The time has come to write about this or I will not be able to move on.  So I will lay it all out here; all this baggage I’ve ruminating over the past few months.

It is a family thing, the past, the present, life and death… brought on by recent events involving my brothers.

I was the youngest of three, the only girl, with two full biological brothers. One brother 5 years older, William (who growing up was called Sonny) and the other Howard. 

Our mother left our father when I was just a baby and we grew up with our mother and step-father, Melvin. My oldest brother was 8 when Melvin came into our lives; I was only 3. 

Melvin was a good ol’ boy from east Texas. I wrote about him earlier and the other two step-fathers in my life. 

My life under Melvin was a little more sheltered as a girl but I did endure the pain of “whippings” as a child. Spanking is too kind of a word. These were harsh lashes with a leather belt that left strap marks and bruises across my legs and body. It was part of old southern child rearing method but it went beyond not sparing the rod.

My brothers on the other hand, encountered undue abuse from Melvin.  Under the rule of an authoritarian dominant man they suffered emotional and physical punishment well into their teens. One small step out of line was met with disproportionate severe corporal punishment. 

Maybe some sort of male rivalry was involved as well. Melvin was only 10 years older than Sonny.  I remember once when he was a senior in high school, Melvin came after him with a whip and swung at him with a chain.

I addition, before Melvin, Sonny witnessed alcoholic rages against our mother by our biological father. 

As soon as he graduated he left home and never returned. 

Howard, was just 16 months older than me. He was very intelligent.  He used to read the encyclopedia and memorize pages in the dictionary. He also played the trumpet and was a big fan of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. 

He was still living home when Melvin left our mother for another woman. Howard and I both had to make our way through the step-father who came next. 

In addition to all this physical abuse, over the years I harbored another family secret. I had endured sexual abuse by my brothers from a young age.

The stepfather that came next was far more interested in me than was proper. I could see the signs of coming abuse. I wanted out any way I could.

Thankfully, I met the son of a local restaurant owner, four years my senior. You could say, we fell in “love” or we both were both looking to escape. Either way we did escape and never looked back. 

We married and I left home at 14.

The reality of childhood for all of us in our home, behind closed doors, was that it was fraught with abuse, insecurity and trauma. There were good times but they were overshadowed by the fear that at any moment things could flip.

Within 2 years, 1968-70, my brothers and I had all move out of the abusive world and went our separate ways. 

We had only casual contact over the next 20 years. All of us were part of military families and lived miles apart. 

As I grew older effects from childhood sexual abuse became a stumbling block for me.   I had trust issues. I also had faith issues. I was looking for love in all the wrong places, as the country song goes.

In the wake of the major child abuse stories of the late 80’s, I was forced to come to terms with it. Thirty years old and I had never told a soul about the abuse.

I confronted both of my brothers with unsatisfactory results. It was written off as child’s play or something “I wanted,” by Howard. Sonny did not want to acknowledge it or discuss it. No resolution was coming. 

After the response I received from Sonny (the worst offender) we literally had very little to no contact for years. I did not see either brother again until 1999 at my grandfather’s funeral.  I never saw Howard again after that.

Both of my brothers were alcoholics.  Sonny quit drinking some 20 years ago but Howard, whose drinking started in his teens, was a life long alcoholic. He also had mental issues. 

Although I never saw Howard again after 1999, he would call me drunk in the middle of the night. He would tell me that the Italian mafia was after him and he was in the CIA. He would call my office and speak to whoever answered the phone and tell them all these same crazy stories. The final straw was when he called my house and spoke to my youngest son, Josh. 

He told Josh he had gun and was going harm himself. That time and once before, I called the local police to do a welfare check on him.  

After this, I blocked him from all my numbers… work, home, cell phones. My mother told me that he didn’t know why I wouldn’t speak to him anymore.  I told her, “Yes he does.”

I saw Sonny again in 2012. He was living in Las Vegas and I flew down to see my Auntie who was in a tournament there. She arranged to have dinner with him but didn’t tell him I was there. I was the surprise. It was a cordial meeting, nothing more.  

Over the past 15 years he had many health issues. As our mother aged and dealt with dementia, I became her financial and health decision-maker. He would call and discuss issues he was seeing in mother. He would extend some encouragement and offer to help in any way he could but I discovered he couldn’t do much. 

I blogged about what I was going through dealing with my mother’s dementia and lamented that my brothers were no help, but thankfully they were no hindrance either. 

When my mother died neither of them came to her funeral. Sonny sent flowers and had called to say goodbye before she passed. Over the years he had been very faithful and loving to Mother. Although he did not visit for many years, he called her several times a week. 

Howard and mother had a hard relationship. He could call sober and all was well but when he called drunk, he was abusive. The last few years of her life she stopped taking his calls.  

Just days before she passed, I asked the social worker at the nursing home if she would call and tell him she was dying. She did and he agreed to speak to mother. She was no longer conscious but for all the things Howard did that were horrible, that day he stepped up to the plate. He said what needed to be said so she could pass in peace.  

I did not speak to him that day or anytime since she passed. 

All of this background to get to what I came to say today so that I can close the door on the past. Close the door because:

Both my brothers died this year. Four months apart. 

Sonny died July 22. Complications from cancer surgery years ago and cirrhosis of the liver. Even though he quit drinking 20 years ago, the damage was done. 

Howard died on November 20 just before Thanksgiving. His neighbors had found him unconscious in his house.

I was contacted because I was thought to be the only surviving blood relative. I told the hospital he had a daughter but she did not know him growing up. I contacted my niece and told her I would act as decision maker if she wanted. She thought about it and called me back and said she felt it was her responsibility. 

He was in the hospital for a week and never regained consciousness. We found out that he also suffered from cirrhosis of the liver, as well as he had cancer in his lungs and brain. 

In the end I am thankful my niece made the decisions.   I would have found it difficult. 

They are all gone now. My father, mother, all the step-fathers and my brothers. 

It is all so complicated and confusing in my mind. I was sad, but never shed a tear for my brothers although it seemed I should have. 

Being the only one left from your childhood family is very sobering. I turned 70 just a few months ago.  I have struggled the past few weeks with the reality of my immortality.   I hope to live past the 71 and 74 years my brothers had. 

Mostly, I pray that I can move beyond all the memories of the past that have kept my mind captive for so long. They are all gone, and in many ways, I am free.