How could someone experience so much misery, neglect, and abuse and yet become a person capable of such warm, loving relationships? Find Jeanne's secret and let it inspire your relationships -Charlotte Battin, MA, counselor; State of Florida Governors Award for Associate Master Teacher "Painful . . . wise . . . poignant . . . A rare look into the horror of child abuse through the eyes of a victim" -Amelia Grey, author of A Taste of Temptation and other books "An amazing journey through extreme abuse, neglect, and poverty to a life of purpose fulfilled by love, creativity and service to others. A true story that will give hope and encouragement to all who read it and especially to those whose circumstances seem hopeless and insurmountable. A testimony to faith, endurance and God's unending grace and mercy freely bestowed on those who ask and those who seek" -Sandra Piscani, RN, BSN, MN, Formerly Staff Counseling Specialist, University of Minnesota Teaching Hospital and Clinics

The Eyes HAVE IT

By JEANNE BYRNS

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2011 Jeanne Byrns
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4269-8167-8

Contents

PREFACE......................................................................viiFOREWORD.....................................................................ixPrologue: SURVIVOR...........................................................xvChapter 1: WALMART...........................................................1Chapter 2: DADDY AND MOTHER..................................................4Chapter 3: GRANDMA AND GRANDPA LOVE..........................................10Chapter 4: MY GRANDMA AND GRANDPA'S DAYS.....................................19Chapter 5: UNCONDITIONALLY LOVED.............................................22Chapter 6: JEAN AND DADDY....................................................26Chapter 7: EXACT AND IMMEDIATE OBEDIENCE.....................................33Chapter 8: MOTHER'S VISIT....................................................37Chapter 9: GRANDMA'S SUGAR BOWL..............................................44Chapter 10: THANKSGIVING TURKEY..............................................49Chapter 11: A LITTER OF PUPPIES..............................................52Chapter 12: BIG JEAN'S BACKGROUND............................................58Chapter 13: GRANDMA BUSH.....................................................64Chapter 14: MOTEL MOVE.......................................................68Chapter 15: THE BLUE PEARL NECKLACE..........................................72Chapter 16: FAT AND GRISTLE STEW.............................................76Chapter 17: BLUE ICE CASTLES.................................................80Chapter 18: OLD MISSY........................................................85Chapter 19: DENIED AND REJECTED..............................................92Chapter 20: GENES AND GENEALOGY..............................................97Chapter 21: THE RANGE RIDER..................................................106Chapter 22: LITTLE LIAR?.....................................................118Chapter 23: RANSOMED BIRD; BOY AFIRE!........................................120Chapter 24: CHASING PICKUPS..................................................126Chapter 25: HOUSE AFIRE!.....................................................130Chapter 26: ONE PARTICULAR DAY...............................................135Chapter 27: THE MOUSEVILLE EDITION...........................................138Chapter 28: ALLIES, FOR ONCE.................................................142Chapter 29: CLOAK OF INVISIBILITY............................................146Chapter 30: MY THIRTEENTH SUMMER.............................................149Chapter 31: MY MOTHER'S HOUSE................................................153Chapter 32: RETURN TO SENDER.................................................157Chapter 33: THE BUS RIDE.....................................................161Chapter 34: MY LIFE WAS TOUCHED..............................................167Chapter 35: SAMUEL WHITMORE OF OBSCURITY, NORTH CAROLINA.....................170Chapter 36: LESSONS LEARNED..................................................181ABUSIVE TRAITS...............................................................186HOW TO REPORT CHILD ABUSE / NEGLECT: 1-800-962-2873..........................187

Chapter One

WALMART

The day was sun-curled: a Floridian's summer delight. To turn from the sun into an air-conditioned building like the local Walmart made me feel iced all over, washed with cool. It was a "just right" day. Suddenly I stopped, my feet glued to the floor. My hands became blocks of wood, and my heart started hammering in fear.

In the entryway among the clutter of food machines and weekly specials a bench held two unkempt, long-haired men with a little girl sitting between them. She looked about eight or ten. The men were obviously friends or perhaps even brothers. The little girl wore drab clothes no child would have taken joy in. She had a neglected, unkempt air. Her hair was straight and stringy, her clothes colorless and wrinkled. As I entered the store, the larger man was trying to force her head down into his lap. She resisted. The thinner, second man laughed when the beefy man slammed her head back down into his coveralls. "I tol' ya to keep yoah head down, girl!" he threatened as he pushed it back onto his knees. After a moment she lifted her head the smallest bit and looked straight at me. It was a look that halted me in mid-step and shot deeply into my heart.

Her eyes pled, begging me to help. They were the eyes of a trapped animal looking for escape. But there was no escape for her and, oh God!—I knew she was helpless and I was too. Waves of grief, rage, and frustration washed over me. She dared to raise her head a little more when our eyes locked. Brutally, he pushed it back down into his lap. The second man gave a gravelly laugh. My heart broke for the girl. It broke for me. It broke for all the wounded children of the world, abused and torn, and the memories of all such adults.

I wanted to snatch her up and pull her to safety, but I knew there was nothing I could do. What could I say? There was nothing specific I could put my finger on as a charge, and the only evidence I had was her eyes. Could I say, "Look at her eyes. Can't you tell she is abused?" How could I explain that to a policeman or a store manager? Could I march up to the men and tell them to stop or I would report them? They would only laugh at me or be enraged with the girl. Anything I might say to the men themselves would only make it worse for her. There was no way to intervene. Her helplessness—and mine—broke open the scabs of memory. Do you know what it's like to be unable to ask for rescue or help; to be helpless to act, unable to rescue, incapable of helping? It was an unknown child on that Walmart bench, but it was me too. I knew how she felt; I had been there myself, and to this day, I grieve for her and for my inability to help her.

Her eyes haunt me still. Once I lived behind eyes like that. My memory stretches back like a piece of overused elastic. Like her eyes, it haunts me. The pain has followed me down through the years, stalking my thoughts and affecting my life in a multitude of ways.

I never thought I would be telling my story, yet I have come to realize that I have been writing it on my heart and in my head for decades. A living tableau of pain, it is my journal of hell. If you dare descend to it with me I am now ready to tell you what hell is like in the eyes of one who has walked its walk. Perhaps your knowing will make a difference to some future child or aged person, or even to yourself.

An aged person who is dependent on help is fearful of retaliation if she complains. It isn't necessary to beat her; lack of love is enough. Remember that there is covert abuse as well as overt abuse. There is even inadvertent abuse, when we get so snarled in self that we become unable to see that our lack of love is strangling another's soul. In today's world there are many inadvertent abusers. Studies done in WWII show that institutionalized orphans, deprived of touch, were unable to develop normally. Sometimes they simply turned their faces to the wall and died. Others became retarded for lack of stimuli. Some of today's Russian and Romanian orphans have become autistic or catatonic from sensory neglect. Lack of love kills.

Abuse comes in many forms, some more violent than others but each deadly in its own way....