Things that I never considered Part 3
My hands were shaking so much...
....as I dialed the phone that it took three attempts before I could dial 911. As soon as I heard the dispatcher ask, "What is your emergency?", I began crying. It wasn't an act, for some reason that I didn't understand, I was sobbing uncontrollably.
"My husband is blue!"
That's all that I could say. I said it over and over again and before I even heard a response from the dispatcher, I heard that unmistakable knock on my door that could only be the police. I dropped the phone and opened the door. "Didn't they send an ambulance?" I shouted at the two officers standing on my front porch.
"Yes ma'am, they're right behind us." I was stunned. I never reported a crime, I told the lady that my husband was blue. I couldn't believe that the cops got to my home before the ambulance. Then I recognized the officers as the same two cops who had come to my home two months before.
That day I had been the victim of domestic violence and I guess they assumed that it was happening again. It was a Monday evening when I had seen these two officers last. I had taken my husband's credit cards out of his wallet that morning before he left for work. I did that because I didn't want him to spend any more money on his whore. He didn't notice that they were gone until he had already left work. I guess he was on his way to her trailer when he realized that the cards were not in his wallet.
I was sitting at my computer reading my email when my husband burst through the door and started banging his fist on my keyboard. I grabbed the kitchen phone and tried to call 911. But, as most abusers do, my husband pulled the phone out of the wall. I ran to grab the bedroom phone but he was right behind me. He ripped that phone out of the wall as well. I turned to run out of the room and he picked up the beside table and threw it at me. Since I was running away from him, it hit me in the back and I fell into the hallway wall, knocking over a half circle table full of knick-knacks that I had inherited from my grandmother.
The Friday before that happened, I had surgery to remove a tumor from one of my parathyroid glands. The wound was still fresh and in the struggle, blood had oozed from the incision. At that point, I didn't know the blood was there and neither one of us knew I had gotten through to 911 before he ripped the kitchen phone out of the wall.
I kept running. By the time I was out the back door and almost to the end of the driveway, the cops pulled up to my house. I didn't know that my neck was full of blood but I did know that I was bleeding from my leg and my head. One of the officers assumed that my husband had slit my throat. When he asked me if my husband had done that, I laughed without even thinking. "No sir," I responded. "I had surgery last week. But the rest are all from him."
I don't think he heard me because as my husband walked out the door to face the police, the cops both tackled him to the ground and cuffed the bastard. I realized that I was still laughing and I thought that it might be considered an "inappropriate reaction". But then again, who knows what appropriate behavior is in such a situation?
My laughter turned to tears as I began to feel the pain. I felt it in my legs, my back, my head and most of all, I felt it in my heart. They took him away and he eventually pleaded guilty to one charge of domestic violence. He was sentenced to time served as he had no one to bail him out of jail before his trial. His trailer dwelling tramp certainly didn't have the money. And I wasn't about to get him out so that he could see her again.
In case you haven't picked up on it yet, my husband was continuing to set up a great defense for me to use should I be charged with murder.
While he was in jail, I had no idea if he'd ever be back and I didn't know how I would pay the bills. Out of work due to a serious illness, I did the only thing that I knew to do. I took everything of his out to my carport and put up a huge sign at the end of the driveway that said, "Betrayed Wife Sale". The little sale didn't take in too much because I didn't care what I got for his stuff. Later I found out that I had sold a few very expensive tools for less than five bucks. Also, I got five bucks a piece for every idiotic karate movie that the man had in his stupid DVD collection. All in all, I took in about three hundred bucks that day. That might have bought a few groceries, but it wouldn't go much further than that.
The following day there was a blurb in the local newspaper that simply said, "Seen on Polk Street, sign saying, Betrayed Wife Sale". I didn't know about that until some local women brought the paper to show me. They all picked up a few bargains as well.
Anyway, the two familiar police officers asked where the "blue" man was. I directed them to the blue man who was lying on my bed.
"Yep, he's gone.", stated one of the cops. "Did he finally hit you one time too many?"
"No officer, I found him like this when I came in from gardening."
Just then I heard the other officer requesting a "meat wagon" into a microphone on his chest. That offended me and I let him know it. "He's not a piece of meat, he's my husband!" Then I let the tears flow again. Once they started, I couldn't make them stop.
I thought to myself, "What would a wife do if her husband was lying in front of her as dead as a doorknob?" At that moment I threw myself on top of the body of the man who tried to steal my life from me. Although I begged him to wake up, I prayed that he wouldn't.
I felt quite justified in what I had done. In my mind, it was self defense. Not in the way that most people define self defense, but it made perfect sense to me. It was his life or mine and when the decision is between me and a lying cheat of a husband, it's not even close. I win hands down.
The activity that followed is mostly a blur in my mind but I do remember bits and pieces. I remember someone asking me questions such as, "Did your husband have any illnesses that you're aware of?" "How did he act when he came home this evening?" "Does he do drugs?"
"Yes, he does. But nothing that would kill him." That was true. The man did smoke weed on a daily basis but that shouldn't kill a person. He even stole MY weed a few times to smoke with his mistress.
As I watched the rescue squad zip my husband up in a body bag, my knees buckled and I fell down right there in my bedroom. I didn't lose consciousness, but I was quite dizzy and very nauseated. The police asked me if I needed medical care and I told them that I didn't. A few of them took some pictures of the room and before they left my house one of them asked me if I would be available should they have any questions for me. I assured them that I would and off they went.
I stood there in my living room wondering what to do next. I went into my bedroom and noticed that even though he had his pants on, the fool had soiled my sheets when he lost muscle tone. At least that's what I figured it was. So, I changed the nasty smelling sheets and threw away the mattress pad before any of the stuff reached my mattress.
Then, I started cleaning my house. I was a bundle of nerves and I could not sit still. I went into my kitchen and dumped every kitchen drawer out on the floor. I sat there deciding what to keep and what to throw away. About ten minutes into my chore, I found a bottle of sex lotion that I had never seen before. I knew what that meant. The son of a bitch had screwed his wench in OUR bed. It could have only happened while I was visiting my daughter a few months earlier. Now it didn't matter what was on the mattress. I didn't want to sleep on it again.
All by myself, I dragged the mattress out to the end of the driveway. I knew that the city came every Thursday to pick up stuff like that so I just left the mattress, box spring and frame right there on the sidewalk. Where the strength to drag all of that stuff out of my house came from, I do not know.
That night I collapsed on my couch, exhausted from all of the day's activities. I had taken a couple sedatives after the cops left and they were starting to kick in. The last thing I remember was smiling at the thought of my husband's mistress wondering why he hadn't called her that evening.
Part 4 tomorrow.
....as I dialed the phone that it took three attempts before I could dial 911. As soon as I heard the dispatcher ask, "What is your emergency?", I began crying. It wasn't an act, for some reason that I didn't understand, I was sobbing uncontrollably.
"My husband is blue!"
That's all that I could say. I said it over and over again and before I even heard a response from the dispatcher, I heard that unmistakable knock on my door that could only be the police. I dropped the phone and opened the door. "Didn't they send an ambulance?" I shouted at the two officers standing on my front porch.
"Yes ma'am, they're right behind us." I was stunned. I never reported a crime, I told the lady that my husband was blue. I couldn't believe that the cops got to my home before the ambulance. Then I recognized the officers as the same two cops who had come to my home two months before.
That day I had been the victim of domestic violence and I guess they assumed that it was happening again. It was a Monday evening when I had seen these two officers last. I had taken my husband's credit cards out of his wallet that morning before he left for work. I did that because I didn't want him to spend any more money on his whore. He didn't notice that they were gone until he had already left work. I guess he was on his way to her trailer when he realized that the cards were not in his wallet.
I was sitting at my computer reading my email when my husband burst through the door and started banging his fist on my keyboard. I grabbed the kitchen phone and tried to call 911. But, as most abusers do, my husband pulled the phone out of the wall. I ran to grab the bedroom phone but he was right behind me. He ripped that phone out of the wall as well. I turned to run out of the room and he picked up the beside table and threw it at me. Since I was running away from him, it hit me in the back and I fell into the hallway wall, knocking over a half circle table full of knick-knacks that I had inherited from my grandmother.
The Friday before that happened, I had surgery to remove a tumor from one of my parathyroid glands. The wound was still fresh and in the struggle, blood had oozed from the incision. At that point, I didn't know the blood was there and neither one of us knew I had gotten through to 911 before he ripped the kitchen phone out of the wall.
I kept running. By the time I was out the back door and almost to the end of the driveway, the cops pulled up to my house. I didn't know that my neck was full of blood but I did know that I was bleeding from my leg and my head. One of the officers assumed that my husband had slit my throat. When he asked me if my husband had done that, I laughed without even thinking. "No sir," I responded. "I had surgery last week. But the rest are all from him."
I don't think he heard me because as my husband walked out the door to face the police, the cops both tackled him to the ground and cuffed the bastard. I realized that I was still laughing and I thought that it might be considered an "inappropriate reaction". But then again, who knows what appropriate behavior is in such a situation?
My laughter turned to tears as I began to feel the pain. I felt it in my legs, my back, my head and most of all, I felt it in my heart. They took him away and he eventually pleaded guilty to one charge of domestic violence. He was sentenced to time served as he had no one to bail him out of jail before his trial. His trailer dwelling tramp certainly didn't have the money. And I wasn't about to get him out so that he could see her again.
In case you haven't picked up on it yet, my husband was continuing to set up a great defense for me to use should I be charged with murder.
While he was in jail, I had no idea if he'd ever be back and I didn't know how I would pay the bills. Out of work due to a serious illness, I did the only thing that I knew to do. I took everything of his out to my carport and put up a huge sign at the end of the driveway that said, "Betrayed Wife Sale". The little sale didn't take in too much because I didn't care what I got for his stuff. Later I found out that I had sold a few very expensive tools for less than five bucks. Also, I got five bucks a piece for every idiotic karate movie that the man had in his stupid DVD collection. All in all, I took in about three hundred bucks that day. That might have bought a few groceries, but it wouldn't go much further than that.
The following day there was a blurb in the local newspaper that simply said, "Seen on Polk Street, sign saying, Betrayed Wife Sale". I didn't know about that until some local women brought the paper to show me. They all picked up a few bargains as well.
Anyway, the two familiar police officers asked where the "blue" man was. I directed them to the blue man who was lying on my bed.
"Yep, he's gone.", stated one of the cops. "Did he finally hit you one time too many?"
"No officer, I found him like this when I came in from gardening."
Just then I heard the other officer requesting a "meat wagon" into a microphone on his chest. That offended me and I let him know it. "He's not a piece of meat, he's my husband!" Then I let the tears flow again. Once they started, I couldn't make them stop.
I thought to myself, "What would a wife do if her husband was lying in front of her as dead as a doorknob?" At that moment I threw myself on top of the body of the man who tried to steal my life from me. Although I begged him to wake up, I prayed that he wouldn't.
I felt quite justified in what I had done. In my mind, it was self defense. Not in the way that most people define self defense, but it made perfect sense to me. It was his life or mine and when the decision is between me and a lying cheat of a husband, it's not even close. I win hands down.
The activity that followed is mostly a blur in my mind but I do remember bits and pieces. I remember someone asking me questions such as, "Did your husband have any illnesses that you're aware of?" "How did he act when he came home this evening?" "Does he do drugs?"
"Yes, he does. But nothing that would kill him." That was true. The man did smoke weed on a daily basis but that shouldn't kill a person. He even stole MY weed a few times to smoke with his mistress.
As I watched the rescue squad zip my husband up in a body bag, my knees buckled and I fell down right there in my bedroom. I didn't lose consciousness, but I was quite dizzy and very nauseated. The police asked me if I needed medical care and I told them that I didn't. A few of them took some pictures of the room and before they left my house one of them asked me if I would be available should they have any questions for me. I assured them that I would and off they went.
I stood there in my living room wondering what to do next. I went into my bedroom and noticed that even though he had his pants on, the fool had soiled my sheets when he lost muscle tone. At least that's what I figured it was. So, I changed the nasty smelling sheets and threw away the mattress pad before any of the stuff reached my mattress.
Then, I started cleaning my house. I was a bundle of nerves and I could not sit still. I went into my kitchen and dumped every kitchen drawer out on the floor. I sat there deciding what to keep and what to throw away. About ten minutes into my chore, I found a bottle of sex lotion that I had never seen before. I knew what that meant. The son of a bitch had screwed his wench in OUR bed. It could have only happened while I was visiting my daughter a few months earlier. Now it didn't matter what was on the mattress. I didn't want to sleep on it again.
All by myself, I dragged the mattress out to the end of the driveway. I knew that the city came every Thursday to pick up stuff like that so I just left the mattress, box spring and frame right there on the sidewalk. Where the strength to drag all of that stuff out of my house came from, I do not know.
That night I collapsed on my couch, exhausted from all of the day's activities. I had taken a couple sedatives after the cops left and they were starting to kick in. The last thing I remember was smiling at the thought of my husband's mistress wondering why he hadn't called her that evening.
I was right, the city did pick the junk bed up the next day. As I watched them load it onto their truck, I saw a car pull into my driveway. Two men in suits stepped out and walked to my door. I opened it before they had a chance to knock.
"Mrs. Cardis?", asked the taller of the two.
"Yes sir. Can I help you?"
"I hope so. We have some questions to ask you regarding your husband's death."
Part 4 tomorrow.
posted by Meg Kelso | 1:28 PM
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