Why

I hear the crying first. Just like when she was tiny, I recognize the sound over everything. I can't make out what she is saying, but I feel the immediate rise of my blood pressure. It is happening again. Something has thrown off the balance and it is happening again. I turn down the radio and wait. More crying. She is upset with her boyfriend. How long do I wait? A few minutes or until I can't pretend to ignore it anymore.

I knock on the door. The sad crying turns immediately to hateful venom. Leave me alone, she screams. I ask if she is alright, and she yells again. I walk away. I pace the floor with the bile churning in my gut. My ears are throbbing with every beat of my heart. Things behind the closed door continue to escalate. I wait and listen, knowing this time there will be no defusing her. She is beyond that point. She is upset that her boyfriend was leaving. She begs him to stay one second and then yells at him for being unmotivated the next. I feel sorry for him. He hasn't seen this side of her. I feel sorry for me because I have. Luckily it is just the three of us home this time.

I pace and wait until I know she is even more escalated. I go back to the door not so much for her as for him. The panic in his voice. He is trying to calm her. He doesn't yell. He hasn't walked out. These things surprise me because I realize now more then ever that I know nothing about him. He could yell back, he could hit back, he could walk out. I envy that about him. The ability to leave that is. I don't understand why he doesn't.

I have to go back. I knock and open the door. She screams at me to get out. She looks at me with nothing but hatred. She screams get the fuck out over and over. I try to quietly ask her to calm down. He holds her back when she tries to get up and at me. It is her business not mine she screams. I try to keep breathing. I speak only to realize she isn't listening. She can't hear me over her own voice anyway. She repeats her yelling as if it is a chant. She gets away from him and tries to push me out. I hold my ground. I keep telling her she needs to calm down. He looks scared to death but my focus is her. Her eyes are wild. Her voice is hoarse. Her body tense and heavy. She jumps toward me again and he grabs her, angry that she can't hit me she does the next best thing, she spits.

This child, who I have loved with all of my being since the moment I knew she existed within me, My child. Spit at me. I wasn't the source of her initial anger. I had done nothing to her. I didn't ask her to do the dishes or clean her room. I simply made the choice to see if she was alright.

I leave her room in a blurr. What do I do? I walk the length of the house wishing I didn't know what I had to do. Why is this happening again? Why am I standing here with the phone in my hand calling the police again? Why? As the phone is ringing the tears start. You would think by now I would be desensitized to all this. Am I crying for her? Am I crying for me? Am I crying because I know this isn't the first time and I can only wish upon wishes it will be the last? Am I crying over yet another pile of hospital bills that will bury us even deeper in financial turmoil? Am I crying because I am going to have to call into work and explain why I can't come back in today?? Am I crying because I will have to tell the boys? Am I crying because my dog is hunkered in the corner ears back and shivering in fear? Am I crying because I can't just get in my truck and run away? Maybe I am just crying because I am human and I can't figure out a way to make them stop.

The operator is a bitch. She missed the class on compassion in crisis situations. Once I finally answer all her questions, I hear the keys. She has her coat and keys and is headed out the door. He is following behind. I can't let her get in the car and leave. The venom continues to fly. I hope my neighbors all went to work. Weird the things that come to mind at a moment like this.

She tries to close the car door before I can get in. I lean in and grab for the keys. Some stroke of luck I get my hand on them and am able to pull them from her. This inspires a new rage. She hits me. I move. She hits me again. I keep my back to her so she gets the back of my head and my neck. She hits and hits. I hear him pleading with her to stop. Don't hit your mom. I do nothing as she keeps pounding her fist into my head. What can I do but just stand there and take it. I don't hear her words. I don't feel her punch. I just stand there in my front yard in the middle of the day while my child hits me like her life depends on it. I wasn't crying anymore. Not sure what that says about me. I wasn't saying anything and I'm not sure what that says about me either.

She finally starts running out to the street. Yelling about how she has to get away because they are coming for her. I tell him to let her go. She won't get far before the police roll up. They will get her before she would be in any danger.

I go back into the house. I lock the doors and make sure the animals are all inside. I kept thinking she was going to try to get inside and there was more inside she could hurt herself with then outside since I had the keys hidden away. I pick up the phone with shaking hands and call work. I am due back in 90 minutes and I don't want to lose track of time and appear irresponsible. I'm not sure what this says about me.

I walk back outside to find her hugging him, crying quietly. Reality has set in now. I see her hands shaking. Now more pronounced then her typical shake from her medication. She tells me she is sorry and follows it up with how I lied to her. Apparently because I called an ambulance, that is the lie. When the police arrive, she is calmer. She explains to them she hasn't taken her medication for 3 days. The ambulance is ok'd to come in as the scene is secure. Funny, I'm not feeling real secure. They address her and one of the EMT's ask her if she would like to talk in the ambulance. She walks away.

There I stand in my drive way recounting for them the events. Alone with four strangers. They don't know what an awesome kid she is. They don't know how much I love her. They don't know that I would give anything to keep this from happening to her. None of that matters now. I leave out the physical abuse. I will heal and I know that disclosing the info will only result in trouble. It won't solve anything. It won't make a bad situation any better. It would just be one more injustice served to a child by her miserable mom. I don't know what this says about me either.

It was yesterday at noon that my daughter sat and cried in that ambulance while I cried in my drive way alone with strangers. I know she doesn't know why... and neither do I.