I felt as though I was losing more and more of who I was throughout the summer.  My home had become my safe haven. 

I hardly ever went out or did anything.  All the things that had once made me happy no longer existed.

Where had I lost them?  What happened?  How did I lose them?  Were they really gone?  I had fleeting seconds of happiness and then they were gone as quickly as they had come.

My husband had been telling me that our daughters were highly concerned about my mental health.  They mentioned to him they felt I had been declining over the past two years.  It's much harder to see it when you're in it.

My mother arrived back at the house.  She had aged thirty years since we had put her on the plane and lost weight.  It was a sad thing to see. 

She left out to her son's with such happiness.  She now looked as though all of life's very essence had been drained from every ounce of her body.  She was shaky, fragile, frail and tired.  What had happened?  I had to find out.

Several phone calls to relatives revealed much.  My mother can be very demanding.  She had met her match with her son and his wife. 

My relatives were told we were throwing my mother out.  We had no done such a thing. 

We had sent her on what we hoped would be a holiday for her mental health.  She in turn was thrown out by them.  Cursed out.  She was told that the next time my brother wanted to see her or me was in a coffin. 

He even had someone else drive her to the airport.

She was shaken and mentally distraught upon her return. Fearing that I would have her committed to a mental institution.  This would be the reason that she would leave to my father's home within two days of returning.

I tried to explain to her that only she or a doctor could have her admitted.  She wouldn't listen.  She packed her bags and left in the middle of the night.

Several days later my phone rang one evening.  My husband I, relaxing with a glass of wine. We were listening to some relaxing music. 

The phone ID gave the number as a cell number that looked quite familiar.  We don't answer numbers we don't recognize. 

Then it dawned on me.  It was my half-brother’s number. 

I never called him very often as he was not someone that wanted to speak with.  I believe I called him on his 50th birthday. 

That was the last time we had spoken.  He did not leave a message.  My husband said if he called again he wanted to speak with him.

Several minutes passed and he called back.  My husband picked up the phone.  He went to the front porch to talk to him.  He knew how upset I'd be and didn't want to make it any worse.   

He confronted him with all we'd been told about his throwing her out.   The comments about wanting us dead. 

He stated that he had not exactly said it like that and he couldn't take her to the airport because he was sick from a cold. 

We had been told that he was drunk out of his mind, which was not unusual and he was still drunk the next morning when he shoved my mother out the door along with her luggage. 

He was drunk on the phone while talking to my husband.  It took the liquid courage to get him to call us in the first place.

My husband finally told him to call us back when he was sober and hung up the phone.  He told me what he had said. I told him if he called back again that I wanted to speak to him.  Within fifteen minutes or less the phone rang again.  It was him.  I answered it.

He cursed me out for everything he could think of at that moment.  I didn't say anything thing.  I just listened until he was through.

He said that I had brought his family out at Christmas several years ago just to show off in front of our parents.  He added that I wanted nothing to do with him and he didn't understand why. 

Then he said that I had forced our mother upon him and she had ruined his marriage.  When he finally ran of things to blame me for I started on him.

I told him that he absolutely disgusted me. The way he would approach me like a dog in heat, stick his tongue out and saying “Give me a little smooch.”  It was disgusting!

I loathed being around him!  He knew very well why I didn't want him near me. 

“I love you,” he said in a drunken voice. 

“You're drunk and it's a sick love that you have for me. You need help.  Help that I can't give you.  You need professional help. Please don't ever call me again.  I want nothing further to do with you!  Don't ever call me again!”

I was shaking as I slammed down the phone on the ottoman of the chair. 

By now I was crying.  I just couldn't take any more of his sickening abuse.  It generally takes a lot to make me cry, but even I had noticed that I wasn't as strong as I once was. 

The thick walls that I had built around me to protect me all those years were starting to crumble.  I just didn't know how much more I could take.

The phone rang again.  “Don't answer it!” my husband said as I was I reaching for the phone.

 “Just let the answering machine get it.  You've had enough of his abuse.  There is no sense in talking to him any further.  He's drunk!  Even if he weren't he wouldn't get it.  He's sick.”

We let the phone ring.  He left a message, “Sis, this is me!  You're just a chicken shit! I may be sick, but I still love you.” 

My stomach churned.  I wanted this man out of my life. 

After all of the abuse he had put me through as a child and teen growing up, I wanted nothing further to do with him.

I had told my husband and father about the abuse over the summer.  My husband said that he and the girls had suspected something of the sort because of the way I hated for him to be around me and cringed when he touched me. 

My father said he was sorry I had to go through such a horrible ordeal. 

I had told my mother years before.  She compared it with he own abuse by her father and brother and never said anymore about it. 

She couldn't understand why I couldn't just forgive him and go on with my life.  She added that it happens to a lot of people and they are just fine...

Fine?  My mother is a far cry from fine.  She has been through so many traumas in her life on top of her mental illnesses that she doesn't even know what normal is anymore.  Being sexually abused is not normal. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. 

Checking my email and such the next morning, I had received a message from my sister-in-law overnight. 

She stated that my mother leaving was all her fault and not my brothers. 

She went on to say that she couldn't understand why I was treating her husband so badly when he loved me so much.

I sent her a message in return stating the reason that I couldn't stand him. 

I told her what he had done to me as a child and growing up.  I knew it was going to hurt but it was the only way I felt I could make her understand.

I called my husband and let him know what I had done.  He wasn't very happy about it but agreed that it was the only way that he would ever leave me alone. 

That evening the phone rang.  We let the answering machine pick it up.  There was nothing left to say. 

We listened to the message.  “Sis, I just want you to know that you have ruined my marriage!  I can't believe you told her all of that!  You are just a whore and I'll never forgive you!” as I heard the phone click.

My husband and I just sat there and looked at each other. 

I finally said that I was having his number blocked and reporting him for harassing phone calls.  I did both.

I cried myself to sleep again in his arms that night. 

The next morning I got up and made more phone calls. 

Two weeks later I started mental health therapy.