PART I: Young Adulthood, The Apartment
Nyle’s rage led him to the tiny kitchen where, seeing the flour on the counter, he began throwing it around the dining room. In his drunken anger, he threw dishes, just as he had thrown the couch cushions, books, magazines, cups, and the television remote control in the family room a few minutes before.
“STOP IT!!” I yelled, my fear escalating, moving from my stomach to my lungs and settling in my ears with a whooshing sound brought on by a rush of adrenalin.
He punched the wall, leaving a hole.
I had to get to my daughter, who slept totally unaware in her crib down the hall. I needed to keep her safe. And I needed to call the police. I was crying and breathing in a rapid, shallow manner as I made my way to the bedroom.
With my entire being on high alert, I quickly stepped over the broken debris that lay all over the floor in the family room and hallway. Making my way to the phone in the bedroom across from Bethany’s crib, I dialed 0 for operator. With the sound of breaking glass in the background, I asked for the phone number of the police station.
“Ma’am if this is an emergency, you need to call 911,” the dispatcher said, just as Nyle entered the messy bedroom, slurring, “I could beat the shit out of you before the police get here. No one will help you.”
My fear felt like it was reverberating off the walls, but I was afraid of getting Nyle into trouble, so I hung up the phone. In the next moment, I could tell that his anger was beginning to dissolve, and I knew he was about to pass out. I moved back to the crib to stand next to Bethany while he slowly made his way to the unmade bed, falling upon it.
Making very little noise, my breathing shallow, and my heart beating quickly, I sat down on the floor next to Bethany’s crib. Holding my head in my hands, I cried.
The next day, bringing home a few groceries, I walked the hallway of the dirty apartment complex and entered our dismal garden level apartment. Bethany was in her carrier with Nyle watching over her. At this time of the day, he was sober. Given that, I could not remember an entirely sober weekend since we had met.
“Hey,” I said as I walked in.
“Hey.” Nyle’s voice was soft and contrite as his eyes followed me around the kitchen as I unpacked the groceries. “I tried to get most of it picked up…I’m sorry, Tami.”
“I know,” I replied, sighing. And in that moment, I believed he was sorry, just as he had been sorry so many times before.
There was a stench to this apartment building, the perpetual odor of some combination of onions and dust and old people. That, along with cheap plywood and dim lighting, left me feeling depressed and overwhelmed. I was nineteen years old, married, and in love. At least, I thought I was in love. But it was hard to look at the holes in the walls, testimony to other drunken weekends, and not wonder how love had turned so violent.
My parents had advised me not to marry Nyle. That I didn’t listen to their advice, that I rebelled against my upbringing, is surprising given that I came from an intact family with a strong spiritual orientation. And had I not been subjected to the kind of peer bullying that had a profound effect on my self-esteem, I probably wouldn’t have rebelled. But for me, at that time, feeling wanted was more important than anything. And when we first met, Nyle made me feel wanted.
***
Broke, with a month-old baby, nineteen-year old Tami Urbanek walks away from an abusive marriage only to find herself wallowing in anxiety and confusion, wondering how she will survive. At the time, she had no idea that the journey in front of her would guide her so far away from fear of financial survival and instead would push her into the realm of healing and spirituality. As the daughter of internationally renowned medium, Hossca Harrison, Tami seeks the assistance of her loving parents and a spiritual teacher named Jonah. With their help, she begins to understand herself and her daughter, whose adolescent path of destruction threatens to tear apart their relationship. As Tami’s own clairvoyant abilities surface, she is challenged with the task of helping not just her daughter, but the child that her sixteen-year old daughter is carrying: a child whose painful past life still haunts him and which must be resolved before his birth. Told with humor, insight and honesty, Tami’s story challenges readers’ minds as it touches their hearts, and when the last page is turned, it is a story not easily forgotten.
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Genre – Memoir
Rating – PG-13
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