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One could say that I was homeless from the time when I lost everything back in late 2000 until I was given housing through a government program in 2006.
I was able to date during this time period. My self-esteem was very low but I had not yet been accused yet of a violent felony.
Around the Christmas holiday of 2001, I was invited to visit my so-called family. I had reason to believe that I was not being treated like one treats a family member, even in the Whealton family headed by Bruce Whealton Sr. (my father) and Kathleen Whealton (my mother) but I had been through so much hell that I didn't feel good about myself.
Maybe I didn't believe I didn't deserve good things because I had not been able to be there for Lynn, the love of my life, when she had gotten sick. She was born with a chronic, genetic illness that was terminal but she was well and we had a "normal" life for so long. Obviously, I am not making excuses but I can only say that I was so in love and that the idea of losing Lynn was such a shock that I could not cope with it.
I became overwhelmed and depressed... traumatized... and this was before I had even been falsely accused of any crimes.
I visited my parent's home for Christmas in 2001 and had not had a chance to get to know my brother's daughter. She was 3 years old. I had already been through hell and so that might be an explanation for why I had not met her yet. The dates are so confusing that this might have been Christmas of 2002. That might explain why I had not met her because my life had been "normal" up until the middle of 2000.
The last time I had seen my brother, John, we got along great. I had thought of us as best friends. He was 8 years younger than I was and I was happy that he had a family just like I had known with Lynn.
He also had a son who was a few years older and I had known him.
When I first saw Emily Whealton, she was shy and quiet around me, her uncle who she didn't know at all. Within hours she had warmed up to me.
I asked her about a mark in her eye and she said "You're brother did that."
This was strange. She was not stating that her Dad accidentally did something. She used the words "your brother" and added nothing else.
She was also asking if she could come to be with me - for a visit? I guess she meant for a visit... but something was strange.
During the Christmas dinner she was mostly paying attention to me. It was as if she was seeking to get me to shield her from any behaviors... but she wasn't doing anything wrong. Was she wanting protecting? I felt that desire to protect her but why?
I was about to be totally freaked out. During a break between dinner and desert, Emily Whealton did something and suddenly, I saw my brother John pick her up and push her against the wall. He had lost his temper. He had pushed her like a rag doll against the wall.
It was utterly chilling. I was a social worker and obligated to report suspected abuse.
Others have responded with shock that I didn't mention what I was going to do to my brother if this continues or in some way discuss the matter.
Reporting Potential Child Abuse of Emily Whealton by my brother John Whealton
It is hard to over-state just how shocking this was beyond my wildest dreams and imagination.
We had grown up in an abusive household where telling about the abuse to our cousins and our aunt got us nowhere. Nobody had called Child Protective Services when I was growing up no matter how much I had wanted that to happen!
Nobody did anything no matter how many times I described abuse by my parents! They had not spanked us. They punched us, threw things at me. Kicked. This all happened because they lost their temper or to create fear which was their version of respect.
I had known that respect for my parents meant creating fear. I had vowed to NEVER act that way when I became an adult.
I didn't think that talking to my brother or having a meeting would work. This was a dirty family secret. You don't talk about the physical abuse by your mother and father.
I knew how that ad affected me. I had grown up wishing I would be adopted by someone else. I had never moved on from the abuse. I could not do that.
I did not want that for my brother.
So, that evening, I called the Department of Social Services' Child Protective Services unit and reported suspected abuse.
Maybe I was over-reacting having been abused by our parents. Some of the questions they asked, I could not answer. The person on the phone wanted to know about marks on Emily that would not be visible in the winter clothing she was wearing.
I thought that at worst, John and his family might be asked and given a chance to undergo parenting classes. I knew that agencies were very hesitant to remove children from the home. This would be especially true if no other reports of abuse were made and everything went smoothly.
Unfortunately, to my shock, the police got involved. I don't know why because I had not given any reason to make child protective service workers feel like they needed to put John in handcuffs.
This was crazy! What had happened to create such a drastic response?
The police were not obligated to maintain confidentiality. This is what allows people to report suspected abuse without fear of recriminations. This anonymity allows for reporting "suspected" abuse that might turn out to be nothing... to err on the side of caution.
It was revealed to my brother and the family that I had made the report. I would never see my brother or his family again as of the writing of this book.
When I made the report what was going through my mind was what my sister had told me back when I was in college at Georgia Tech. She had reported being assaulted by Mom and Dad and that she and her friend - I still remember who the friend was - had agreed that "next time they were going to have to call the police. Carrie was an adult by then and so the police would need to get involved not Child Protective Services.
I knew there would be a next time unless Carrie left and she had left and moved back to Connecticut. This was back in the late 80s and my parents had moved the family to Florida before moving to North Augusta, SC where they would live until my father's death in 2015.
I had thought I could spare John the experience of having children who felt the way I felt toward my parents, our parents.
No reasonable explanation was ever offered for what I witnessed. The agency to which I made the report wanted to have a story about the cycle of abuse from me - abuse that begins with the parents and is handed down and enacted by the children - in this case, my brother John Stephen Whealton.
So, I maintained a relationship with my sister and my parents but not with my brother or his family.
Again, as I was saying, I had a relationship with my parents and my sister after this. They gave the impression that I was part of the family!