As I have mentioned before, I was half excited and half
scared to death of starting high school. I still had no clue who I was "identity-wise" but was somewhat
hopeful that this was the beginning
of how I would find out. I had my few friends from middle school, minus my
first boyfriend. Those friends encouraged and supported me through my first
"love lost". Home was still the same old story. To this day I can't
even remember why my Dad wasn't at my 8Th
grade graduation or at my freshman orientation with me and my Mom. I guess the
older I got, I started to suppress
the feelings and thoughts I had towards
him. My freshman year was so confusing. I was surrounded by other kids who came
from some of the wealthiest families I have ever known. Sports and excelling at
academics were highly encouraged at my school. Two areas where I lacked either
no interest or was too afraid socially to excel in. I somehow got through my
first year in high school with a few bumps in the road. My father's dad, my
Grandpa Wiebe suddenly passed away
during surgery to repair a broken neck vertebrae.
His heart was weak and gave out during the surgery. This was really the first
person in my family that I could grieve the loss for. I was old enough to
understand the complications and the effect of what a lifetime of alcohol abuse
could do to a person. My Grandma was invited to live with us after Grandpa's
death and as much as I thought that this would turn my father's drinking into
an even bigger downward spiral, he actually seemed to be more attentive and
drank less. While my Grandma was living with us, she encountered a few strokes
and ended up having to have heart bypass surgery. I was worried for her,
especially at her age, but she made an amazing recovery. To date, Grandma Wiebe is almost 97 years old and lives alone
in her own apartment. She is truly the strongest woman I have ever met. Sophomore year of high school started and
my father's drinking was at an all time high. He looked many years older than
he was, he was not taking care of himself physically and blamed everything on
my mother, his mother and from time to time, my sister and I. I was 15 years
old now and I honestly was starting to have real feelings of hate for my dad. I
never wanted him around the house, I ignored him when he was home (he did the
same so no biggie) and prayed every night that my mom would just divorce him
already. What child actually wishes that their family would split up?! Well I
did. The nights at home got worse. There were a few times where my Mom would
tell my sister and I to start packing our bags because we were leaving home. I
felt bad because Grandma would sit and listen to the threats and the yelling
all awhile she remained calm. I think deep down inside, she knew my father
could not be reasoned with. When my Mom would tell my father that she was
leaving with my sister and I, it seemed to anger him even more. He would
threaten to kill us all before we could leave the house. I truly believed he
would. There were many loaded guns in the house and he always carried knives
with him. As my hate and anger for him grew, I started to respond. I would tell him to "Shut
up" not knowing if he would lay a hand on me or take out the anger he
would have for me on my Mom. The one night that I will never forget was the
night that my Mom, sister and I did leave the house. Alive. He threatened again
to kill us, find us and kill us and so many more emotional and mental threats
that no one should ever hear.
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