When April left, my brother was devastated. He put his head on my shoulder and wept. The mother of his children had just left their family. In the previous months he had been struggling to hold things together. Growing up in a single parent household, he wanted more for his children than he had for himself, so despite the abuse, he stayed.
I began documenting my family in 2015. It was a hard time for everyone at home. Three generations of my family were living in different structures on the same property, so each person's issues directly affected everyone else. Considering the stress of the circumstances, I think everyone did their best.
My brother now regards April with the utmost antipathy. He refers to her only as his 'ex' and never by name. I think this was his means of survival, to establish strict emotional boundaries. He's civil, but gives her no measure of compassion. I understand his walls but I do hope she can get well enough to be a figure in the kids lives someday. My mom divorced my dad when I was about their age. He was using and she didn't want him around us. I remember visitations and birthday cards; one phone call when we talked about a bike I wanted. I didn't recognize his voice. And my allegiance was with my mother. He died when I was fourteen, before I ever knew him, and I still haven't fully processed that loss. I don't have access or influence with April so I know I can only be consistent and loving and supportive with these kids. They're well taken care of but I still think of the effect this will have on them as they grow, the day they're old enough to be told what happened to their mother, and if she'll ever be back in their lives.