I Dream of Maggie: October-Doemstic Violence Awareness Month

Never in the 24 years of my life, would I think that I'd signify October as Domestic Violence
Awareness Month. This month has special makers already: my best friend's birthday, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Halloween, fall and candy corn flavored M&Ms. But now there's a new found importance in this month. It's an extremely unfortunate one being that my second cousin, who was more of an aunt figure, was murdered by her husband less than a year ago. It was. Three days  before Christmas. I was in New York as a visitor at the time. I found out through a news article about on Facebook, to which a friend commented "WTF?" I hadn't realized her life was in danger. So many adults and family knew. Yet I didn't know. It's still hard to stomach.

I live in New York now and can escape that reality; being that our homes in Florida are only a five minute drive away. Being that we spent every birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas together since 1997. Being that she was honestly one of my favorite family members. Being that she always seemed so fearless. Being that I thought she was in good  hands. Why didn't I know any better?

There's of course an anomaly of feelings my family and I are still going through. But there's not a lot of conversation; there's not a lot of action. Which is exactly the problem. Domestic Violence is this taboo topic that no one wants to address. We avoid it for numerous reasons. We avoid it because in church we're taught to pray and deal with the card handed to us by God. We're taught to forgive and confuse that with allowing justice to go unserved. I in no way attempt to victim blame when I say this next thing, but Maggie was a devout Catholic, being that she went every Sunday she could, and she dropped charges on her husband in 2011 that may have had him behind bars already.

I bring this up though to show that somewhere in society we've hushed countless women who are literally in harms way to the point they feel the right thing is to forgive this abuser, who almost always becomes a murderer. It's not fair that she's gone. It's not fair that her mother laid her to rest. It's not fair that my third cousins, who I feel are more like first cousins, now have this tragedy stained to every remaining day of their lives.

I was mad. I was confused. I still am honestly. But I want to be affective. I want us to not let the trend continue as a family.

So I look at October first as an opportunity to talk about Maggie. It's an opportunity to let women in the same situation know that there's nothing but danger when dealing with a man, or woman, who puts their hands on you.

I was speaking with my sister and cousin about this. It was the first time I was around people who were talking about Maggie's death for what it was: an act of domestic violence. We talked about the need for family counseling. We talked about the subtle signs that something wasn't happy in the marriage for a while. We talked about why it was so hard for others to call it what it is. We talked honestly and expressively and for once talking about Maggie felt like a healing process.

I could go on but I just wanted to say her name. I'm glad I wrote this whole thing without crying. I miss her. My dad does a lot. They were best friends; he considered her a sister though they're first cousins. He has guilt. He feels he didn't save her. But he tried the way he knew how. It's  a cultural difference, which I'll expand on in another post.

This month I remember Maggie.