Category Archives: Relationships

The thin red thread. 

16 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by in Friends, love, Relationships

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I went to my ex partners wedding last weekend. J invited me months ago and immediately I knew that I would go. It was 600 miles away, no problem, I’d drive, pick up his son on the way, it wasn’t even a consideration really, he invited me, I was totally honoured, of course I was going to go. Nevermind that I’d never met his wife to be (luckily she didn’t mind) nevermind that I hadn’t seen him for months and before that years. 

 J is someone who I’ve known for all of my adult life, we first met when we were in different relationships, both drug users with other drug users. We lived in the same house for a while, him with his partner, me with mine. Then our partners fell out and do we moved on, our paths crossing occasionally. 

Roll forward a few years and I was in hiding from my new partner, the father of my son, I was living in a refuge and I was desperately unhappy. I was alone, and withdrawing from heroin and I needed some kind of human connection and there, when I was most desperate, I bumped into J, walking down the street. It was as if I was drowning and someone had thrown me a lifeline. I believe that he saved my life. Not in a literal, physical way, but emotionally. I had spent a considerable time in emotional hell and he appeared and he put no pressure on me and he was there when I was alone and lonely and desperate. He was exactly what I needed at that point in my life. 

Life rolled on, we stayed together, we made bad choices, we took a lot of drugs but throughout this time he was the rock that I hung my life upon. He was gentle and in truth he soothed my soul. He treated and lived my son as his own. We weren’t the best parents but we tried our best in difficult circumstances. 

I’m sure that during this relationship, my family thought that we were making each other worse. But what they didn’t realise is that J was the one rooting me, stopping me from going over the edge. I like to think I did they same to him. I have to admit that without his undoubtable love my son wouldn’t be the child he is now. 

After few years life changed for us. J went to prison for a significant time and my life just kind of escalated off the scale of chaoticness. J tried his best from behind the prison walls to get my life back on track, he arranged for people to take me to NA meetings, he wrote to me about change about how life could be different. I never truly believed it. I ended up in prison myself. Somehow, even in there J managed to convince the authorities to let him call me. He spoke to me from his prison to mine, told me that this was an opportunity, that it was the best thing to happen. I didn’t believe a word of it. 

I got out of prison and moved in with my Dad. I realised that I needed to move forward and I cut J out of my life. Looking back, I was vicious to the one person who had been there for me. At the time it was survival. 

As I was getting better, J was left alone. His life continued in a spiral of drugs and crazy women. Occasionally I’d bump into him, or actively seek him out to make sure that he was alive, ok. I felt guilty that my life was getting better whilst his stayed the same. 

So it was fantastic to hear that he had finally managed to extricate himself from our old lifestyle. That he had met an amazing woman and planned to marry her. And most of all that she was sure enough in their relationship to want me to join them in their celebration of their marriage. I’d have understood it if she hadn’t but it meant a lot that she did. She understood the link between us and didn’t feel threatened by it. She had no reason to, life was different now to 14 years ago. 

There is an old Chinese proverb that  says an invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, despite the time, the place, despite the circumstances. The thread can be tightened or tangled, but can never be broken.  in life we meet up with people, they might be there for a while, they might go and sometimes they may reappear at times when they either need someone or you do. J has always been one of those people in my life. That is why I drove 600 miles to celebrate his wedding.  I will always consider him one of my closest friends, I wish for him and his new wife all the joy in the world. They both deserve it. 

Reinforcing the chain. 

12 Thursday Mar 2015

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Being away from people that you love is hard. It’s harder when you get news of their pain, suffering and illness. Every bone in your body wants to do something. Jump into action, help make it right, make them better. But sometimes you can’t. Sometimes the distance that you would need to travel is too great, other responsibilities too much or maybe it is financially unachievable. Whatever the reason, knowing that someone you love and care about greatly is not right and that you can’t do anything about it is heart wrenching. 

9 years ago my Dad moved to the USA.  He has had a few health scares over the years, most of which he has brushed off without any fuss to us kids. This week he was taken into hospital, and it seemed like it could be bad. We found out in the middle of the night (mainly due to the time difference) that he’d been taken in with abnormalities in his breathing and heart. 

There is honestly nothing to make you feel more impotent than hearing that someone you care about as much as your parents are possibly critically ill and yet being absolutely incapable of doing anything about it. I wanted to make sure they were doing all the correct tests, make sure they were doing them promptly, and then reacting on the results. Everything seemed to be taking far too long, for goodness sake, this isn’t anyone, this is my Dad; you need to fix him now. There was also a nagging in my mind that perhaps he is worse than my stepmom is telling me. She could be trying to protect me from knowing how bad he is. 

Most of all I just wanted to see him. Give him a cuddle and tell him I loved him. Of course, I’ve told him that I love him hundreds of times, but it suddenly became important to tell him so again, to remind him. I tried to think back to the last time that I saw him, or spoke to him: what had I said, will he know I care? What if that is the last time I ever spoke to him? The time difference between us often makes it difficult to talk at a convenient time, he may well call as I’m cooking dinner or putting the kids to bed. Did I give him my full attention? 

I imagine how I would have felt if that initial message saying that my Dad was ill instead had said something else, imagine if it had been worse news. Would I have been happy that I had done everything in my power recently to make my dad feel loved? 

This week has made me realise the importance of making sure that I strengthen the chain that holds our lives together. Not just with my dad but with everyone I care about.  I am going to make the effort, go out of my way to let people know that I care. There are a million ways to do it, and they don’t need to cost money or even vast amounts of time. I can call someone I care about for no reason whatsoever, tell them or show them through my words that I’m thinking about them, that they matter. A text or a Facebook message can do the same thing, sometimes it’s not about how or what you say to people, it’s the fact you have reached out to them in some way. I can send small surprises to people I love. I can offer to help them out, pay them a compliment, it doesn’t really matter how or what I do, the important thing is to let them know that I care. That they matter. 

My first, my last, my everything.

23 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by in Emotions, kids, Motherhood, Relationships

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Whilst I love being pregnant in many ways, I have never been very good at being pregnant. I have 3 children and all of my pregnancies have been complicated in some way, each one in a different way, but definitely complicated. This time 5 years ago I was 27 weeks pregnant with my youngest child, my last child. Even as I type that, my stomach churns and my mind does a little spin. You see, whilst I know that Billy Bob is going to be my last baby, there is still a part of me that can never quite believe that. The finality of it. The redundancy of me. The admission that I will never again feel that rush of dread/excitement/anticipation of realising that I could be pregnant. The tiniest flutter of the first movement and the whopping great kick in the ribs that takes your breath away.

When I had Bean, the Middle one, I remember going down to theatre on the way for a section and insisting on stopping and using the bathroom, not because I needed the toilet, but because I wanted those last few moments, alone with my baby, to recognise that this was the last time I would be fully responsible for his every need, to feel his heart inside me and to come to terms with him leaving the protection of my stomach. It was a moment of supreme peace and clarity.

When I had Bill, I didn’t get that. I didn’t have a section and so I didn’t have the warning that he would be leaving. Well, obviously I did, but I suppose the pains of labour aren’t as peace and clarity inducing as the gentle stroll down to theatre, knowing that in 20 mins it would all be over. It’s something I wish I had had the forethought to do. The last time I will ever hold a baby inside of me and I can’t really remember much apart from the pain and concentrating on getting through it.

Then before I knew it he was in my arms and everything we at once perfect and at the same time bittersweet because, I suppose I knew all along that in all likelihood that he was my last. Whilst I felt unable to definitively state I was having no more children, I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t be practical or sensible to have any more. Billy Bob was a surprise baby and childcare was going to cripple us, another child would drown us financially. So, without actually admitting to it, every time I looked at him I knew that this was the last time I’d go through this.

It was my last time to breast feed a baby, it was my last chance to finally master the use of reusable nappies. I would never again choose a pushchair and car seat combo, or go through the saga of picking out an appropriate name that we could both agree on. There would never be another first smile, or crawl, or first steps. It was the last time I’d experience the magic of the first words.

I found myself not wanting to start those firsts…Billy Bob was over 6 months before he started on solids, something both the other two were accomplished at by 4 months. I wasn’t in a rush to get him to give up breastfeeding or to stop getting up in the night. I saw both as opportunities to have more cuddles. Evidence that I was still needed. That my boy still needed me.

Whilst I delighted in every milestone, my heart also broke a little bit at everyone. It’s like a list that I made of everything fantastic that I ever wanted to do and each time I completed one, it was great, but at the back of my mind was the knowledge that soon it would be over. I’d be at the bottom of my list and wouldn’t know what to do next.

I found myself start to worry that soon he would be too big to comfortably be picked up for snuggles, that he wouldn’t think that a Mummy cuddle was the best thing in the world. Things which had never occurred to me with the older two now became matters of great importance. The day he called me into the bathroom to show me that he can touch both ends of the bath if he stretches out his hands and toes, his excitement was phenomenal, my heart broke a little more.

But gradually, I’m coming to notice something and I’m not entirely sure how it started. My first recognition of it was a few months ago when I realised that it was 9am and I hadn’t yet been woken by a child. When my baby boy asked to go to the shop for me to buy bread (he’s 4!!) when we’d run out. When the eldest offered to go and pick his brothers up from holiday club so that I could relax on a rare day off. All small things that are signifying a new era in my life. A whole new realm of “firsts” that I hadn’t imagined existed. That nobody had ever really told me would come. These firsts are every bit as precious to me. The birth of my last child signified an ending in some ways but it has also opened up a chapter that no one seems to talk about. A new life after babies and toddlers, a life where your children stop relying on you and start to rely on themselves and each other. And it’s different, and it’s emotional but it’s every bit as full of dread/excitement and as significant as those other firsts. And I’ve now realised that I’ve come to terms with having no more babies, and I’m looking forward to the coming years with my growing lads without regrets. Well, hopefully not too many.

Elephant in the room.

02 Monday Feb 2015

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Death is nothing at all… That’s a line from a popular choice of readings at many of the  funeral services that I have attended. The thing is,  death is a big thing. It’s that elephant in the room, the thing we all know is coming, and yet we try our best not to acknowledge.  We ignore it,  we try not to even speak it’s name, we say someone has passed on gone to meet their maker, become an angel. Very rarely do we say someone is dead, it’s euphemisms all the way.

The thing is, we need to deal with Death. We need to accept it,  after all,  as a friend of mine says, good health is just the slowest possible way to die!  It’s an unfortunate truth. No matter how much we don’t like it, it is one thing we can guarantee. 

I have recently been faced with Death and the dying fairly frequently.  I’ve been working on the ambulances and have seen a lot of ill people. Most of these are old people,  people who have lived full and varied lives,  and are proud, strong and fascinating human beings.  All too many of them have been reduced to the remnants of the people that they once were. Some may be unsteady on their feet,  and so have fallen and injured themselves, or just don’t have the strength to get up. Others may just be weak with age or exhausted from breathing or heart conditions,  many have dementia. 

But it’s not all elderly people who die. My 7 year old son came home today with news of a school friend who died at the weekend. Younger people die too, no matter how much we want to ignore it. And it’s heart wrenching and horribly sad,  and doesn’t bear thinking about,  but think about it we should. 

In my mind, death shouldn’t be taboo. It should be a subject that we talk about, without dread, we plan so many things in our lives, but very few people plan for their deaths. We leave this most important part of life to our family and friends,  people who, with the best will in the world are the least likely to be in the frame of mind to make rational, life or death decisions. 

My Nana was probably the person who I have been closest to that has died. I loved my Nana fiercely,  and she loved us all fiercely back. None of us would ever want her to be in pain or distressed.  She was very ill,  she had been fairly I’ll for a long time. She had COPD and was on oxygen constantly, but she was still firing on all cylinders and bossy as hell!

Then one day, she got a chest infection,  and was admitted to hospital. Despite treatment, she didn’t improve.  The Dr’s wanted to withdraw treatment and in that moment,  I would have done anything to save her. Even in the poor health that she was in, I wasn’t ready to let her die. It wasn’t about her. I was selfishly thinking of myself, i didn’t think that my Nana was suffering and would hate to be like this. I just felt that I could not let her go. Luckily I was able to cry it out,  talk to my friends and family and ultimately, it wasn’t up to me to let her go. Probably a good job,  as I don’t think I would have had the strength. I’d want them to keep her alive, not for her but for me. My Nana slipped away quietly in her sleep early one morning soon after.

The funny thing is that after she died I felt relief. Not that she was dead,  but that she was gone without suffering:  she never lost her mind to dementia, or her independence. She died after a short illness and was peaceful. It took my mum and aunt a lot to allow them to withdraw treatment but ultimately it was the right thing to do. Nana would have hated to be a burden and if she had survived she wouldn’t have had the life she was used to.

And that’s why it is important that we face that elephant in the room, that we talk about death and dying, and give our loved ones an idea of what we want or don’t want to be done to keep us alive. It’s not fair to leave a grieving loved one to make decisions on your life or death completely in the dark. It’s not fair on them,  and it’s certainly not fair on you. As humans we are ultimately selfish.  We don’t like pain,  and the pain of losing someone we think we can’t live without is too much. Some people can’t put that aside and think of the other person.  And that says nothing about them,  and more about being human.

So we should all make our feelings clear. Talk about them,  write them down.  Be unequivocal.  Speak about death, and life,  and the conditions in which we would choose death over life. How much should we be prepared to let Dr’s intervene to prolong our life?  If we lose our ability to choose the best for us,  who do we trust to choose it instead. What do we want done with our bodies when we die, are we leaving them to medical science?  Being buried, cremated?  How do we feel about organ donation?  All of us,  none of us, or only some parts? All of these things are important, they mean that we know what will happen to us, and it takes the guilt and pain and decision making away from a loved one who is in an impossible situation. 

So I’ll start it now: if I get dementia,  or have a stroke or any other condition that means I have no mental capacity and no hope for recovery,  I would like treatment to be withdrawn.  I would like my family with me and I’d like to die. If I am able to,  I would like any of my organs to be donated. I don’t mind if I’m buried or cremated but I’d like a grave that people can visit if they want to. And most of all,  I want my family to know that it is my choice and not theirs. There is no guilt,  it’s what I would want.

Imperceptibly insidious.

23 Friday Jan 2015

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It starts off as something good. It’s nigh on perfect. The phoning to check you got home safely, asking if you have enough money, wanting to spend every waking moment together. All proof, as if you need it, that they care, this might even be “it”

At some undefinable point the balance shifts. It’s almost imperceptible. The phone call you used to get to check that you got home safely changes. The question “are you home ok?” Changes to “are you home?”, that in turn changes to “where are you?” Or “why aren’t you home?” Almost the same words, completely different question.

You don’t notice. It’s imperceptible.

Their concern that you have enough cash, might somehow turn into “how much money do you have?”, and then it may turn one of two ways; either asking what you have done with your money, or possibly requests to borrow cash, most likely small amounts at first, perhaps getting larger. There may be believable excuses as to why they need this money, the excuses may be increasingly unbelievable, as may the excuses they give for failing to pay you back. It doesn’t really matter, you love them, you can’t say no. Anyway, if you say no they may not ever pay you back the money, and you can’t afford to lose that. Or you don’t want to say no. You love them.

At first you spend all your time together. It’s intense, you can’t stand being apart. You cancel plans with friends and family because you’d rather spend time together, it’s a choice you make freely. Gradually you realise you haven’t seen friends for a while. You want to show off this new person in your life, show off the perfectness of it. You make plans. You meet with friends, your friends and family may be just as enthralled by your new relationship, they may be as charmed as you are. Your partner, on the other hand, may not be as enthralled by them. They pick up on things which seemed perfectly innocent to you and with the twist they put on them, things that family or friends say seem like insults and slights. You may begin to think perhaps your friends aren’t as good as you thought, or maybe you don’t believe it; either way the amount of hassle you have to go through to see friends or family means that you start to not bother. After all you have each other, that’s all you need. It is worth it. The other person is like an addiction, all you need.

Imperceptibly, your relationship with even your closest friends has changed.

One day, you realise that you are not your own person. Your world revolves around this other person. They are the sun to your earth, only like the sun, you only see the light occasionally. Unlike the sun, there is no way of predicting when that will be, or how long it will stay.

They may or may not become physically or sexually violent with you. It doesn’t matter; you suddenly realise you are walking on egg shells around this person. Your happiness, indeed your entire state of mind and self esteem depends entirely on them and the mood they may or may not be in. It was insidious. You can’t pin point a moment in time. It just happened, along the way, without you realising. Seemingly harmless, but ultimately cruel, and harmful. And because of the insidious nature of it, you have lost the resources (money, friends, family, self esteem), that you need to escape.

That’s when you need support the most, and somehow, the abuser has managed to remove every support mechanism from you. You are literally isolated; socially and emotionally. Every escape route blocked and secured with amazing vigilance by the abuser. You probably feel like you don’t deserve to be treated any better. That without this person you are alone. They may have even convinced you that this is your fault, that there is something wrong with you.

This is why I think it’s so important to discuss abuse. I have seen friends of mine getting dragged into unhealthy relationships and I always try to broach the subject with them. It’s a difficult conversation to have and I’ve lost a few friends afterwards, but hopefully, when the time comes that they find themselves creeping around on eggshells not knowing where to turn, they will remember that conversation and it may give them a route out. Hopefully they will know that no matter how long ago I last saw them, no matter what has happened in between, they can reach out to me for help. There will be no judgement. There should be no shame. At the very least I know that I have tried, I have tried to leave them a door to escape from, and sometimes that is all that we can do.

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