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Writer's pictureJaime Burnham

The Police Station

About a year ago my daughter told me she had a strange reoccurring memory of her sitting with an Uncle (on her dad's side) in the waiting room of a police station. She could not in her own mind say for certain whether this memory had actually happened or not. It had.


Isla was just four years old hence her spotty memory and since it is drilled in to divorcing parents' heads not to talk poorly of the other parent I had not revisited this event with her over the last ten years. Now fifteen years old, she had come to an understanding of her father on her own terms and had made conclusions about his behaviour from her own experiences. I had resolved that now that she was older I would not hide things or sweeten truths...but tell her straight up when she had questions about her father and our marriage.


Her police station memory came from an evening that occurred over a year after I had separated from her dad. Her and I had moved into a high-rise condo (with security) and I had started dating. Shawn lived in Ottawa but would visit on weekends I didn't have my daughter with me. I was overly cautious of Shawn meeting Isla, or Alex and Shawn ever crossing paths. I was full aware of the possible repercussions of my choices.


Shawn had come to visit me that April weekend, when Alex had text saying that he was bringing our daughter home early. Drop offs always happened at the front of the building where security was present, so as I went down to meet my girl, Shawn collected his things to leave through the back entrance where he was parked. On this day, Alex would drop off quickly and having become suspicious that I had started to move on, would wait in his car to see if a man left the building. As Shawn exited and drove away, Alex became enraged and began to chase him down. Alex pulled up beside Shawn at the first stop sign they met and rolled down the window. Shawn urged Alex to have an adult conversation. They both pulled into the back of the nearby Walmart parking lot, where talking was the last thing on Alex's mind.


What memory Isla was referring to was the result of the assault that would occur in the Walmart parking lot. The assault I would hear happening over the phone as Shawn had hit speed dial to my cell with Alex's arm around his neck. The police would be called by an onlooker, Alex would be arrested on the spot and an officer would be knocking on my door asking me to come down to the station. Shawn with injuries to his face would also go to the station. Being a single mother at the time with only one family member living close by, I would take Isla with me that night to the station to give my statement. And yes she was correct, she would sit in the waiting room with her Uncle ( on her dad's side) who would pass me in the hall and whisper "what can we do to make this go away?"


See that's the thing...people close to a narcissist don't want to see or deal with the truth either, they have blinders on, make excuses for and ask "how can we make this go away?" Shouldn't the question have been "how can we get him help?", "how can we help you and Isla?" or maybe just "I am so sorry this is happening to you".


In abusive relationships it is very normal for the victim to feel it is their fault. That's one of the reasons they go back so many times. After the night of the Walmart assault, I was asked by a family member ( on his side) why would I let Shawn be around when Isla and Alex were there. Shifting the blame to me...it was my fault for wanting to move on, for Alex waiting outside my building (insert stalking) and chasing Shawn down, and then proceeding to attack and threaten him. I explained that I had gone to great lengths to make sure their paths never crossed, but I shouldn't have needed to explain anything. (It would take years and years to work through this idea that I was not to blame for Alex's behaviour that night and every night...and still there are days the guilt creeps in).


Later that April evening I would receive another call from the police station saying the incident was filed as a domestic and that I would be summoned to testify in court...but that's a story for another page.


"Don't let your life pass you by, Weep not for the memories" ~ S. McLachlan

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