I saw, but never knew, God forgive me.

I am fortunate, blessed a million times over. I ofton wonder how a man like me, with a past like mine, came out not only a survivor, but a winner in this twisted, chaotic game we choose to call life.

I have been worried; I write about my fears to clear my head, strengthen my heart, and plead for answers. I have watched my wife and wondered, how does she do it? How does she maintain her calm, is possible that she is oblivious to the violence and death that hovers outside our protective walls? Of course, she sees. I know she is hurting, running, if she’d only stop to let me in.

My wife is generous, loyal, joyous, and loving; a tender free spirit which always seems to float high above uncertainty and strife. She is what holds our family together; the only constant amongst endless variables. I have known this from the beginning, it is part of our marital magic. She is an endless sea positive to my negative abyss, calm to my chaos.

We talk ofton. We share our feelings, our thoughts, our wants and needs. I have watched this woman, over the years, change, transform. I have watched a young girl become a woman and Mother, doubts tackled head on which created her beliefs, and nervous anxieties transpire into fierce protective shields which blanket our children, allowing them sweet, tranquil slumbers. She has shared her heart and soul, opened herself to me like a book for my private, exclusive reading, but there is still a tiny space, which remains off limits, a tiny pocket even I, her husband, cannot enter.

I know this area, she knows I know it. This is where she hides her deepest, darkest fears. It is the area which holds infrequent demons who against all of her reasoning and might, have remained standing, unresolved. I have begged, pleaded in the past for entry, and have learned it is futile. I cannot take this from her, it is an area she must work on alone, a self evaluation, of some form. I wait patiently on the sidelines knowing she will keep going back to evaluate the pieces, one at a time. I stand to the side, in silent support, as she studies every aspect, knowing in time she will conquer and prevail.

In the past few months, the nervous energy beneath her kind eyes and warm smiles seems to be ever present. It is not what she does, but why she does it that becomes more apparent to those who really know her. I have noticed the signs and strain of her desperatly trying to make sense of our violent, bloodied world, I am saddened and angered.

A woman, a Mother of three, was kidnapped in a nearby town; my wife hit the track, running until she could no longer breath. Javier Morena, a five year old child, was kidnapped, his captors fearing apprehension, injected battery acid into his innocent heart and buried him high above a hill. My wife, thinking all had gone to sleep began cleaning, scrubbing the floors with bleach and fury.

I watch her sleep, her fists cleanch in anger and her eyes, they seem to be constantly crying, pleading wide shut. Two days ago, I could no longer watch her in turmoil. I broke our unspoken promise, and confronted her, awakening her from yet, another troubled sleep. Unfortunatly, my words didn’t come out quite as loving as they should have as I practically berated her for thinking she could run from her fears and scrub away the scum and violence of our narco-terrorized world. Her fitful sleeping only gave proof to my theory. I never knew the awakening I was in for.

She sat up, rubbed her sleepy eyes, calmly and silently stared me directly in my eyes. I was beginning to think my comment hadn’t registered, and then she let loose..

“While you flip flop on the borders of newfound strength and crippling fear, I remain strong for our family, I have no choice. When I awake at night and clean in frenzies, it isn’t in attempt to remove dirt from the world, it relaxes me and also is a symbolic reminder to myself; beauty is still within us, within Mexico, sometimes we just have to look a little deeper. When I run, until my lungs feel as if they’ve collapsed, I run to my strength, not from my fears. And when you see fits of anguish in my sleep, I in fact, am at peace. I don’t remember the dreams, I am not weakened, but subconciously empowered. I am not saddened, but joyous; you have proven to me, it worked.”

When she finished, she stood, took my hand and lead me into our daughter’s room. “Look at her”, she whispered. “Do you remember how terrified she was before, even in her sleep?” I had to admit, Isa was oddly relaxed, in a perfect tranquil slumber. “How did you do it, what did you do?”, I asked. It was before she answered, the look of certainty, her stance, that made me realize what she had said was true. I had been wrong. My wife had taken on a battle, she had been fighting day and night, holding down the fort, keeping the blood thirsty wolves of insanity, desperation, and terror, at bay. This self-sacraficial battle, I felt surely could have been abated, I could have, would have helped her in this fight. I wasn’t sure exactly how to feel by this sudden mistrust she had felt, until she explained it had nothing to do with trust. She had made a promise, not just any promise, one which is sacred, above all others. She had made a promise to our child and couldn’t rest until she knew, without a doubt, she could keep it.

“I explained to Isa how strong the bonds are between Mothers and their children, so strong we could feel what they felt and could sometimes even take those feelings as our own. I promised to use my special Mother’s power; I would take away her fears and protect her, I would fight and destroy the unknown demons and bad men myself, long before allowing them to reach her in life or through dreams. It worked. What you saw, in my sleep, was the nightmare Isa will no longer dream, the fear I will no longer bow to, the demons I have finally slayed, the battle I have won. I have kept my promise.”