I was in the kitchen trying to put together a mid-afternoon snack for three of my four children on what should have been a typical, uneventful Saturday afternoon. My husband of nearly twenty-two years and I were having marital issues but nothing new or significant had occurred on THAT DAY. In fact I was slightly exasperated over the fact that we kept having the same conversation over and over and nothing was really changing. We just had one of those said conversations that ended up being circular in nature with no productive outcome. I wouldn’t say we were fighting but I would say we were both frustrated.
At approximately 4pm Gabe called me into the bedroom stating that there was one more thing that he wanted to discuss with me but not in front of the children. I followed behind him down the long hallway that ran through the center of our house to the master bedroom suite. When he turned around to face me, I noticed an unfamiliar object in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. All of a sudden I realized that he had a gun.
I was struck by sheer terror and absolute horror. I remember Gabe saying something to the effect that “All of this is going to stop,” as he pulled out the weapon. I remember unintelligible screaming coming from my throat – sounds that I didn’t know I was capable of making. I remember being pushed and shoved and somehow I ended up in the back corner of our large walk-in closet. I remember the smell of the gun powder as each bullet was fired and the deafening sounds of the rounds exiting the chamber. There were four shots in all – three nearly fatal shots to me and one deadly shot to Gabe.
Before THAT DAY, my reality was not unlike most other middle class American Moms in the Heartland. I had always prided myself in being very healthy and enjoyed working out with a trainer two to three times per week. I had always been fiercely independent and I cherished my autonomy. As a CPA, I worked part time managing the real estate business that my husband and I founded. Coupled with this, I had a small tax practice and consulting business. My four children were everything to me and I loved being a mother. Collectively they participated in numerous sports and musical activities and most of my social outings were taking them to their various practices, games and events. My friends were the other parents whose children were involved in the activities my children were involved with. I served as an officer for a few small local organizations, played in a monthly bunko group and occasionally showed up at a friend’s book club. I cooked via crockpot, did about three loads of laundry daily and was always complaining about never having a perfectly clean house. Like I said before, my life was nothing special; it was pretty typical and very similar to most other 40ish working moms.
After THAT DAY, everything changed. In the flash of an instant, I became a widow, a single mother, the sole bread winner and I was fighting for my life.
