In my earlier post I wrote about how it might feel when an adoptive child comes into the home where there are already children from one or both parents in the family unit. When my parents brought me into their home my mother had already had seven children, six boys and one girl who died shortly after birth from her first marriage. To her I was the little girl she never had, and to my father who had no children I was his one and only child. Sure he tried to be the father for my brothers, but just like most kids, they don’t realize how much a step parent can really care until it is much too late. I could write a whole story about my mother’s upbringing and her life with her first husband as well, then another for the life with my father and another about her life long battle with a rare, family disease, but I will leave that for another time.
Today we will talk about how I felt growing up and having my brothers not treat me so well. Sure there were times when they were nice to me. As I was the youngest with my nearest brother being 12 years older than me and my oldest brother being 18 years older than me, they were very used to life with out a sister in tow. When I came into the picture it wouldn’t be long before my oldest brother had his first child, his own battle with the family disease and a life that most would never choose to live. My youngest brother was my keeper, when my mom was sick it was up to him to keep an eye on me. I remember on the days when my mother wasn’t feeling well, he would scoop me up, into my Red Radio Flyer Wagon, and away we would go for the day.
We would go on nature walks, to a place where he helped an elderly couple out, and fishing. I am sure he didn’t like to look after me when he could have been hanging out with his friends, but I don’t think he realizes even though he wasn’t always that nice to me, my memories of him are very dear to me. I always felt like my brothers were jealous of me for having two parents who were together and loved me. They had parents that loved them, they just were not together. By the time my mom got me she was a weathered mother and could start with a clean slate. Things she did while married to her first husband, were not always her choices, but things she was forced to do, to get through life in one piece.
I remember always telling on my brothers when they did wrong, and they would get yelled at by my mom or dad. I also remember them teaching me to play basketball and throwing the ball at my face until I learned how to catch. You learn really quick when someone does that to you, and then telling my mother is was an accident so they wouldn’t get yelled at. I remember them tying me up in a blanket and putting me in the attic for God only knows how long. Although I was a child I am sure it wasn’t as long as it felt. They even hung me out a second story window by my feet. Boy did mom jump all over them for that one. Then they would wonder why my father yelled at them. I am sure I was a pest, most little kids are with their older siblings. I just wanted to fit in, I wanted them to love me.
As I got older I remember the day I was up in their room, and came running down to ask my mom why they had bags of grass in their room. That is what they called it. Boy I never realized the problems that would cause. A whole lot of yelling I can tell you that. I also remember when they kicked or pushed me down a flight of stairs. I must have been about 18 months or so no more than two. The things you remember happening to you. Everything they have done to me over the years, and I still love them more than they will ever know. Even after my parents deaths when I see them in the store, some will shy away, while others will stop and talk a bit. Me of course wonders if they stop and talk because they care or if they just do it out of respect for my mother. Either way I enjoy it while I can.
I have two of my 6 brothers that I didn’t even really know until after the death of my mother. I knew of them, the story why they were not with my mother, but really nothing else. Actually my daughter made friends at school with one of their daughters, and when I heard the name I had to call the parents and explain who I was and how they wanted to proceed. Well they now know each other as cousins, which makes me very happy to say the least. Although when we are at school functions my brother and I haven’t really even talked to each other, we just do the nod thing. I have to work on this area, and see where it goes. My own battle in a way.
Like I said before even with the mean things they did to me, I still love them. I could tell you a bit about each of them, they all have very beautiful children who I consider my nieces and nephews. All together we gave my mother and father a bunch of grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I would have to take a few minutes to come up with the exact numbers, but a big family none the less, if only we could all love each other as such and look beyond the imperfections we could all make one of my mothers dreams come true.
Years of being around my brothers I learned to do a job right the first time, to carry on no matter what gets in my way, not to let fear get the best of me, to never give up, and to always strive to do better. Some of my love of music comes from my brothers, my love of art came from my brothers. If they ever read this I am sure they remember the paintings they did on the garage walls, and their bedrooms. Amazing really. I wish I had pictures to show every one of this. I think all of my brothers have a flare for some sort of art. I also learned things that I would never do like smoking or doing drugs. I also learned not to become dependant on drinking.
So yes I was saved from a home of abuse, but in that I was damaged emotionally from my new siblings. Do I love them? Yes I do. Did I learn from them? Yes I did. Do they love me? I don’t really know. I do know that even though I have biological siblings, the siblings I grew up with play a much bigger role in my life out of closeness. I have always felt like my heart is in pieces, and that there is a hole somewhere that can’t be filled by anyone, anywhere, anytime. Knowing God has helped but I still have a long way to go. In writing my book I hope to find the answers while putting back the pieces of my heart and filling in the void I feel inside.
Siblings Separated a True Story 
Leave a comment