterical now - and I screamed, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!".

That was it. He lost it. He grabbed my face with both hands and left 10 red welts down my face. He grabbed my coat and twisted it, trying to choke me with it around the neck. I grabbed the door handle, trying to get out of the car, but he pulled the twisted neck of my coat tighter, hit me in the face, then reached over to keep the door locked so I couldn't get out. I was losing my breath, and I struggled harder. I finally got the door open and fell out onto the pavement. I ran back into the mall.

I was breathing hard and crying, and I ran into a policeman standing near the front door of the mall. He stopped me and asked me what was wrong. I told him my husband had hit me. He told me to come back to his office, so I did. In the office, he asked me what had happened, and I told him. He said, "Do you want to press charges?" I said, "No. I just wish I cold find another place to stay". He said, "Well, there are red marks all over your face and neck, and I am required by law to press charges."

When Ahmed came back into the mall looking for me, the police found him and handcuffed him on the spot. They brought him back into the office where I was sitting, and he started yelling at me, telling me "What lies have you told them? I didn't do anything to you, you ungrateful bitch!". Because he was so angry and hostile, the police told him to be quiet and promptly removed him from the room and took him straight to jail.

I was horrified, because I felt so guilty. Looking back on it, I realize how stupid I was, but at the time, all I could think of was how much angrier he was going to be when he got out and how this might ruin his chances of finding his dream life in America, which was his main goal. So I took the girls and went home.

He called me from jail and was so very, very angry. He told me that he was going to make me pay for what I had done. He told me time and time again how he didn't do anything wrong and I was such a bitch to do this to him for no reason, etc. He told me to go talk to the judge and the prosecutor and "fix what you've done". I was scared, so I left the house and went to a shelter, because I didn't want to be there to take his wrath when he got out the next day.

After my 30 days were up at the shelter, I went back home, as I explained earlier. He told me to get the charges dropped. So I made an appointment with the prosecutor and went to see him and asked him to drop the charges. He refused. I then went and talked with the judge and asked the same thing. She refused. Court day came, and I stood beside him in front of the judge and tried to tell the judge that it was all a misunderstanding, and that he just didn't know better since he came from a country where that behavior is normal. They didn't buy it, and he was convicted and got a suspended sentence. It was over. Or so we thought.

So anyway, back to being in Yemen. Because I knew how mean he used to be, I was used to handling his anger and his violence. But what I couldn't handle was his anger and violence directed at my children - the same kids he hadn't seen in 4 years.

When he refused to honor any of the promises that he had made to my kids, my oldest daughter went to him one day and said, "You're supposed to be a man of your word. You lied". He could not tolerate his child speaking to him like that, and he quickly grabbed her and punched her down onto the ground. I went to grab her and get her away from him, but he picked her up by one arm and put her in the guest room. I followed. In the room, he shut the door so the rest of his family wouldn't see him (he only hits behind closed doors where no one can see what he does). When he was in jail, he spent 4 years lifting weights, and his biceps were HUGE. He had my daughter on the floor and was bent over top of her with both fists closed and was just pummeling her furiously with both fists. He was punching her so hard, the sound of those landed punches is completely indescribable. I jumped on his back to try to get him off of her. She was screaming, "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" at the top of her lungs with her eyes full of tears, but trying so hard not to let him see her cry. That made him angrier, and he hit her faster and harder. I feared he was going to kill her right then - right there. I jumped on his back and grabbed his neck, trying to pry him off of her, and he flipped around, grabbed me by the neck, and threw me against the far wall with the one hand grasping my neck. Ihit the wall and fell down, and he jumped up, grabbed me by the hair, opened the door and threw me out of the room, shut the door and locked it. Inside, I could hear those god-awful fists pounding my daughter and my daughter was screaming, "MAMA! MAMA! MAA-MAAAAH!" and I couldn't get to her. He had the door locked, and all I could do was stand outside the door and listen to my children get pummelled by a man who was 4 times her size, screaming for my help, while I coldn't help her. Let me just say this, NO CHILD SHOULD EVER HAVE TO GO THROUGH ANYTHING LIKE THIS! No child deserves that, and no mother could possibly stand by and let it happen.

He continued punching her in that room until he tired himself out. I don't know how long it took, but it seemed like an eternity. Then he opened the door and came out, but shut it behind him, leaving my daughter to sit in there and cry, uncomforted, all by herself. She kept trying to come out, and he'd step in and hit her some more and tell her to "STAY IN HERE BY YOURSELF AND THINK ABOUT HOW BAD YOU ARE!" He guarded the door so I couldn't get in to hold her and help her or see how badly she was hurt.

After it was all over, the rest of his family members came down to see what all the noise was about. I told them what he had done. He stood there, in front of them all, and said to them, "I swear by Allah that I never touched them. She's a liar". He told them my daughter was being bad and wouldn't let them go into the room to see my daughter. For some odd reason that I'll never understand, they never stand up to Ahmed. They all just obey him and treat him like he's a God. They purposefully try to just do what he ways and never make him angry. I know now that that's why he loves them so much and hates us. He needs total control and total awe and respect, and he cannot tolerate anyone who doesn't give that to him all the time. His family does that. In their eyes, Ahmed can do nothing wrong.

So this is the kicker - after Ahmed told them that he hadn't done anything, his brother said to me, "We know Ahmed would never hit anyone. You need to go away and calm down. Ahmed didn't do anything". I just stood there, totally stunned.

Incidences like this happened every day, all day, whenever he was home. I won't describe anymore, but there is one more incident which deserves mention.

Ahmed went to work every morning at 8 am, and he came home at 1 pm. While he was gone, my kids and I took the opportunity to play and have fun together, which was NOT allowed when he was home. One day, we were in the middle of a game of hide-and-seek when the front gate clicked, indicating that someone was coming home. My 5-year-old son was laughing and playing hard, enjoying the chance to play hide-and-seek when all of a sudden, he stood up and got the most horrified expression on his face. His eyes got as large as golfballs, and he stood there, just totally terror-stricken. I had not heard the gate click, because we were busy playing, but he had heard it. It was such a dramatic change - one second laughing and playing so excitedly, and the next minute, standing there looking as if he had just been stabbed.

I said, "What's wrong? What is it?" He was trembling, and he said, "Baba's home. I gotta go hide", and he immediately ran and hid under the bed. (Baba is Arabic for "dad"). I stood there in that moment and the full realization of Ahmed's behavior on my children hit me dead in the face. A precious, exuberant, lively, smart little 5-year-old boy, weighing only 30 pounds, was so terror-stricken by the thought of his father coming home. I knew what I had to do. I had to get my kids away from their father. I wasn't going to wait untilt he end of the summer, as we had planned to do.

I told Ahmed that we were going to take our return tickets and go home. That's when the real nightmare began....

After arriving in Yemen on April 12, 2006, our first day didn't go well because Ahmed showed me immediately that he was NOT, as he had claimed so many times, a changed man. He was not interested in seeing his children or spending time with them, after not having seen them in 4 years, and he was still, to my dismay, a violent man.

It was a long trip, however, and he had paid over $5000 for the round-trip plane tickets, so I decided to try to make the best of it, knowing that it would only be for the summer. We were supposed to go back home to the States before the kids started school in August.

The first week was a miserable one, because Ahmed was mean and cruel and abusive to me and the kids every single day. He demanded that the kids stay away from him and listen to his every command the first time he said it without ever speaking back to him. I had always encouraged my kids to express their feelings and opinions - the good and the bad, because I don't think it's healthy for kids to have to learn to bottle up their emotions or to only say those things which people want them to say. I've taught them respect, but I taught them that respect is a two-way street - respect is something you earn. I also spent years stressing the need to "be a man of your word", meaning, if you say you're gonig to do something, then you better do it. It's one of our mottoes.

None of the things I taught them prepared them for life in Yemen with their father. In his world, he was God. He wanted nothing more than respect and fear and total submission from anyone around him, demanding respect without giving any in return. He constantly made promises and said he would do things, but never fulfilled his promises. For example, he had promised to play with them, but after our arrival, he refused any type of such "frivolity". He wanted his kids to be "out of sight and out of mind". He said there were tons of toys at his house, but when we arrived, we discovered that there was not one single toy for them to play with, and he refused to spend ANY money on them for anything. We didn't bring many clothes, because he told them he would buy them all new clothes. After arriving, he claimed that he didn't have money to buy them clothes. He did make his sister, however, who is a doctor, to go buy them some clothes to wear.

That was a disaster. When shopping in America, I let my children choose what clothes they liked. In Yemen when they went clothes shopping with Ahmed and his sister, my children were excited to pick some clothes for themselves. However, he got angry, because, in his mind, kids are not allowed to have an opinion, and they were not allowed to choose what they wanted. They were ESPECIALLY not allowed to state their opinions or ask for something.

I soon found out why he told me not to bring any clothes to Yemen. In America, the girls wore shorts and dresses and short-sleeved shirts. In Yemen, he wanted them to be completely covered from head to foot - only long sleeves, long pants, etc. Yemen is a very, very hot place, especially for us Ohioans who are used to cold weather most of the year. Wearing heavy, long-sleeved shirts and pants in 100-degree weather is absurd, in my opinion. The kids definitely felt that way, too. That got them into trouble, as they protested against the clothes he picked out and were punished and hit for daring to speak to him as an equal. Each child only got two outfits, meaning their total wardrobe consisted of approximately 4 outfits total.

The living arrangements were also very hard to deal with. His house is a 3-story concrete box surrounded by a 10-foot concrete wall (because women aren't to be seen there). On the first floor, there are 3 bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Each bedroom is about 12 feet sqaure. One bedroom is occupied by his sister. The second bedroom is occupied by his father and his schizophrenic brother. The 5 of us shared the remaining bedroom, and all 5 of us were relegated to sleep in the one bed, which is smaller than the average twin-size bed in America.

I suppose they didn't want to buy the kids very many clothes because there was nowhere to store any clothes. There was one wardrobe in the bedroom that contains 5 small shelves. Each of us got one shelf to put all their clothes and belongings on. It is very cramped, and there is no privacy whatsoever. The second floor is inhabited by Ahmed's brother and his wife and chidlren, and the third floor is occupied by his other brother, his wife, and their 3 children. There are also two guest rooms on the first floor where they meet their guests - one for women and one for men. These two rooms were to be kept "spotless at all times", since guests could stop by at any time. As a result, there was no room for my kids to run around and play, and after being used to having their own rooms and their own space, the cramped quarters gave them no space to get away from their brother and sister, and their own tempers started to flare as a result.

Ahmed made it clear that we were not allowed to leave the house beyond the front gate, claiming that "They really hate Americans here and you are not safe". We became prisoners inside those 4 concrete walls surrounding his house, since he would never take the time to take us outside for a walk, except on rare occasions.

When we did go out, he made me wear the long, black robe that all the women are forced to wear, and the headscarf. I told him that I don't believe in wearing the scarf, in fact I am adamantly opposed to it and what it represents to me. We fought about that, but he would not let me leave without wearing the scarf and the heavy, black robe - which is very difficult when it's 100 degrees! Once again, he got what he wanted, as he always does. He never gives up until he gets people to do what he wants, when he wants it, and how he wants it done.

In the last post that tells my story, I told about how my husband had not seen his children in 4 years because he was incarcerated and how, after being deported, he begged me to bring the kids to see him, since he couldn't enter the United States anymore. I reluctantly agreed, and we left America to fly to Yemen on April 10, 2006.

As I was preparing for the trip, I could not find anyone who was willing to house the boxes of my belongings, and I couldn't afford to keep my apartment in Ohio while staying overseas. I didn't have enough money to rent a storage unit, so when I left with the kids to go visit their father, I walked out and left everything I owned behind in the apartment that I was losing. My pictures, my household items, and all the clothes that didn't fit into one suitcase were left behind. Since there was no one to keep them while I was gone, I had no choice. I did it because I felt bad for him - I'll call him Ahmed. I knew how I would feel if I hadn't been able to see my children for 4 years, and I felt really bad for him. I put his feelings above the feelings of my own daughter, who was dead-set against going to see him. I also felt that they needed to know who their father was, since they were too young to remember much about him when he was arrested and taken away to jail.

I was so wrong.

We arrived in his country on April 12, 2006. We went to his house and promptly fell asleep from the 2-day trip. The next day, the kids awoke with enthusiasm and high expectations, because he had made so many promises to them on the phone in the previous 6 months. He had promised my son that he would wrestle with him and teach him to play soccer. My son's favorite game was "horsey" - where I would get down on hands and knees, he would climb onto my back, and he would ride his "horsey" around the house, telling me where to go and what to do. Ahmed promised to play horsey with him, and he was too excited about that.

As we were preparing for the trip, Ahmed told me not to bring any clothes for the kids because he had money, and when we arrived, he would buy them all brand new clothes. My daughters were eager to go shopping and get some new clothes, as money had been very tight while he was in jail, and it had been a while since they had gotten any new clothes. He promised my oldest daughter a cell phone of her very own, and he told my middle daughter that he would get her the horse that she had been wanting for so long.

Enthusiasm soon turned to tears, however, all in the first day after our arrival. After the kids woke up on that first day and ate breakfast, they ran to Ahmed and wanted to play with him. He was sitting on his bed reading his Arabic newspaper, and he didn't want to be bothered. When they persisted in seeking his attention, he threw his newspaper across the room, grabbed my little 5-year-old boy and threw him off the bed and screamed, "Get away from me! I don't play anymore! Go away!".

I had always given attention to my children whenever they needed it, so they, of course, didn't understand that Ahmed wasn't joking. So, they persisted. They climbed back up on the bed and again asked to go play with him, asked for him to tickle them, and asked to go outside with him. Now he was enraged, because they didn't listen and go away immediately as he had instructed. He got more violent, and he hit each and every one of them and pushed them out of the room and shut the door.

They were stunned and hurt. They all cried. I yelled at him, asking him how he could treat them like that after not having seen them for FOUR YEARS! He could care less, however, and started blaming me for raising "his" children to be so disrespctful. He told me "Here, children listen to adults the first time, without ever talking back or saying a word. Children are not allowed to speak to adults, other than when asked a question or spoken to. You've made my children bad. No child should ever have to be told twice to go away".

He had missed the point. It wasn't about whether they know how listen to adults, it was about the fact that they wanted to be near him, and he responded with cruelness and violence. Their feelings didn't matter at all to him. The worst part was that he hit them. He had said on the phone for the previous 6 months, that he was a "changed man" and that he would not hit anymore. And now here we were - in his country, on the first day, and he hit them. I was irate. I knew immediately that I had made the wrong choice, and that I should not have brought them to his country to see him.

Next post: Life in Yemen 

When I was around 18, I made a promise to myself. I swore that I would live life deliberately so that when I got older, I wouldn’t have any regrets. Well, now I’m in my late 30’s, and I was doing well with that promise until I trusted my husband. Now I have several regrets, and these regrets are HUGE.

They say hindsight is 20/20, and it’s certainly true. Knowing what I know now, I regret staying with my husband and standing up and fighting for him, even though he was mean and abusive. I regret that I didn’t get out and walk away sooner.

Everyone lives and learns from their experiences, so that isn’t really my biggest regret. My biggest regrets have to do with my children. When my children were young, I was severely stressed out, and in reality, it had nothing to do with them. I was so frustrated and angry at my husband, and I let it seep out in my interactions with my children.

One incident is indelibly imprinted in my mind. When my oldest daughter was 3 years old, she was, even then, very advanced. One morning, I had not slept much the night before, and as a result, I wouldn’t get out of bed. She decided that she wanted to help me, and she went into the kitchen and cooked scrambled eggs. She knew she wasn’t allowed to touch a hot pan, so after she cooked them, she came to me in bed. She kept trying to wake me up, and I got angry that she was waking me up. I’ve always hated to be woken up when I’m so very tired.

I’ll never forget that moment. She crawled up on the bed and kept shaking me to wake up. I looked at her big, brown eyes staring down at me, and she was so excited as she said, “Mama, I made you some eggs. Can you get the pan off the stove for me because it’s hot”. God knows I will never understand why I did what I did. I was half awake, and I was angry for having been awakened (which is no excuse). I grabbed her by the arm, yelled at her for waking me up, carried her to the kitchen, yelling all the way about how tired I was and how she should know better than to wake me up, etc. When I got to the kitchen, I impetuously grabbed the pan of scrambled eggs that she had so carefully created - and I THREW IT ACROSS THE ROOM! The eggs went flying all over the floor, and I will never, ever forget the horrified look on her face. She started crying and ran away, and I went back to bed.

She remembers that incident to this very day, and she has mentioned it to me more than once. I wish to God I could take it back. I wish I could understand why, in that moment, I let my own selfish needs supercede her need for love and approval.

Now my daughter is gone. I would give my life in an instant if I could just see her or hug her or tell her how special she is and how much I love her. I may never get that chance, but neither can I ever remove that memory from her mind - or mine.

As parents, sometimes we get frustrated or tired and we react to our children in a way that is NOT what they deserve. Even though my actions and my state of mind had nothing to do with my daughter, her reaction was one of utter rejection. I made her feel bad about herself. I will never forgive myself for that.

You never know what tomorrow may bring or how long you get to hold on to your child. My advice to all parents would be to cherish each and every moment. Make them feel loved and valued each and every day. Don’t take your personal problems out on them.

My children are gone, and I am left with that memory and that intense regret.

Mostly, I’ve loved and cherished my children every day of their lives, but there were times when I’d get so frustrated and tired, and I’d snap at them for no reason. Those are the moments I remember the most. I would do anything to take them back, but I can’t. I see parents in stores these days with their own children, and sometimes I see them get frustrated when the child is aking for things. I see the parents get snappy and yell or even hit their child. It’s those times I just want to run up to the parent and say, “Be patient with them. Hug them. Tell them in a nice way that you just can’t get that for them right now. They might be gone tomorrow and these are the memories you will have”. But of course, I can’t tell anyone else how to interact with their children, so I keep my mouth shut.

I broke my promise to myself. I definitely have regrets.

So, at the end of the first week after arriving in Yemen, I had had enough and told Akmed that I was taking the kids and going home. He got angry (of course) and said that I couldn't leave. He had the plane tickets and wouldn't give them to me. He said, "I didn't pay over $5000 for plane tickets for you to come for a week and leave, and they're my kids, too. They're staying here all summer". I knew that it was a lot of money, and I figured maybe I had just overreacted, and I agreed to stay for the summer.

But things continued and even got worse.

The kids were not allowed to play, because everything they did "embarrassed him" or "messed up the house". The only time I could be a mother to my kids was between 8 am and 1 pm while he was at work. When he came home and the kids were near me, he'd yell at the and tell them to "get away from me" because I was a "bad woman". Everytime they wanted to tell me something, he had a problem with it. He wouldn't let me pick them up or let them sit on my lap. When I went outside in the yard, he made them stay inside and not follow me. There was absolutely nothing to do, and they were bored. I was so frustrated because all I wanted to do was hold thenm, hug them, and play with them, but he stepped in every moment of every day to keep them at a distance from me.

One time, we were so bored, so I found an old, long board in the back of his house, as well as an old rusty 55-gallon barrel. I told the kids, "I know! We can make a teeter-totter and see-saw". They thought that was a great idea, so we took the board and put it on the barrel and started to see-saw. They were laughing and having fun, which was a rare event ever since arriving in Yemen, and we were all having fun. But the board kept moving with the up-anddown motion, and it slid backwards toward the concrete wall of the fence that surrounds the house. Leaning up against the wall was one of those old, large satellite dishes, and the see-saw bumped it and knowcked it down. We all jumped off as it fell and ran to avoid getting hit by it. Whe it fell, it was loud, landing with a huge "BOOM!". The kids and I laughed. That lasted less than a minute, though, because Ahmed came running out of the house yelling, "What did you do? The neighbors can see you (over the ten-foot wall??)! HOW DARE YOU EMBARRASS ME! Don't come back here anymore! Get inside". And then he punished the kids.

His first thought was not, "What happened? Are you okay?" His first and only thought was, "How dare you embarrass me!" He didn't care that his kids were bored and had nothing to do. He could have cared less that they were having a few minutes that put smiles on their faces. The ONLY thing that mattered to him was whether or not strangers might think something bad about him.

So we learned early on that the only time we could spend time together doing things and trying to have fun was while he was at work. The remainder of the days were always very miserable, thanks to his anger and horrible attitude.

When he was at work on day, I told the kids, "I have a camcorder. I know - we can make a skit show like Saturday Night Live". They thought that was a great idea, and so they got to work. We decided to name it the SLAM how - using each one of our initials. Then they set about making up skits and practicing them. Then we filmed it, and they had a blast. Of course, everything had to be cleaned up and put away before Ahmed came home from work, so it took several days to get it finished, but we did it, he never knew about it, and they had fun. That's the important part - they had fun. Anyone who wants to view our show can see it on youtube, but it's private, so you'll have to email me so I can add you to the list to be able to see it.

By the end of May - 6 weeks after arriving, I could NOT stay there any longer. His violence against the kids was out of control, and we needed to leave. So once again, I begged for the tickets. This time, his argument for not giving me the tickets was that I had given up my apartment to go to Yemen, and I couldn't take the kids back without having a place to stay once I got back. I said we could stay with friends once we got back until we got another apartment, but he wouldn't accept that. He told me to go back by myself and get an apartment, then come back and get the kids. Reluctantly, I agreed.

I left Yemen on June 2, 2006 by myself to go home and get an apartment set up. Leaving my kids there killed me, but it was the only way I was going to get the tickets from him to bring them home. SO I came home, got a job, and got an apartment. Within a month, I emailed Ahmed, telling him I had the apartment, that I had a ticket to come back to Yemen on Aug. 9, and that the kids needed to be home before Aug. 28 because that's when school started.

He responded, saying "Why are you trying to take my kids away from me? These are my kids, and they will never leave Yemen. There are no more plane tickets. I cashed them in. The kids are staying here with me."

Now, mind you, before going to Yemen, he promised me over and over and over again that he would not try to keep the kids there. I have the emails where he says it over and over. And he said, "Even if I wanted to keep them here, my family wouldn't let me keep them against their will". I had believed him. I was so wrong.

I was so angry and fought with him every day until I arrived back in Yemen on Aug. 9. I did everything to try to convince him to honor his promise to us. My oldest daughter was so distraught. When he told her she couldn't ever leave Yemen, she sat and cried and was screaming this God-awful scream, a scream that I will never forget. It was this deep scream that wouldn't end that came from the depths of her soul. This is the little girl who refused to go to Yemen in the first place and who didn't want to go see her father. I had made her go. She was screaming and crying and telling him, "You can't make me stay here. I hate you! I hate it here! If you make me stay here, I swear to God I will kill myself! I'll be dead by morning, I promise you!" (she was 9 at the time, and she was serious).

Instead of recognizing her distress and trying to talk with her or express concern for her feelings and opinions, he simply walked over to her, hit her hard in the face, told her to "Shut up and stop crying" and then walked away and disappeared into the house. He couldn't care less what was best for the kids or what they wanted or anything.

The kids don't speak any Arabic, and there are no English-speaking schools in his city. He planned on sending them to an Arabic-speaking school, knowing that they wouldn't be able to understand anything anyone was saying. Also, the educational standards in Yemen are poor, and education is mostly focused on Islam and memorizing the Koran. It didn't matter to him that my kids had been excelling in school. The oldest was prepareing to enter the National Spelling Bee in America and had already spent months studying the words. She had made an invention and was prepared to enter the Toshiba inventors competition. The had girl scouts and friends and swimming lessons here, and nothing even available there. Most of all, they didn't want to be there. They wanted to come home.

He wouldn't listen to any of it, and he didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him was that he look like a respectable man in the comunity, and to him, that meant having kids and raising them to be "good Muslims". It didn't matter if they had a better life, a better education, or a better chances in America. Their needs and wants matter nothing to him. The only thing that matters is that people look up to him and think that he's "upper class" and that they respect him. And for him, like I said, having kids and making sure they can recite the Koran from memory is what makes him look respectable to other people.

Of course, he made them sit and memorize chapters from the Koran every single day. They didn't understand a word of it, since it's all in Arabic, but even when they asked him what it meant, he simply told them, "Just memorize it and say it when asked". His only concern was that they memorize it so he could show other people how his kids could recite the Koran inArabic, thereby making other people think what a great man he must be. He made them sit there and recite it for hours, and they'd cry and rebel, and he'd get angry and hit them and make them do what he wanted them to do.

I tried to come up with any solution whatsoever. My kids didn't want to be in Yemen, and frankly, I couldn't stand it there, either. I told him, "Just because you can't go back to the United States doesn't mean we can't go somewhere else. There are over 283 coutnries in this world. Let's move to a different country". We hadboth lived in Japan before and had friends there. We could move there. He has family in Canada and India. We could go there. We could move anywhere. He wouldn't hear of it. His answer was just "No. We're staying in Yemen", and then he'd walk away.

He went through my belongings while I was sleeping, and he took the kids' passports and destroyed them. I also found out that he had gone somewhere and gotten a travel ban on the kids. That meant that the kids were not allowed to leave Yemen without written permission from him. I didn't know about this until later, and I was so enraged that a man who doesn't even have custody of the kids can go and get a government document without anyone consulting the mother or even telling the mother about it. At this point, there was no way to get the kids out of Yemen.

Out of options, I decided to go back to the States and fight from there, thinking that I would have more options to get the kids home. But then I found out that he had put a travel ban on me, as well, and I was not allowed to leave Yemen. I'll talk about that in the next post...

After arriving in Yemen on April 12, 2006 and discovering that Ahmed was even meaner than he was before, I tried to stick it out. But after the end of the first week, I had had enough of him hitting, slapping, kicking, punching, pinching, andscreaming at my children. I believe that any mother who cares about her children could not stand by and watch what I watched him do to my children. After the end of the first week, I demanded that we leave Yemen and return to America.

Before I tell you how that conversation went, I first want to share some of what I saw and endured, but I understand that no words can describe the horrors that are now burned into my mind. But, I have to try. There were so many incidents, but I'll just share a few here.

Ahmed treated me badly, which didn't bother me too much because I went there so that he could see the kids and they could see him. He constantly blamed me for his time spent in jail. See, his original conviction was a conviction for domestic violence. When he was arrested in Oct. 2001 but the Dept of Homeland Security, the initial charge was that he was going to be deported because he had a DV conviction and a conviction for violating a protection order.

He had hit me so many times, starting right after we married, and I kept telling him that I would not tolerate being someone's punching bag. He didn't get it. I told him over and over and over again that, in AMERICA, it was against the law to hit a woman. He didn't understand or he didn't care, I don't know which. I left twice and went to battered women's shelters, but with no money, I had no place to go. The shelters permitted me to stay for 30 days, but the waiting list for housing assistance was 2 years long. After 30 days, I got kicked out, regardless of whether or not I had a place to go. Since I didn't have anywhere to go, I went back home to live with Ahmed.

One day in December 1998, however, we went to the mall to look at buying a treadmill since I had gained a lot of weight from my pregnancy with my second child, and I had my own money to be able to buy one. While we were in Sears, I chose the one I wanted. He didn't want to be there, and he was impatient and angry. When the salesman went into the back room to see if he had that one in stock, I saw another one with more features that was the same price. So when the salesman came back to the floor, I told him, "I think I'd like this one instead". He said he would have to go into the back and make sure they had it in stock. When he left, Ahmed freaked out. He grabbed me by my hair and said, "What's wrong with you? You already chose one. You're selfish, and you're bothering people and you're embarrassing me. We're leaving! You will NOT get a treadmill".

After countless fights with Ahmed, I had already learned not to fight back because it was always days of heartache with no chance of winning. So I just turned around and walked out of the mall and got into the car. He soon followed with the stroller and the two girls, and he put the girls in the back seat. He then got into the drivers seat, but wouldn't turn on the car. Instead, he started screaming in my face, telling me what a horrible woman I was, how selfish I was, how much I bothered people and embarassed him, how he couldn't take me anywhere, etc. He was screaming so loudly, and the girls were crying. Unfortunately, the girls had already seen too many episodes of his anger and knew that this was going to end up with him hitting their mother. My oldest daughter was always standing up against him to protect me, even though she KNEW that that would get her hit, as well. I wish to God I had found a way to leave and get away from him with my children early on, but I didn't. And this is how the story went.

I can't stand to hear my children cry, so I kept calm and just kept telling him, "Shut up, Ahmed". He continued his tantrum and his screaming. Several times I interjected and said, "Shut up Ahmed!". He got angrier and told me "How dare you speak to me like that? Do you know that, in India (his whole family is originally from India & Pakistan), women bow down and kiss their husband's feet every morning so they can remember their place? And you DARE speak to me like that?" After he continued on and on, I had had enough - the kids were hysterical now - and I screamed, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!".

That was it. He lost it. He grabbed my face with both hands and left 10 red welts down my face. He grabbed my coat and twisted it, trying to choke me with it around the neck. I grabbed the door handle, trying to get out of the car, but he pulled the twisted neck of my coat tighter, hit me in the face, then reached over to keep the door locked so I couldn't get out. I was losing my breath, and I struggled harder. I finally got the door open and fell out onto the pavement. I ran back into the mall.

I was breathing hard and crying, and I ran into a policeman standing near the front door of the mall. He stopped me and asked me what was wrong. I told him my husband had hit me. He told me to come back to his office, so I did. In the office, he asked me what had happened, and I told him. He said, "Do you want to press charges?" I said, "No. I just wish I cold find another place to stay". He said, "Well, there are red marks all over your face and neck, and I am required by law to press charges."

When Ahmed came back into the mall looking for me, the police found him and handcuffed him on the spot. They brought him back into the office where I was sitting, and he started yelling at me, telling me "What lies have you told them? I didn't do anything to you, you ungrateful bitch!". Because he was so angry and hostile, the police told him to be quiet and promptly removed him from the room and took him straight to jail.

I was horrified, because I felt so guilty. Looking back on it, I realize how stupid I was, but at the time, all I could think of was how much angrier he was going to be when he got out and how this might ruin his chances of finding his dream life in America, which was his main goal. So I took the girls and went home.

He called me from jail and was so very, very angry. He told me that he was going to make me pay for what I had done. He told me time and time again how he didn't do anything wrong and I was such a bitch to do this to him for no reason, etc. He told me to go talk to the judge and the prosecutor and "fix what you've done". I was scared, so I left the house and went to a shelter, because I didn't want to be there to take his wrath when he got out the next day.

After my 30 days were up at the shelter, I went back home, as I explained earlier. He told me to get the charges dropped. So I made an appointment with the prosecutor and went to see him and asked him to drop the charges. He refused. I then went and talked with the judge and asked the same thing. She refused. Court day came, and I stood beside him in front of the judge and tried to tell the judge that it was all a misunderstanding, and that he just didn't know better since he came from a country where that behavior is normal. They didn't buy it, and he was convicted and got a suspended sentence. It was over. Or so we thought.

So anyway, back to being in Yemen. Because I knew how mean he used to be, I was used to handling his anger and his violence. But what I couldn't handle was his anger and violence directed at my children - the same kids he hadn't seen in 4 years.

When he refused to honor any of the promises that he had made to my kids, my oldest daughter went to him one day and said, "You're supposed to be a man of your word. You lied". He could not tolerate his child speaking to him like that, and he quickly grabbed her and punched her down onto the ground. I went to grab her and get her away from him, but he picked her up by one arm and put her in the guest room. I followed. In the room, he shut the door so the rest of his family wouldn't see him (he only hits behind closed doors where no one can see what he does). When he was in jail, he spent 4 years lifting weights, and his biceps were HUGE. He had my daughter on the floor and was bent over top of her with both fists closed and was just pummeling her furiously with both fists. He was punching her so hard, the sound of those landed punches is completely indescribable. I jumped on his back to try to get him off of her. She was screaming, "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" at the top of her lungs with her eyes full of tears, but trying so hard not to let him see her cry. That made him angrier, and he hit her faster and harder. I feared he was going to kill her right then - right there. I jumped on his back and grabbed his neck, trying to pry him off of her, and he flipped around, grabbed me by the neck, and threw me against the far wall with the one hand grasping my neck. Ihit the wall and fell down, and he jumped up, grabbed me by the hair, opened the door and threw me out of the room, shut the door and locked it. Inside, I could hear those god-awful fists pounding my daughter and my daughter was screaming, "MAMA! MAMA! MAA-MAAAAH!" and I couldn't get to her. He had the door locked, and all I could do was stand outside the door and listen to my children get pummelled by a man who was 4 times her size, screaming for my help, while I coldn't help her. Let me just say this, NO CHILD SHOULD EVER HAVE TO GO THROUGH ANYTHING LIKE THIS! No child deserves that, and no mother could possibly stand by and let it happen.

He continued punching her in that room until he tired himself out. I don't know how long it took, but it seemed like an eternity. Then he opened the door and came out, but shut it behind him, leaving my daughter to sit in there and cry, uncomforted, all by herself. She kept trying to come out, and he'd step in and hit her some more and tell her to "STAY IN HERE BY YOURSELF AND THINK ABOUT HOW BAD YOU ARE!" He guarded the door so I couldn't get in to hold her and help her or see how badly she was hurt.

After it was all over, the rest of his family members came down to see what all the noise was about. I told them what he had done. He stood there, in front of them all, and said to them, "I swear by Allah that I never touched them. She's a liar". He told them my daughter was being bad and wouldn't let them go into the room to see my daughter. For some odd reason that I'll never understand, they never stand up to Ahmed. They all just obey him and treat him like he's a God. They purposefully try to just do what he ways and never make him angry. I know now that that's why he loves them so much and hates us. He needs total control and total awe and respect, and he cannot tolerate anyone who doesn't give that to him all the time. His family does that. In their eyes, Ahmed can do nothing wrong.

So this is the kicker - after Ahmed told them that he hadn't done anything, his brother said to me, "We know Ahmed would never hit anyone. You need to go away and calm down. Ahmed didn't do anything". I just stood there, totally stunned.

Incidences like this happened every day, all day, whenever he was home. I won't describe anymore, but there is one more incident which deserves mention.

Ahmed went to work every morning at 8 am, and he came home at 1 pm. While he was gone, my kids and I took the opportunity to play and have fun together, which was NOT allowed when he was home. One day, we were in the middle of a game of hide-and-seek when the front gate clicked, indicating that someone was coming home. My 5-year-old son was laughing and playing hard, enjoying the chance to play hide-and-seek when all of a sudden, he stood up and got the most horrified expression on his face. His eyes got as large as golfballs, and he stood there, just totally terror-stricken. I had not heard the gate click, because we were busy playing, but he had heard it. It was such a dramatic change - one second laughing and playing so excitedly, and the next minute, standing there looking as if he had just been stabbed.

I said, "What's wrong? What is it?" He was trembling, and he said, "Baba's home. I gotta go hide", and he immediately ran and hid under the bed. (Baba is Arabic for "dad"). I stood there in that moment and the full realization of Ahmed's behavior on my children hit me dead in the face. A precious, exuberant, lively, smart little 5-year-old boy, weighing only 30 pounds, was so terror-stricken by the thought of his father coming home. I knew what I had to do. I had to get my kids away from their father. I wasn't going to wait untilt he end of the summer, as we had planned to do.

I told Ahmed that we were going to take our return tickets and go home. That's when the real nightmare began....

After arriving in Yemen on April 12, 2006, our first day didn't go well because Ahmed showed me immediately that he was NOT, as he had claimed so many times, a changed man. He was not interested in seeing his children or spending time with them, after not having seen them in 4 years, and he was still, to my dismay, a violent man.

It was a long trip, however, and he had paid over $5000 for the round-trip plane tickets, so I decided to try to make the best of it, knowing that it would only be for the summer. We were supposed to go back home to the States before the kids started school in August.

The first week was a miserable one, because Ahmed was mean and cruel and abusive to me and the kids every single day. He demanded that the kids stay away from him and listen to his every command the first time he said it without ever speaking back to him. I had always encouraged my kids to express their feelings and opinions - the good and the bad, because I don't think it's healthy for kids to have to learn to bottle up their emotions or to only say those things which people want them to say. I've taught them respect, but I taught them that respect is a two-way street - respect is something you earn. I also spent years stressing the need to "be a man of your word", meaning, if you say you're gonig to do something, then you better do it. It's one of our mottoes.

None of the things I taught them prepared them for life in Yemen with their father. In his world, he was God. He wanted nothing more than respect and fear and total submission from anyone around him, demanding respect without giving any in return. He constantly made promises and said he would do things, but never fulfilled his promises. For example, he had promised to play with them, but after our arrival, he refused any type of such "frivolity". He wanted his kids to be "out of sight and out of mind". He said there were tons of toys at his house, but when we arrived, we discovered that there was not one single toy for them to play with, and he refused to spend ANY money on them for anything. We didn't bring many clothes, because he told them he would buy them all new clothes. After arriving, he claimed that he didn't have money to buy them clothes. He did make his sister, however, who is a doctor, to go buy them some clothes to wear.

That was a disaster. When shopping in America, I let my children choose what clothes they liked. In Yemen when they went clothes shopping with Ahmed and his sister, my children were excited to pick some clothes for themselves. However, he got angry, because, in his mind, kids are not allowed to have an opinion, and they were not allowed to choose what they wanted. They were ESPECIALLY not allowed to state their opinions or ask for something.

I soon found out why he told me not to bring any clothes to Yemen. In America, the girls wore shorts and dresses and short-sleeved shirts. In Yemen, he wanted them to be completely covered from head to foot - only long sleeves, long pants, etc. Yemen is a very, very hot place, especially for us Ohioans who are used to cold weather most of the year. Wearing heavy, long-sleeved shirts and pants in 100-degree weather is absurd, in my opinion. The kids definitely felt that way, too. That got them into trouble, as they protested against the clothes he picked out and were punished and hit for daring to speak to him as an equal. Each child only got two outfits, meaning their total wardrobe consisted of approximately 4 outfits total.

The living arrangements were also very hard to deal with. His house is a 3-story concrete box surrounded by a 10-foot concrete wall (because women aren't to be seen there). On the first floor, there are 3 bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Each bedroom is about 12 feet sqaure. One bedroom is occupied by his sister. The second bedroom is occupied by his father and his schizophrenic brother. The 5 of us shared the remaining bedroom, and all 5 of us were relegated to sleep in the one bed, which is smaller than the average twin-size bed in America.

I suppose they didn't want to buy the kids very many clothes because there was nowhere to store any clothes. There was one wardrobe in the bedroom that contains 5 small shelves. Each of us got one shelf to put all their clothes and belongings on. It is very cramped, and there is no privacy whatsoever. The second floor is inhabited by Ahmed's brother and his wife and chidlren, and the third floor is occupied by his other brother, his wife, and their 3 children. There are also two guest rooms on the first floor where they meet their guests - one for women and one for men. These two rooms were to be kept "spotless at all times", since guests could stop by at any time. As a result, there was no room for my kids to run around and play, and after being used to having their own rooms and their own space, the cramped quarters gave them no space to get away from their brother and sister, and their own tempers started to flare as a result.

Ahmed made it clear that we were not allowed to leave the house beyond the front gate, claiming that "They really hate Americans here and you are not safe". We became prisoners inside those 4 concrete walls surrounding his house, since he would never take the time to take us outside for a walk, except on rare occasions.

When we did go out, he made me wear the long, black robe that all the women are forced to wear, and the headscarf. I told him that I don't believe in wearing the scarf, in fact I am adamantly opposed to it and what it represents to me. We fought about that, but he would not let me leave without wearing the scarf and the heavy, black robe - which is very difficult when it's 100 degrees! Once again, he got what he wanted, as he always does. He never gives up until he gets people to do what he wants, when he wants it, and how he wants it done.

In the last post that tells my story, I told about how my husband had not seen his children in 4 years because he was incarcerated and how, after being deported, he begged me to bring the kids to see him, since he couldn't enter the United States anymore. I reluctantly agreed, and we left America to fly to Yemen on April 10, 2006.

As I was preparing for the trip, I could not find anyone who was willing to house the boxes of my belongings, and I couldn't afford to keep my apartment in Ohio while staying overseas. I didn't have enough money to rent a storage unit, so when I left with the kids to go visit their father, I walked out and left everything I owned behind in the apartment that I was losing. My pictures, my household items, and all the clothes that didn't fit into one suitcase were left behind. Since there was no one to keep them while I was gone, I had no choice. I did it because I felt bad for him - I'll call him Ahmed. I knew how I would feel if I hadn't been able to see my children for 4 years, and I felt really bad for him. I put his feelings above the feelings of my own daughter, who was dead-set against going to see him. I also felt that they needed to know who their father was, since they were too young to remember much about him when he was arrested and taken away to jail.

I was so wrong.

We arrived in his country on April 12, 2006. We went to his house and promptly fell asleep from the 2-day trip. The next day, the kids awoke with enthusiasm and high expectations, because he had made so many promises to them on the phone in the previous 6 months. He had promised my son that he would wrestle with him and teach him to play soccer. My son's favorite game was "horsey" - where I would get down on hands and knees, he would climb onto my back, and he would ride his "horsey" around the house, telling me where to go and what to do. Ahmed promised to play horsey with him, and he was too excited about that.

As we were preparing for the trip, Ahmed told me not to bring any clothes for the kids because he had money, and when we arrived, he would buy them all brand new clothes. My daughters were eager to go shopping and get some new clothes, as money had been very tight while he was in jail, and it had been a while since they had gotten any new clothes. He promised my oldest daughter a cell phone of her very own, and he told my middle daughter that he would get her the horse that she had been wanting for so long.

Enthusiasm soon turned to tears, however, all in the first day after our arrival. After the kids woke up on that first day and ate breakfast, they ran to Ahmed and wanted to play with him. He was sitting on his bed reading his Arabic newspaper, and he didn't want to be bothered. When they persisted in seeking his attention, he threw his newspaper across the room, grabbed my little 5-year-old boy and threw him off the bed and screamed, "Get away from me! I don't play anymore! Go away!".

I had always given attention to my children whenever they needed it, so they, of course, didn't understand that Ahmed wasn't joking. So, they persisted. They climbed back up on the bed and again asked to go play with him, asked for him to tickle them, and asked to go outside with him. Now he was enraged, because they didn't listen and go away immediately as he had instructed. He got more violent, and he hit each and every one of them and pushed them out of the room and shut the door.

They were stunned and hurt. They all cried. I yelled at him, asking him how he could treat them like that after not having seen them for FOUR YEARS! He could care less, however, and started blaming me for raising "his" children to be so disrespctful. He told me "Here, children listen to adults the first time, without ever talking back or saying a word. Children are not allowed to speak to adults, other than when asked a question or spoken to. You've made my children bad. No child should ever have to be told twice to go away".

He had missed the point. It wasn't about whether they know how listen to adults, it was about the fact that they wanted to be near him, and he responded with cruelness and violence. Their feelings didn't matter at all to him. The worst part was that he hit them. He had said on the phone for the previous 6 months, that he was a "changed man" and that he would not hit anymore. And now here we were - in his country, on the first day, and he hit them. I was irate. I knew immediately that I had made the wrong choice, and that I should not have brought them to his country to see him.

Next post: Life in Yemen

When I was around 18, I made a promise to myself. I swore that I would live life deliberately so that when I got older, I wouldn’t have any regrets. Well, now I’m in my late 30’s, and I was doing well with that promise until I trusted my husband. Now I have several regrets, and these regrets are HUGE.

They say hindsight is 20/20, and it’s certainly true. Knowing what I know now, I regret staying with my husband and standing up and fighting for him, even though he was mean and abusive. I regret that I didn’t get out and walk away sooner.

Everyone lives and learns from their experiences, so that isn’t really my biggest regret. My biggest regrets have to do with my children. When my children were young, I was severely stressed out, and in reality, it had nothing to do with them. I was so frustrated and angry at my husband, and I let it seep out in my interactions with my children.

One incident is indelibly imprinted in my mind. When my oldest daughter was 3 years old, she was, even then, very advanced. One morning, I had not slept much the night before, and as a result, I wouldn’t get out of bed. She decided that she wanted to help me, and she went into the kitchen and cooked scrambled eggs. She knew she wasn’t allowed to touch a hot pan, so after she cooked them, she came to me in bed. She kept trying to wake me up, and I got angry that she was waking me up. I’ve always hated to be woken up when I’m so very tired.

I’ll never forget that moment. She crawled up on the bed and kept shaking me to wake up. I looked at her big, brown eyes staring down at me, and she was so excited as she said, “Mama, I made you some eggs. Can you get the pan off the stove for me because it’s hot”. God knows I will never understand why I did what I did. I was half awake, and I was angry for having been awakened (which is no excuse). I grabbed her by the arm, yelled at her for waking me up, carried her to the kitchen, yelling all the way about how tired I was and how she should know better than to wake me up, etc. When I got to the kitchen, I impetuously grabbed the pan of scrambled eggs that she had so carefully created - and I THREW IT ACROSS THE ROOM! The eggs went flying all over the floor, and I will never, ever forget the horrified look on her face. She started crying and ran away, and I went back to bed.

She remembers that incident to this very day, and she has mentioned it to me more than once. I wish to God I could take it back. I wish I could understand why, in that moment, I let my own selfish needs supersede her need for love and approval.

Now my daughter is gone. I would give my life in an instant if I could just see her or hug her or tell her how special she is and how much I love her. I may never get that chance, but neither can I ever remove that memory from her mind - or mine.

As parents, sometimes we get frustrated or tired and we react to our children in a way that is NOT what they deserve. Even though my actions and my state of mind had nothing to do with my daughter, her reaction was one of utter rejection. I made her feel bad about herself. I will never forgive myself for that.

You never know what tomorrow may bring or how long you get to hold on to your child. My advice to all parents would be to cherish each and every moment. Make them feel loved and valued each and every day. Don’t take your personal problems out on them.

My children are gone, and I am left with that memory and that intense regret.

Mostly, I’ve loved and cherished my children every day of their lives, but there were times when I’d get so frustrated and tired, and I’d snap at them for no reason. Those are the moments I remember the most. I would do anything to take them back, but I can’t. I see parents in stores these days with their own children, and sometimes I see them get frustrated when the child is asking for things. I see the parents get snappy and yell or even hit their child. It’s those times I just want to run up to the parent and say, “Be patient with them. Hug them. Tell them in a nice way that you just can’t get that for them right now. They might be gone tomorrow and these are the memories you will have”. But of course, I can’t tell anyone else how to interact with their children, so I keep my mouth shut.

I broke my promise to myself. I definitely have regrets.

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One of the hardest things to try to wrap my mind around is the ultimate question "Why?". Why would a man put his own selfish ego above the needs and wants of his own children? How can a man hit, punch, kick, slap, pinch, and hurt his own flesh and blood? Beyond the physical abuse, how can he inflict such severe emotional trauma and not even feel the tiniest bit bad about it? How can he knowingly take them away from a mother they dearly love, and who loves them more than anything in this world, and then stand and gloat about what he's done?

More importantly, how can people go on, see all the evil around them, and just not care? They ignore it and look the other way or try to avoid hearing about it altogether. The question that always haunts me is "why?". And when true evil is afoot, why doesn't God intervene for the victims, even when they implore him constantly?

It's a question I may never find the answer to, not in this lifetime or any other. I've included a video that I love (above) from Declan Galbraith.