Loss Heartbreak. Writing – carolannwright

For personal reasons today’s blog is one of reminiscence, anniversaries and thoughts from the past.

Many years ago, as a young mum, I found myself, once again, by self- decision, on my own. It was the right place to be and I promised myself that romance was dead forever. I had made so many mistakes, had broken marriages and illness and a relationship that could not be. So on my own was okay.

I had 2 daughters, one around 11 and the other 15 coming on 16. I held down 3 jobs to pay the mortgage and did my very best for my family. It was a struggle and not an easy time, I made sure my girls did not go without and was quite content with my life.

Then I met up with an old girl friend who took me dancing, introduced me to nightclubs and pretty dresses, these she lent me, as I had nothing suitable for such outings. It was a whirlwind of Friday night parties and dancing. Something I loved. My youngest daughter would either stay with her best friend or my eldest daughter and her friend, would look out for her. Sometimes they both stayed at school-friends’ houses on Friday nights. So that became my time and I loved it. Footloose and fancy free, well kind of.

The one thing that was not on my mind was a relationship. I had made many mistakes in that department and had been hurt and hurt others in the process. My girls were my life. Carol and her girls, we were known as locally. I had no one family wise, but had a very close friend who encouraged me to have fun and would help out with my daughters whenever she could. I also had friends around, mums of the children my girls went around with. Always had a house full of children it seemed.I was still in touch with Tony my brother and my sisters June and Georgina. I was also, at this time in touch with my ‘mother’ and my Dad. Never close to her, but still in touch, mainly so that I could see Dad. Sadly, he only met David once because in the September of ‘85, sadly he died.

Back to July; on a whim and in a sale, I bought a lovely tightfitting fishtail dress, Red satin and it felt very glamorous. Funny what a pretty dress and new hairdo could do for a girl. It was a fun happy time, interspersed with worries about money, the mortgage etc. but no regrets about being on my own.

One Friday night 31 years ago, I went to the club, in my red dress and danced most of the night away. The girls were staying with my best friend and so I knew I didn’t have to worry about them. We never went out until around 9 or 10 at night which suited me, as it meant that I didn’t have to leave my little dog too long on his own. Someone I had got to know through one of my jobs, did taxi driving in the evenings and always picked me up from the clubs to make sure I was safe. I would arrive home, go inside and lock the doors and as soon as he saw the upstairs light go on, he would drive away. Great arrangement.

But let’s go back to 19^th July 1985, a memory etched in my mind for always. The day life changed for me. The night I met my husband David. It had been a lovely evening and dancing with my girlfriend, I saw a smart man in a suit looking at her, or so I thought. Julie, my friend was a very pretty woman and had men after her all the time. So, I presumed that this man with the wonderful dark eyes was looking at her. I told her this and she made us change sides on the dance floor, so that she was facing his way, and so that she could see who he was and see what he would do. He moved so that he was facing me. I couldn’t believe it and became like a 16 year old. As I said, I was wearing my red dress that evening, something that has become a symbol in our lives. He came over and asked me to dance, they were play Phyllis Nelson’s Move Closer and it felt amazing. Now our song.

This was the beginning of a relationship that is even stronger today than it was in the beginning. I often wonder what he saw in me, he says I am beautiful, which makes me call him, my man with the white stick. He calls me the girl in the red dress, something we share up until this day.

Tuesday this week, will be our anniversary. A day I treasure and am so grateful for. This wonderful man, took on both of my daughters and me with open arms and a huge heart. It has not been easy. My youngest, Marie accepted him from day one, my eldest didn’t. Never really knew why, but over the years he has shown her kindness and generosity that was not deserved and never appreciated.

During the years with David, he encouraged me to write and have published my first children’s book. At a time when I was at my lowest, he supported me through 3 years of college and then 2 years at University to gain my Masters in Counselling and stood in the hall proudly with Marie when I graduated. None of which I could have done without him. A few years ago, I wrote my autobiography, published under a pseudonym and he was my strength during this painful time.

David has been my rock these past 3 years and the other 28 but particularly the last 3. The things ‘family’ have thrown at me, he has tried to help me through. They have caused me damage and made me ill over and over again. Then walked away. He has seen me cry for the first time since we met, over horrid damaging things done to me by my eldest daughter and my youngest sister but he is still here. He says it is their loss that they have shut me out and now I know he is right. With him at my side, they cannot hurt me anymore.

I have all I need here on the farm. Yes it hurts the nasty comments, etc. but seeing the love and pride for me, in this lovely man’s eyes make it all worth-while.

So this is my thankyou to him. Thank you for trying with my children. For taking on our all of our animals. For walking our daughter Marie,so proudly down the aisle on her wedding day. For sharing the good and the bad days with me and for holding me when things become too much. You so often put the broken pieces back together when you could have walked away. Thankyou.

They, my ‘family’, said it wouldn’t last. My ‘mother’ laughed and told me that I would never be happy. Well, she wouldn’t be laughing now. Happy doesn’t cut it.

31 years on and celebrating on Tuesday with my man, the smiles are all mine. xx

Today is the first Saturday in July. The picture above is one of the views from my study over my side garden. It is beautiful if not a bit late and I never tire of looking out of my windows at the wonders of Mother Nature.

Saturday was for me a day to catch up on housework, plan the week a heads menus and later,cook a stir fry for myself and my husband. Some afternoons, when the weather permits, I sit and write in the garden, with my dogs at my feet and our ponies in the fields. A peaceful restful day after a sometimes hectic and also of late, worrying and upsetting week.

It is busier here now as my youngest daughter and her husband are here all weekend re building our holiday home, to live in when completed. My husband is helping and organizing the work but I am not yet involved. When it comes to choosing colours etc, I will chip in.

One of the things I looked forward to on a Saturday, was my weekly, sometimes bi-weekly chat to my brother Tony. When we lived closer, in Hampshire I visited and sometimes took him out as he is not able to drive now and doesn’t walk well. Because of distance, ill-health and commitments here,8 hours away, this is now not possible so our chats were important. ‘Family’ have stopped that now. How others, those who say they care about him, can stop calls to someone who has loved him all of his life, is beyond me. That is not loving someone.

So today this is one of the reasons for my sadness , the other being something I was sent, as an author, a chance to enter a letter to a competition. A letter to someone lost and/or estranged from you.I don’t enter writing competitions but sat and read many of the letters submitted and one was from a daughter to the mother who ‘left her in a hedge’ when she was a baby. I admit to reading this with some trepidation but read it through to the end. It was a beautiful letter, no blame, no recriminations, just a lot of confusion and non understanding. Lots of questions , not why’s; but had her Mum ever thought about her? Had she remembered birthdays etc? Did she wonder what she looked like at different stages of her life? etc. etc.

This letter stirred a lot for me. I wondered how the mum, if she ever could, would reply. What if she actually didn’t want her daughter? I find that hard to believe, I always think that circumstances must have been so, that her Mum had no or little choice. I found myself wishing they could meet, could answer each others questions because I know her mum would have so many.

How do I know? I sadly had a baby adopted many years ago. Not out of choice but because I had no choice. To have kept him would eventually,have meant losing my little girl of 3 and him, to Social Services as I couldn’t provide for them. Life was so different back then. You didn’t get any help as you do, thankfully today. I had a mother who showed me nothing but loathing and a ‘family’ who were controlled by her. So, no choice and it broke my heart.

For the first 5 years of his life, I wrote to the Adoption agency and sent cards on his birthday and at Christmas, sometimes they replied saying they would keep the everything and let him have it all when he was 18 if he asked. I continued to write until after receiving no replies I stopped when he was a little older.I now know that he was given nothing and so what I was told,was not true.

If this young lady’s mum ever read her letter or was able to talk to her daughter, she would, I am sure, tell her this. If,like me, a day doesn’t and never has, gone by without my thinking of him, her Mum would tell her that. She would say, that at every milestone that she would see in other people’s children; thoughts of her lost child would surface. She would tell this young woman, that often looking at her other child, or looking in the mirror, she would try to imagine what her child now looked like. How she wore her hair. What colours she liked. What was her favourite food. What music did she like. Every-time she heard the name, called to another child, that was her own baby’s name, she would rush to look and the wave of sadness and loss would envelop her. She would lose her baby all over again. Christmas’s and family gatherings, she would be thinking… if only things had been different.These are some of the things that hurt a mum who has lost a child to adoption. There are many more. I know.

I was fortunate enough to be reunited with my son when he was 22 years old. It as been rocky but we now have a loving relationship and one I treasure. I wish his older sister could be part of that but she isn’t at her own choice. I answered all of his questions over the past few years and he is as understanding as he can be. He bears me no ill will.

So I won’t be entering this completion but I will continue to write my book, already half done, which is already titled ‘Hello J”. One day he will read it.

I hope this young woman finds some answers. If not, I hope she continues to bear her birth mum no malice. She doesn’t know the whys and can only imagine.

So Saturdays were harder today for me but my future here is looking better. I have to respect my brother’s position, even though I know it was not what he wanted. I could ring him, I might ring him. I don’t know. I miss him and I know he will miss me, but this is how it is. I don’t like it but have to accept it.

My son may be visiting this year and then we can spend some quality time together. My youngest daughter will be living back here as she wants to and life will get better. I will make sure of that.

Thank you for reading this x