It’s like 9/11 or the holocaust, if we don’t remember, it might happen again. I derive strength from reading the stories of holocaust survivors. My mother in law from my first marriage was a German War Bride, made to marry an S.S. officer to procreate the perfect race for Hitler. Her family had tried to hide her in the country with an aunt, but they found her. She had PTSD; she married a U.S. soldier who brought her to the U. S., and she lived in North Portland near the airport. There was a meat factory with smoke stacks in Portland back then, which set off her flashbacks. The planes from the airport overhead also triggered her stress.
In my memories, I keep thinking of how I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, and my abusive husband was supposed to be watching the 4 yr. old and 2yr. old in the bathtub. I have visions of what should have happened; him standing there, maybe playing with them with the bubbles and toys. But that didn’t happen; he walked away and left them he said; then he said he walked in on them and found the older one dunking his sister, so he began to dunk the boy repeatedly under the water. I rushed to the scene when I heard my son screaming, rescued him, then started yelling at my husband. Each time he would abuse the kids, I would run to their rescue, but he would do something different the next time.