He would physically and verbally abuse my mom, pick fights with me and my brother, or he’d literally steal the rent money and go on drug and alcohol fueled binges. I looked forward to the days he got drunk, that way I knew he wouldn’t come home, and we’d have some peace. Then one day, he came home drunk and nearly beat the skin off my mother’s face. I was eleven at the time and my brother was seven. I was helpless and powerless.

He was the only man that I ever feared. I knew there was nothing I could do, so I called the police to save my mom. He was so out of it, that after he had beaten my mother into unconsciousness, his unstable ass went in the bed in bloody clothes and fell asleep.

When the police came, he acted as if he didn’t know or understand why he was going to jail. For three weeks my Uncle Jackson stayed with us until my mom was released from the hospital. When she got out, she was unrecognizable. My mother had a fair complexion, like Marie’s, and Jerry had broken so many blood vessels in her face that it couldn’t be repaired. Her face was a purplish-hue when she returned home.

When I looked at her, I noticed that she wouldn’t look me in the face. She was embarrassed. It was my first time ever seeing that look. She always made excuses for Jerry’s actions. But he had gone too far that time and she knew it. My Uncle Jackson told us that Jerry was diagnosed with Bipolar Personality Disorder, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, and severe depression. But my mother didn’t care. She had had enough. She finally realized that her Christian values were bullshit.

My mother never cursed, but that day she said, “Jermaine, Josiah, I’m sorry that I kept that sorry motherfucker around. I should’ve been stronger, but I was scared. This was my eye opener. Everyone gets tired of dealing with other people’s bullshit. I’ll never let that piece of shit hurt this family again,”

I had never heard her speak that way before and I believed her. The house was his, so she packed all of our things: clothes, shoes, and all documentation needed to start a new life and we drove to Georgia.

I wish she was a woman of her word because had she been, she’d still be alive. For thirteen months, we lived a blissful life without him. While Josiah and I were living in peace, my mother was living in agony. She didn’t know how to live without her tormentor. My Uncle Jackson said my mother suffered from battered woman syndrome. And she’d sneak off and call him, not caring that she was putting us in danger. She didn’t realize that until it was too late,” Jermaine admitted.