Idaho Highway III

A year after the car accident that left my dad’s second wife severely brain damaged, he did something that, for him, was very brave. He got on a bus, then a train, then another bus, traveling for over 24 hours, to come to Southern California to be with Giancarlo and me at our commitment ceremony. He had never been to California, so having him here on that special day meant a lot.

The evening following our quiet ceremony, I sat with Dad on the back patio looking out over the valley. “Jason, there’s a few things I’ve been needing to tell you about Linda. It’s been over a year now since the accident. And let me tell you, it’s been such a relief to have that woman out of my life. I was feeling trapped and I had no idea how I was going to get out of that relationship. I’m filing for divorce.”

I was shocked; this was the first I had heard him speak of such things. He divulged that he had actually been a victim of spousal abuse. She was considerably bigger than him, and she would get angry, chasing him and smacking him around. Several times he ran out of the house with her on his tail, running away from her down the block, waiting for her to tire. She would eventually give up and go back home, and he would walk the streets of Rexburg for hours until he figured she had calmed down enough to go back home. And this was how they lived for at least two years.

Why didn’t he do anything about it? Why didn’t he say anything? For the same reason any victim of spousal abuse keeps quiet.

Except his shame and humiliation was even greater than most because his wife was beating him up.