Who I am now isn't so important as how I came to be this person, wife, mother, grandmother, sister. The history is what formed me, challenged me to overcome, compelled me to do better than those who came before me.

I was born near the mid-point of the last century, in a large western US city. My parents married because they had conceived me when my mom was 16. My birth father was 19. As it turned out, he was a violent paranoid schizophrenic and a pedophile. My mom was later Dx with Borderline Personality disorder. I won't go into detail, suffice it to say that my earliest memories are horrific. My two younger brothers and I suffered the abuse and neglect until I was 9 1/2 years old, when a neighbor girl was assaulted by my birth father, he was arrested and sent to a state psychiatric hospital for treatment. I was taken in to protective custody for four days, while my mother was investigated and cleared of complicity in my abuse. He was not allowed within 300 miles of me, upon his release, 4 years later. When I was 14, he committed suicide.

My mom had remarried in 1960 to a wonderful man I refer to as Dad. He earned my trust, respect and love. They had two more little boys in the two years following their marriage. My Dad died of sleep apnea in 1978, we were all devastated and heartbroken...it was the undoing of my mom and my dearest brother. My mom turned to scotch for comfort, inviting my 17 year old brother to be her drinking partner. My mom died 8 miserable years later of pancreatic cancer. Those 8 years were awful, watching my mom decline, my brothers suffer. She raged constantly, told me often that I had no idea of her pain, her suffering. She made life a living hell for her family and circle of friends. She was diagnosed and died in 12 short weeks later.

My brother died 14 years later, the victim of a predatory female who took advantage of his alcoholism, a recent injury, subbed his Rx pain Meds with extra strength Tylenol. Took him 3 weeks to die of liver failure, on our dad's birthday. My heart was broken. This brother was the first male I had in my life who loved me unconditionally. He was born when I was 11 and he was like a son to me. He was my husband's best buddy, my kids favorite uncle, everybody loved him. Yes, he was an alcoholic, very high functioning, but losing him was the saddest event of my life to date.

My brother has been gone for 12 years...I think of him every day. I remember my little grandkids running up to the car when I'd arrive at their house, all four of them would climb in the car hugging me, asking me "...is you sad? Did your Brubbie die? Sorry *****, usses loves you! ". They did this for months, until I finally told them I felt better because they healed my broken heart. I have 8 grandkids 6 teens, 2 in their twenties. The youngest 4 are all the same age, 3 identical girls and a boy. I am blessed.

Of my four siblings, two have passed. The oldest, died at age 51 as a transient. He inherited the mental illness genes and I never saw him after my mother's death. The next oldest lives in NM, his mind ravaged by years of alcohol and drug abuse. We have minimal contact thru FB. The youngest has never been able to form healthy relationships with anyone...I see him once per year when he comes to visit. He misses his big brother too. He tells me that his true home is wherever I am. I wish my mom had let me take him when he was 15 and she went on her 8 year binge.

So...this is my emotional history, in a nutshell. The other stuff doesn't matter, except to say that my family is healthy, successful and happy. We celebrate often, mourn together when the time comes and love and support each other faithfully. My kids have all been married to their HS sweethearts for over 20 years each. We have done better than the generation before us...the bar was low on my side, but my husband and his family were great role models. I'm thankful every day for their love, support and example. I miss them painfully.