Dear Priscilla Bennett Friends,
On Saturday, Harry caught two flounders and a blowfish. He threw them back in the river to swim free, and we went out to dinner with my youngest sister, Kelly, who is also a nurse and not yet retired. She’d just gotten off work on the pediatric floor of the same hospital I’d worked in and was exhausted. It had been an exceptionally difficult day. A young boy of two had been admitted suffering from malnutrition. “Pris, it was awful. He looked more like a one-year-old—pack of bones. They called Child Services. The mother was there and became hysterical at the thought of losing her child.” “Something must have been terribly wrong,” I said taking her hand. “I give you a lot of credit. I could never work in pediatrics. There’s so much sadness and they’re all so innocent.” “I put the mother’s name in the system—everything is computerized today—and her name popped up several times. There was a long history of abuse by her husband. She had been treated numerous times in the emergency room for fractures, a broken jaw and black eyes—domestic violence, Pris.” We picked at our Cobb salads and sipped our draft beers, and Kelly began to unwind. “How’s the book? Is there anything I can do to help? It’s so important that you get the message out there, Pris. People still don’t want to talk about domestic violence or deal with it.”
The first challenge was writing the book, and the second has been getting the message out to the public. I wasn’t exactly “computer literate.” I wasn’t on Facebook and Twitter sounded like a birdcall. Blogging, hash tags (my mother used to make corned beef hash) and websites were equally unknown to me. “Posting” was something you did with the mail. I felt like I’d been hit with a tidal wave of new information and decided that I would have to break it down into small bits each day to keep from being totally overwhelmed—even then, sometimes I was, and I’d have to walk away from it for a while and think about watering the geraniums or fixing dinner or doing laundry. I’d tell myself to calm down and take it easy, and then I’d be back at it. I’m still learning—a work in progress as they say—I’ve just uncovered the tip of the iceberg. I’m so proud of myself—I just found out about Instagram and how to put my photos on my phone up on it. I love taking all kinds of photos, and I get a kick out of people liking them.
Thank you, my Priscilla Bennett Friends, for listening and for all your support for my cause. Please visit my website at www.priscillabennett.com and read this blog, make a comment, write your own story and get helpful information. Remember the Priscilla Bennett Pledge to help someone by starting a conversation, giving a kind word in the grocery store or parking lot—a touch on the shoulder or pat on the hand with a nice cup of tea. Remember that we all have SOMETHING TO BE BRAVE FOR.
Take good care of yourselves,
PRISCILLA BENNETT XOXO