Post 4 Time To Move

As you could expect, boyfriend one didn't last a very long time so my days in the dream house came to an end. The house itself was filled with torment... memories of my father, half drunk, dropping me off telling me to tell my mother how much he missed her... memories of my mother and her temper, I've been whipped by belt, tree limb, stick, shoes, flyswatter, belt with straight pins stuck in it, hand across more times than I'd like to think about, you name it. The one positive however is that this house had my brother in it with me, except for the weekends he had visitation with his father. He was my protector, my security blanket. It wasn't long after the move and a few more boyfriends later that life became even more unbearable.  I was 4 years old, attending a pre-school at the local elementary school where my brother attended.  I loved riding the bus home with him at the end of the school day, I remember feeling as if I was such a big girl.  On this one particular day, the bus kids were being unruly and the driver chose to assign seats.  I was assigned to sit between two boys I did not know and I couldn't find my big brother anywhere.  As the bus driver pulled away from the school, I remember feeling completely panicked, all that kept running through my mind was that our mom was going to be furious with him for missing the bus and he was going to get a spanking.  I distinctly remember the bus pulling up to our stop, I had been crying the entire time.  Our mother had just recently had knee surgery so she was wearing a knee brace and was on crutches and I have a hazy memory of her hobbling out to the bus stop asking where my brother was...which immediately changed to instant chaos.  The details of what happened are very fuzzy, I'm assuming because it was such a traumatic moment in my life, but I briefly remember my mother driving us to the school asking where my brother was and the lady in the office kept saying his father had already picked him up, and like that, he no longer lived with us.  His dad decided the life my mother was living wasn't appropriate and took him away, my mother did not have the means nor the "motherly" role model needed to pursue legal action so he was gone.  I would see him on holidays and special occasions, but it felt no worse than suffering his death.  He was taken away from me and I had no control over it, I didn't get to talk to him to say goodbye or tell him I loved him...just gone.