Issue 3, February 2009

My memoir, Escape from Despair, is a revealing, intimate drama unfolding in a family of eight, where abuse is a daily occurrence including domestic violence and rape. Among several reasons for writing the book, at the top of my list is certainly a desire to minimize still raw pain despite passage of time. Another reason is to break the silence and speak out on behalf of others who can't. As a survivor, I deeply appreciate other people’s courage to tell their true stories and want to add my voice.

As a SAVI client, I set out to deal with three major goals with the guidance from my therapist, Julia Turkel. While writing is a solo, mostly silent project, as part of the therapy, I needed to hear myself talk out loud about the chronic abuse so that I can continue to present my book in a form of public speaking in front of various groups without breaking down and crying.

During our sessions, I continued exploring some of the reasons for lingering pain being an unplanned and unwanted child, domestic violence as well as a date rape survivor. Thirdly, I have a need to connect with other survivors and thanks to SAVI, I’m in the process of, in a group setting, learning self-defense, taking a strengthening and conditioning class, and continuing my writing workshop. What follows below is an excerpt from a chapter of my memoir.

How can I forgive my father, a violent alcoholic who attacked us with a butcher knife so many times I lost count, finally forcing us to run away for good?

Clutching a bible, the priest dressed in his long black clerical garb with long sleeves, two altar boys, one on each side, proceeded to read, "By the divine power of God, cast into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander now throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls." We gathered, in the scorching heat on August 7, 1986, in Croatia. Standing in front of an open grave, the priest continued, "Here lays our parishioner Ivan, who was a good Catholic, and followed his duty to come to mass often, until he got sick."

How many times had this, the same priest, seen my mother black and blue with a swollen face, missing teeth and fractured bones, but he chose to turn the other cheek and say nothing.

"We pray for Ivan, lowly servant to God in this valley of tears... O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fire of hell and lead Ivan's soul to Heaven." Clearing his throat and straightening his spine, the priest continued, "As everyone in our village knows, Ivan was a carpenter and spent his life supervising others in the carpentry shop. Ivan and his wife Bozena had six children Joza, Milka, Slavek, Josipa, Milek and Ana. Two out of six children are here with us today."

After neighbors in Croatia found our father's body, police called our relatives who sent a telegram to us in America. Our father died alone, without anyone knowing for six days. The last thing our father did, was get drunk and beat up his girlfriend Marica who then ran away to her own one room sublet. Now, Marica was standing next to me at the grave, dressed in a heavy woolen black dress, holding a rosary and wearing a necklace with a silver cross. Her arm was in a sling from the beating and the right side of her face was still swollen and black and blue. We owed her money, she said, for a black and white television and other material things she had bought for our father over a period of many years... there were other bills to be paid… the highest was to the local bar just across the street from where our father lived.

"Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Amen... Slava Bogu na visini. Hvalimo te. Blagoslivljamo te. Klanjamo ti se. Slavimo te. Slavu Ocu i Sinu i Duhu Svetome."