And so it happened that when I did finally leave, chaos erupted. I won't go into all of the details, but I had friends staying over night for protection, and one in particular had his tires slashed along with my own. So, to protect my family, I stayed with my brother for a week. It was a Thursday night and I was on the phone with a life long friend of mine. I filled her in on the situation and she offered to put my son and I up. I mean, after all, who would travel over a 1,000 miles for a woman anyway? I left on Sunday morning.
I signed off on my house, the one I'd worked so hard for through Habitat for Humanity. I loved that house, and there's not a day that goes by I don't miss something about it. My family packed up everything in my home for me, since I couldn't be there because I was still being followed and watched by friends of my ex's. My family members stored my things. I took what was the most important: legal documents, pictures, clothes, and basic necessities. I remember simply feeling as if I was in shock. This was my life, all wrapped up in boxes and bags. I looked at my family members, and I couldn't say or think of anything. I was frozen.
I remember saying goodbye, but not necessarily to my sister. I couldn't. Maybe because I knew she'd talk me into staying. It was hard to say goodbye to my mom, she hid in her room like she always has when life has been rough on her. One of my really good friends, like an older sister, saw me off. And I said goodbye to home.
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