Sitting on the Front Porch

My father wasn't the only one that was torn away from me. We had visited my father's family often during my first six years. My paternal grandmother was a loving woman. She adored children and treasured the three of us. Holidays and birthdays were never forgotten. Mom Mom was crafty. She crocheted me adorable ear warmers with curls hanging from the back and sewed dolls for me: matching Raggedy Ann and Andy, Mr. and Mrs. Humpty Dumpty. While recently moved into the blue house, she and my aunt, both whom lived in Florida, came to visit us. My aunt recalled the story: "We weren't allowed in the house. I thought it odd. We had to sit on the porch to visit. He [my step-father] wouldn't allow us in the house." I do partially recall the visit. While I don't recall the limited access they had to me, I do remember that was the last time that I saw my aunt, who was pregnant and soon to deliver our youngest family member. It would be another eight years or so that I would see my grandmother again, and another 24 years before I would see my aunt again. I never understood why I wasn't allowed access to my Mom Mom. She would send gifts that were never received. I saw them: in the bottom of my parents closet. She knitted us slippers, but they remained in a plastic bag at the bottom of my parents' closet. She knitted me mint green mittens and a matching hat, my favorite color and one that would match a jacket I had received for Christmas. There they sat, at the bottom of their closet, never to be given to me to be worn. When my SF was at work and while my mother was at the barn, I would go through their closet and look at the gifts that I was not permitted. It was as though I was taunted by this severance from my family. A family divided; a separation that remains to this day. Divide and Conquer. I have no ties with my family. My brothers and I do not speak to one another and have not done so for a very long time. Even when we were in contact, those times were strained. While I have attempted to reconcile with my brothers, shame and resentment persist. They have allowed my step-father win in the end, even though there are 25+ years in between. My step-father was grooming the environment, setting up for the abuse, with absolute brute force. Separating us from our family attenuated his chances of getting caught. What we later learned, after I finally left home, was that my step-father had threatened his previous wife's then 6 year old daughter. As he left her, he threatened, "She's really pretty. I'm going to get her."