The death of a sibling

There were seven siblings, each one of us had suffered her abuse. While we don’t speak to each other, we all have the unspoken bond of being the “Surviving Seven”. I got the news last night that we were now six. The news made me sad for her family, but not sad for me.

The baby is the only survivor here.
The baby is the only survivor here.

You see we had not been close in 35 years. Not since she accused me of trying to seduce her worthless husband and threw me out of her house, I was 16. Up until then she had been my hero.  When I was little, she was my world. She taught me how to drink out of a straw, she took care of me when *Mother* had surgery. She took me to the dentist for the first time in my life. In fact, the only time I can remember until I was a teenager. She was thin, she was beautiful, she was kind, she was smart, I thought she loved me like I loved her. I thought she understood. My first clue came when she wanted me beat because her son fell into the water. It wasn’t my fault, but she didn’t see it that way.

Later when I was 13, her husband wanted me to watch porn with him. I told *Mother* she believed me. My sister didn’t. I showed her where the porn was, she said that I was snooping. Her loyalty was with her husband. As a grown up, I understand that a wife tends to believe her husband. But in this case, our niece confirmed the story too. I was labeled as the troublemaker. I had shown our niece where the porn was, I was trying to turn everyone against my brother-in-law.

Three years later, I really needed her. I needed her love, I needed her help. I got very little help and no love. She treated me like an evil person. I was allowed to stay at her house until I could find another place to stay. But I wasn’t allowed to interact with her family. I wasn’t good enough. I was trouble. I had a chance to get my life together and my sister, the great psychologist, took that chance away. She threw me out of her out because I had a yeast infection and she was inspecting my underwear to make sure I wasn’t having sex with her husband. Because we all know that if a 16 year old girl is having sex with a man over 40 it’s the girls fault right? She threw me out in the night  and that was the last time I spoke to her.

I’m sad for her three children. I’m not sad for her creep of a husband. But at the same time, I’m left to ponder a few things. Why was her facebook page under her middle name and her maiden name? Why are her three children not on her facebook page or her husband’s facebook page. Did their perfect little family finally implode? I’ll never know the answers because out of the Remaining Six, five refuse to speak to me unless it’s to yell at me or cuss me out for telling the story that we all lived. While I threw open the door to the closet and let all the roaches out and the skeletons out too, they want to deny it all. But that’s okay, we all know the truth and we all have to live with it.

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