Silent Cry (19 page)

It was difficult for me to trust people. When someone
reached out to me for friendship,
it seemed they were more intrigued by Nate's public persona. I would visit with someone
and go to lunch, but the conversation always turned to football. It was like this
even at church. People constantly brought me photos and other items and asked me
to take them home for Nate or other Cowboys players to sign. I still went to services,
but I started to sneak in after the service started and slipped out just before it
ended. I continued to attend regularly, but I felt disconnected — like a spectator.
I was hurt that people's interest in me was all about Nate, so I began to withdraw.

Once, during a time when things were bad, I went to a minister and told him I was
in danger. He immediately began making excuses for Nate, telling me that most of
what I was experiencing was probably a result of the unique issues a celebrity has
to deal with. Without missing a breath, he then turned the conversation back to football.
He seemed very pleased with himself. I didn't even need to be in the room; he carried
on the whole conversation by himself. I sat there listening, wondering if he had
any idea how much courage it took for me to even think about coming to him with my
problems.

Meanwhile, Nate continued to make forward progress. He had always loved to read.
He read almost every night before he went to bed, and he began to read more often
from the Bible. I was very encouraged by this. He began spending time with the Dallas
Cowboys chaplain as well. Nate would come home excited after talking with him and
share the highlights of their conversations with me. He didn't go into great detail
about his personal relationship with God, but his actions spoke louder than his words
ever could have.

Nate was changing. He was living a life that was pleasing to God, and he was better
toward me. It had been a long time since there had been any physical abuse, and Nate
began talking
about wanting another child, reminding me that I had always said I
wanted two. I was not ready for this. Too many times, I had been up and down on the
Nate Newton roller coaster, and I was still holding my breath for the next frightening
drop. I couldn't even think about complicating things by bringing another baby into
the picture.

Nate's behavior was steadily improving, but he still had occasional relapses. He
was charged with a misdemeanor assault, accused of fondling a woman in a bar. He
was found not guilty, and the matter was dropped. There were no repercussions from
this at home, and the rest of 1995 came and went without incident. The Cowboys had
won another Super Bowl, and Nate had gone to the Pro Bowl again. Throughout that
year, Nate had been gentle with me. He was more responsive to Tré and seemed to be
consistently working to improve himself and become a better man.

We spent time together in prayer and fellowship with some church leaders from Tré's
school. Nate asked me to forgive him for his rocky past and for how he had treated
me. I struggled with fear and doubt, but I did forgive Nate. I opened up my heart
and asked God to give me the strength to see Nate as he was meant to be, not as he
had been. I wanted to give Nate a chance to truly change.

CHAPTER 20

A New Day

Though no one can go back and make a brand-new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand-new ending.

Carl Bard

I
t was now 1996, and Nate was better than ever. He came to me one day, held my hand,
and
apologized.
He told me he knew he had done a lot of wrong things to me in the past — terrible
things, unthinkable and inexcusable things. He told me I didn't deserve to be treated
that way — that I had never deserved to be treated that way. He brought up all the
times I stood by him when I could have walked away and told me it meant a great deal
to him.

“Dot, I'm sorry,” he said, holding my hands tightly and looking me right in the eyes.
“I'm so sorry. I love you, and I have changed. I know I tell you all the time I'm
not perfect, but this time, instead of telling you I'm not perfect, I'm telling you
I want to be who God wants me to be. I want you to help me become that man. You have
been through enough. Dot, I'm sorry. You have to believe me . . .”

I had forgiven him, and things had been good between us for some time, so something
must have occurred inside for him to come to me with such a heartfelt plea for forgiveness.
I believed him. I believed him with all my heart. I took a deep breath, wanting desperately
for him to be free from who he was. I didn't want to judge him by his past anymore.
I didn't want to be afraid that the old Nate would surface again and spoil the peace.

I was grasping his hands tightly too. “I forgive you, Nate,” I said, and I meant
it. “I want you to be free. I want you to be a Christian — the man God wants you
to be.”

We hugged each other tightly, and I cried tears of release. Hope stirred inside me
— something I hadn't felt in a very, very long time.

I called T. Hayes to see if he knew what had happened to bring about such an earnest
conversation. He didn't know what happened, but he confirmed that Nate was a changed
man. He was communicating differently with everyone. He just wasn't the same guy.
I began thanking God every day for Nate. I couldn't believe that things were finally
good between us — permanently good.

One day, I asked Nate for a new wedding ring. I didn't want any memory of how bad
things had been. I wanted to forget it all and start fresh. Nate was very happy to
do this, and he bought a beautiful, expensive ring. I cried tears of joy, letting
all the bad memories of physical abuse, other women, alcohol, and bad times fade
away.

In July, Nate came to me and said, “Dot, you always told me you wanted to have two
children. I don't blame you if you don't ever want to have another child, but what
do you think? What do you think about having another baby?”

I couldn't help but laugh. I knew he had been working this out in his mind before
he ever came to me. Nate always had things figured out before he brought them up.
Tré had always wanted a brother or sister. He prayed and asked God about having
one all the time. I had been taking birth control pills since Tré was born, so he
had seen me take them regularly and naturally asked me what they were for. I did
my best to explain, but in Tré's mind, I was taking “birth pills” so I could get
pregnant and have a baby. Sometimes he would come in my room and ask me if I had
taken my pill so he could get his baby brother.

Our marriage was strong. We spent time with other believers, and there hadn't been
any trouble with affairs or late nights
or abuse in a long, long time. When Nate
came to me and asked if I was ready to have another baby, I didn't even question
it. “Absolutely!” I told him. It seemed infinitely clear to me that this was the
right thing to do.

I stopped taking birth control pills, which worried young Tré.

“Mommy,” he would say, his little brow furrowed with concern, “if you don't take
your pill, I'm not going to have a brother or sister. You've got to take your pill!”

Before long, I conceived, and when I shared the happy news, we all celebrated. We
were excited about the prospect of a new baby. Nate was ecstatic. He immediately
was on the radio telling everybody, “My wife is pregnant!”

During my first trimester, I was nauseous and tired every day. It took a great deal
of energy to keep up with Tré, but no matter how I felt, I still made sure that everything
Nate needed was taken care of. I couldn't wait each night until I was finally able
to crawl into bed and pray for a little sleep.

When I was three months pregnant, I started getting phone calls from a girl who said
she was having an affair with Nate. I didn't want to believe it. At first I just
hung up on her, thinking she was making crank calls or maybe wanting money out of
Nate. She continued to call, only now she was giving me details — intimate details.
I listened in horror, realizing she must be in a relationship with Nate, and here
I was, pregnant and ill.

When I confronted Nate, he blew up. He shoved me against the wall and grabbed my
throat with both hands, squeezing until I was gasping for air. He cursed and shouted
and threw things. It was a horrible nightmare. I couldn't believe it!
How could this
be happening again?
I crumpled into a heap on the floor, sobbing. Every painful episode
from the past rushed in like a flood, drowning my hope and reminding me I was a complete
fool for ever trusting this man.

The calls from the woman continued, and Nate started staying out late and drinking.
Whenever he was at home, he was sullen and irritable. I knew better than to say anything
to him, but I was so disgusted, tired, and angry that sometimes I would blurt out
something stupid like, “Who is she, Nathaniel?” — and this would provoke a night
of violent anger.

When I was five months pregnant, Nate came stumbling in during the wee hours of the
morning, demanding that I get up and make him something to eat. I was exhausted,
too tired to move out of bed. Nate shoved me hard, making sure I was awake and couldn't
ignore him. I had to get up early to get Tré ready for school and make the hour-long
drive, and I didn't want to get out of bed. I sat up and told Nate I was too tired.
He pushed me off the bed and onto the floor.

“Make me somethin' to eat!” he shouted. I was too tired to argue back. I got up in
silence and went to the kitchen.

A few nights later, he came in late again and demanded that I fix a meal. This time
I didn't answer and didn't open my eyes. I just lay there, clutching the covers,
refusing to acknowledge him. This just frustrated him even more. I squeezed my eyes
shut and started to pray out loud, which made him very angry. It was a bad night.

This pattern continued. Some nights, I would get up and cook just to keep the peace.
Other nights, I was too irritable and started yelling back. In fact, I was beginning
to yell at Nate all the time. I could barely stand the sight of him. I was furious
that he waited until I was pregnant to have a relapse. And I was angry with myself
for trusting him again. The abuse was back in full swing, and there were nights I
thought I would literally die.

I was constantly worried about Tré and who would take care of him if I died. I didn't
want to leave him alone with Nate.
I talked with Ingrid about it, and she swore she
would make sure Tré was taken care of if anything ever happened to me.

Tré was old enough to understand what was going on now. It broke my heart that he
could hear us fighting. It scared me that he saw Nate shove me or choke me. I felt
like a complete failure and just wanted to escape this horrible situation.

One night, I told Nate I was leaving him. I just couldn't live through this again.
Whatever change he had made was totally erased, and I didn't have the strength to
live with him anymore. This made him furious. He told me if I tried to leave him,
he would kill me. The look in his eyes was so severe. The hatred and disdain were
palpable. I believed him. I believed he would kill me if I tried to go. I was frightened.
It felt like ice water was running through my veins.

I was desperate now. I cried out to God and prayed for protection and strength.
I prayed for a way of escape. I asked God to protect Tré and help him to forget the
horrible things he'd heard and seen. I meditated on Scripture as if my life depended
on it. My prayers from Psalm 23 went something like this:

“The L
ORD
is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

God, I do want. I want to be free. I want to be safe. I am your child. You promised
to protect me.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.”

Yes, Lord. Please take me to green pastures. Please bring me to still, peaceful waters.

“He restoreth my soul.”

My soul is weary, God. My spirit is alive and filled with you, but my flesh is totally
spent, and my soul cries out in despair. Deliver me, God. Restore my soul.

“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.”

God, I need you to show me the path. I know there is a path of righteousness for
me even in this situation. Lead me there. I'll go.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

But I am afraid. I am so afraid of this evil. I feel as though I am right in the
center of death's dark, shadowed valley. How do I walk through it?

“For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

Yes. You are with me. When Nate hits me, he's hitting you. You are with me every
moment, with every breath. You see it all. You hear it all. You care for me. You
comfort me. You must have a plan for me.