Man Shoots Wife, Kills Himself" the headline read. That man was my father. By the time I read this in the newspaper that evening, how I had felt earlier in the day made a lot more sense. It was a bright September morning in New England, and the first day of the 1976 - 77 school year. I should have felt great about the day ahead, but I left the family home for school that morning, with an uneasy feeling in my gut. It was quite unusual for me to leave the house with both of my parents still there. Later, in the morning, I learned details about the event that forever changed my life. The family home had never been a placid or loving place. There had been a lot of violence - my sisters and I had endured psychological, emotional and physical abuse for years - and yet, we had thought of our lives as "normal". Mom had decided to divorce Dad. Now one of them was dead and the other was clinging to life in a nearby hospital.
