April 6, 2018 at 1:53 p.m.
DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
The death of Sunshine
She'd been nicknamed "Sunshine" by one of her bosses. She had the proverbial bright and sunny disposition.
Sunshine met her attacker in July 1974 in Saratoga Springs. He seemed friendly, and they talked for hours. He asked her for a date. They had a whirlwind courtship and eloped in December.
The beatings started after just six months. He always apologized and begged for forgiveness, promising it would never happen again, but the frequency increased to three or four times a week.
Soon, Sunshine was lying to her family, friends and coworkers. For some distorted reason, she felt she had to hide her bruises and broken bones to protect her attacker. She became awfully "accident-prone." She couldn't admit to anyone that she had made a mistake. After all, she loved this man.
The emotional abuse was just as bad. He told Sunshine that she was "lucky to have him." He told her she was so fat, dumb and ugly that no one else would want her. He told her she deserved everything she got. He told her he'd kill her.
Sunshine learned that if she tried to defend herself, she would be beaten harder. She called the police and he was arrested, but he was in the military and was always released. His commander told her, "I can't interfere," when she asked for help. She was ostracized by the other wives and most of the military.
Sunshine's attacker broke three of her fingers, kicked her in the stomach when she was pregnant, covered her in bruises and sprayed air freshener in her eyes. She couldn't have friends visit. If she went out, he'd call every restaurant looking for her. He accused her of cheating on him with every man she met.
Sunshine's boss called the police one day. Sunshine was covered in bruises. The officer encouraged her to press charges. But the magistrate at the courthouse talked her out of it: "You'll ruin his career. Think about what you are doing to him; think about how you'll hurt him. Besides, why should we go through all this paperwork? You'll just change your mind."
So Sunshine dropped the matter. That night, he used his shoe to beat her for not moving fast enough to cook him dinner. This time, she insisted on pressing charges.
Again, the magistrate tried to talk her out of "hurting" her attacker and told her, "Maybe he's tired of being arrested."
Finally, Sunshine got help. Her attacker was ordered to go for counseling. The counselors tried to talk to both parties. Sunshine talked; the counselors talked - and her attacker sulked. After six sessions, he said he'd talk at home - but that was just to get out of the counselor's office.
Through counseling, Sunshine found out that she wasn't wrong all the time, that she didn't deserve the abuse - but it was too late. Sunshine died a slow, agonizing death by abuse to her body and poisoning to her mind and spirit.
Gone was the bright, sunny disposition. Gone was the quick smile she always wore. Gone was the naive trust of everyone.
It has been many years since Sunshine passed away, and I mourn her passing daily. The best part of my personality died that day in 1978. No one calls me "Sunshine" anymore.
(Ms. Schell Bennett is a parishioner of Blessed Sacrament Church in Albany.)
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. For help, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline, 1-800-799-7233 or see www.thehotline.org.[[In-content Ad]]
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