As a young child, not more than four years old, I hid behind the refrigerator as my parents fought. Quiet as a mouse, I waited until everything was silent, as my mother had told me to do. After what seemed like hours in my childish mind, I peeked around the corner to see if he was gone. My mother lay motionless on the floor in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. Fighting panic I cried out for my sister who I thought was probably hiding as well. After no response I walked through the kitchen to the door where my mother was laying, I walked through my mother’s blood and on to the other room. Looking back I could see my own footprints across the kitchen. Looking back now, I still see them as vividly as I did that day. Even after 30 years, I still cry for that little girl.
Years later, I asked my mother why she didn’t leave. Her answer will always haunt my heart,
“I didn’t have a place to go, and even if I did,
how would I support you girls?
you were the reason I stayed”
Maybe a person has to live through abuse to truly understand the weight of that statement and how it affects not only the mother, but her children as well. Sparrow House is born because it needs to be. I’ve shared with you a vision that’s been in my head for 30 years, one I will never forget and I hope it will leave a lasting impression on you as well.
