Not a dry eye in the house & A song for my baby

“There’s not a dry eye in the house
after love’s curtain comes down
Listen and you’ll hear the sound
Hear the sound of a heart breaking”

Following on from yesterday’s blog, I have decided to do a follow up.

My life isn’t, and hasn’t been, all bad. There were moments where I have felt truly blessed to be alive, moments where I have felt so elated that even the thickest of clouds couldn’t contain me.

Most of these moments, these rays of sunshine bursting through the stormy skies, coincided with the meeting with my lovely fiance.

1996 was a very big year for me. I started to play the cello, I got into an orchestra within months and started my upwards journey into the musical domain. I had discovered something which I could do, that set me apart from my siblings and my parents. Something which made me me. There were bad moments, one in particular stands out, which could be the start of my emotional troubles, but overall, a good year.

However, between that and meeting Alan in 2004, those were the “bad years”

September 2004, I entered college. I vowed to concentrate on my music and my studies.
November 2004 saw the start of my relationship with Alan. after 23 attempts at asking me on a date, he was STILL determined to hunt me, so, I gave in. I caved and did the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t do until my studies were finished… I got a boyfriend, A soulmate, a life-partner.

And then, came his family.

They are the real meaning behind my update today. I sit here on a daily basis and read posts from people who are struggling to maintain a civil relationship with their families, and I feel for them. Having nothing to do with my own family (with the exception of the one sister who remains at mothers house) I find myself sympathising with them, BUT I have no reason to feel that way anymore.

The day I met alan’s parents is still so vivid in my mind, so strong that it will probably never wash off.
Alan and I sat upstairs playing games and talking, listening to his music when his dad walks into the room and asks me if I liked spaghetti bolognese. When I say “no that’s lovely thank you” He replied “oh ok, I was just checking that you weren’t one of those wierd vegetarians or fussy with your food” and I replied “Nah, I like meat too much for that”

Then, came his mother (who apparently I met after his aunt?.. must have made too strong an impression) who instantly said that I seemed like a nice girl and that she was happy to welcome me into their home.
His sisters asked a barrage of questions, down to my favourite colour, my pet’s names and how many boyfriends I’d had before Alan (answer: none serious enough to consider)

I consider that day, those few hours, to be the start of my new life. The start of something so big, even I could not fathom it’s importance.
It is only now, as I sit 4 and a half years later, 5 weeks before our wedding, that I can truely see the impact it has on my life.

During the planning of our wedding, I have met some fantastic people, and have had many a discussion with them about everything from dresses to flower arrangements and even our families and what, if anything they are doing to help (or hinder)

Alan’s mum and dad really are doing too much for us, they are paying for the cake, the catering, half my dress and now they’ve booked a dj. I’d just like to share a portion of one of the posts I made on the site, refering to alan’s family:
“It is so nice to feel accepted by them, and I have been since the day df introduced us. Apparently, the night I met his mum for the first time, about 2 1/2 weeks into our relationship, she said to df “I have a very good feeling that you will marry that girl”

And that was 4 1/2 years ago. His dad is probably one of the hardest people to talk to that I know. He has a very strong opinion on almost every subject you can bring up, including my liking for tattoos and piercings, and yet he is SO pleasant to me, and always has been. They all treat me as if I am part of the family, and even at the annual family gathering, ALL his cousins, aunts, uncles etc act as If I had been there all along and they have known me all their life.

Its a bit odd as even my own mother can’t act that way with me. To me, it is a HUGE thing, and I have no idea what I’ve done to earn myself such a great life and a fantastic family. It’s a strange feeling when a woman enters your life as the mother-of-your-boyfriend, and turns out to be the biggest mother figure you’ve ever had. Oh god, I’m starting to cry again, I just can’t explain it.. Sometimes I get frustrated with it all, and I get unbelieveably jealous of df sometimes, as he has the family I could never dream of, and they are so willing to accept an outsider into their midst. I am truely honoured.”

I can only hope that one day, I am able to be the same way with Naomi’s choice of partner. And with that, I leave you with a song, which I have always loved, and one that I leave as a message for my dear daughter.
I hope that regardless of the hardships that she may face, she will recover and use them to get strongerand to learn from them.

“May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you

May you build a ladder to the stars

And climb on every rung
And may you stay forever young

Forever young
Forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the light that’s surrounding you

May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young

Forever young
Forever young
May you always stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
And your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the wind of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful
And your song may it be sung
And may you stay forever young

Forever young
Forever young
May you stay forever young”

 

Having a mummy moment

Looking back, I realise how depressing my last few posts have been. For this, I apologize. I have been feeling quite sombre for the last few weeks and I suppose it’s reflected in my writings!

Being May the 18th, we are nearing the anniversary of one of the most pinnicle days of my childhood, the day which started the downward spiral of my life, and ultimately my relationship with my mother.
I am, of course, talking about the day my dad left.
May 16th, 1999, just 2 days after my 11th birthday, I was called into the front room with my younger sister, aged just 7, Where we were told that our father was going to be moving out on the 22nd and that they were getting a divorce.
It broke our hearts. We both loved our father to pieces and didn’t want him to leave, but at the same time we were relieved. Relieved that after all those years, the arguing would stop, the breakables and the china would be safe from harm on the shelves, and we would be able to carry on our lives without worrying about the next time we’d be barricaded on the upstairs landing listening to the screaming slanging match echoing from the lounge.

Being close to the 10 year anniversary of that day, I have been thinking about My skills as a parent, and how my daughter would percieve me.

Yes, Alan and I have arguments, we have our moments where we scream at eachother and want nothing more to be in separate rooms, but we resolve it and we try our hardest to shield Naomi from it. Ultimately, I try my hardest to shield her from any sort of emotional trauma to which I was subjected as a young girl.
When my father left, there proceeded to be a long line of men entering our lives, each promising various things, only to disappear a month or so later. My mum re-married, which also ended badly after just one year, with my sister and I having to make the decision which I am certain my mum hates me for.

We were asked whether or not we wanted our stepdad back in the house. We had the same answer = no. We were happy with just our mother and having him in our lives was nothing but misery. We were forced to call him “dad”, while he controlled every little thing we did, criticized our school work, despite us trying our hardest, and it was for those reasons that we decided not to have him back in our house.

and so, I am sure that my mother resents us for this decision, and she has been making my life misery since.

As a mother, I find that I cannot understand this for one moment. What could possibly make a mother resent their child and treat them with such callousness and bitterness that they feel as if their life is worthless?

I am very proud of my little angel and there is, and never will be any reason why I would feel so negative towards her.

So, As the title states, I am having a mummy moment today.
Sat in the doctors office this afternoon, awaiting a prescription for my chronic headaches, Naomi was playing with a mini lava tube. The ones with the pink gel on one side and the blue on the other, and they float down the tube like an egg timer.
I was showing her the colours, and pointed to the pink, then the blue and then told her that when you look through both sides, the colours look mixed, to make purple.
To my suprise, she pointed to the tube and said very clearly “Urple!” She has not had me tell her that word before, yet she instantly picked it up.
At home, I pointed to the handle of her trampoline and said “what colour is that” and she replied “Urple”, Lo and behold, the handle is indeed, purple!
She has come on leaps and bounds in the last month. She now copies all the dances from in the night garden, including the “knock on the door” from the tombliboos song, and the blowing kisses at the end of upsy daisy’s.
And, for the first time in ages today, She finished all her tea of faggotts, mash and corn on the cob.

Given this, I sent her to bed with a cup of warm chocolate milk and she fell asleep within minutes!
My little girl is my world and she is everything to me.

If I could bottle these moments, and keep them on a shelf, it would truely be, the most precious shelf in existance.

 

Nando datte yari naoseru

“Nando datte yari naoseru”
“I can try again and again until I get it right”

But the present won’t ever come again
When I step into that untouched place
Deep in my heart it hurts so much that tears begin to fall
But I’ll keep moving forward, if I could blame it on the times
If I could blame it on someone else
Then I could start over and have a new dream

That quote, From “Motto Tooku e” By remioromen pretty much sums up the entirety of how I have been feeling these last few days. Yet again, there have been more Birth announcements, more scan pictures and more people complaining about being overdue. It saddens me that I am hurt so much by this. The miscarriage was 4 months ago now, I turn 21 tomorrow and have so much time for all of this, and yet it still burns a hole in my heart. All I can think of is “what if.” What if I hadn’t lost that little one, I would be counting down the days till I held them my arms. I would be the one complaining of all the aches, the pains, the worry…

I have always lived by the matra: Live each day as it comes. One of the reasons why my next tattoo will say “asuoshinzi, zibunnarinoikikatawoseyo” Which translates to “Have faith in tomorrow and live it your way”.. and yet I find myself dismissing it.. One day 4 months ago has seemingly distinguished how I will live the rest of my life, thinking “what if?”
Why can’t it be enough to say Ce la Vie this time and carry on as I have done the past 21 years? I have a beautiful daughter, a wonderful fiance and family-in-law. I’m getting married in 6 weeks and it still isn’t enough. I cannot sleep through the midnight tears, I cannot abide hearing anything pregnancy related and I have even entertained the thought that the hospital was wrong and that I am still indeed pregnant, and will be stuck here forever in this never-ending cycle of grief and misery, over something which the professionals didn’t even call a “baby”… Even though I SAW that line, that dark, clear line, strong as Naomi’s was at 19 weeks, they dismissed it without reason.

I am finding myself scared that those few hours have brought back the darkness and the depression. Those hours were easily the worst in my life, moreso than being raped at uni, and abused at the ages of 15 and 8. I can easily say than those few hours were worse than the whole 6 weeks during which my heart was ripped out of my chest and I was left walking around as a hollow shell when Alan left me because of the pressure my mother put on our relationship. Those 6 weeks of utter despair and suicidal musings, sitting in a dark room, going days without food, trying to overdose myself, wanting to fade away in the darkness.
Those few hours when I was told I had lost a child were easily far more pertinent than all of those experiences rolled into one giant ball. comparitively, they were just “glitches” in my life.

I have dreamt so vivdly about all of those moments, of what transpired, and yet I have come out unscathed. So why is it that one mention of a child who was never meant to be has me falling to my knees pleading some higher being, wishing to go back and do something different so that I could change things.

I have found myself getting so angry over it, I have been taking it out on those I love. Naomi banged her head yesterday and I just sat there, not reacting at all.. Is that how a mother should act? I usually would have jumped to her the moment it happened and I hate that I didn’t. I hate the darkness that is looming over my head, I despise the emptiness I am feeling and how it is making me act towards those I love. I fear that I may be slipping back into the void, unable to see daylight again.

There is so much to look forward to, with the wedding, a house viewing on saturday, moving in the summer to a nice house somewhere, and the rest of my life as a happy, contented wife with cats, children and hopefully a good career. But I can’t see it. It’s as if I have blinkers on, concentrating all my attention on those 4 brief hours sat in a hospital, bleeding from both my womb and heart..

It’s always what we can’t have which we crave so much. I know it’s not something I can never have again, and there is a very high possibility that one day, soon, I will have that baby growing inside me.. but it isn’t enough. I have lost something, someone I can never get back, and part of myself went with it. A part which I will never recover and that someday, somehow, I hope someone is able to fix.

And so, as the tears stain my cheeks, As my heart bleeds, threatening to explode at the sight of a newborn, as I grieve for the one I lost, wondering why me, I shall try my damndest to move on and to walk through life with my head held high. I shall attempt to push the dark clouds from my mind, to stop those thoughts knocking at my door, and I ask that please, Please, for my sanity, do not complain that you are tired of “waiting” and that you are “fed up” that you are overdue, or that you are “ONLY” a couple of months into your blissful baby-filled pregnancies.

For I am still waiting for someone who will never arrive.