Angels Child

This pic gives me the absolute creeps. The girl reminds me so much of someone that is no longer with me. Same face, same eyes, same hair. My spine started to tingle, and my senses became super alert. The air seemed to crackle with I don't know what.

Questions:

Does a parent ever forget? If they do, how long does it take? Do you ever stop feeling guilty or blaming yourself for (in this case) an avoidable accident. When does your heart stop breaking? Do the tears subside?

I wish I knew the answers. Same old story. When I close my eyes at night, all the awful things that have happened seem to just come to the fore. I can't stop thinking about them.

I learned to meditate, it took a long time but I did it. I used to imagine a house in the mountains, on top of a hill covered in snow, and a view of the valley below. I'm physically at a similar place now, but can no longer meditate.

I think I need to get back to basics, give myself a bit of leeway. We have a break of 10 days coming up. I want to go to my spiritual home and spend a few days there. Maybe that will put me on the right track, so I can save myself. Again. Thank goodness for a husband who understands.

Angels Treasure

An emotive portrait by itself, without taking into account the memory of a child that is lost to you.

The meaning of lost doesn't necessarily mean dead. There are many ways to lose a child, death is one that I have already experienced. Drugs and alcohol are two more, but you love them always, no matter what.

I've been told to implement "tough love", a strategy for a parent to use in times of crises. I don't think I can do it, I'm not that strong.

I keep waiting for a call that says he is dead, or one that says he has had another heart attack, due to drug and alcohol abuse. Note: I said 'another'.

For months I have been unable to sleep, except on rare occasions. For months every time my head hits the pillow, I have panic attacks. Every time I shut my eyes his face appears. I don't know what to do any more. In my own way, I am as lost as he is.

I have had this pic for months, I have written about it many times and not published anything. It's to damn hard.

The Bad in the Cupboard. Part 1 of Three.

Five children, aged between 7 and 10, playing, laughing, enjoying a day full of sunshine. Two live there, three are visitors.

One of the three comes accross a well, this is a cause of great excitement. He has never seen one before, and calls the others over. Between them they manage to lift the lid, and peer down into the gloom, unable to see the bottom. It is 120 feet deep.

One older boy gives one small girl a shove, she looses her balance and starts to fall. The girls sister, 2 years older, grabs frantically at her clothes, unable to gain purchase. Finally, she manages to hold on to a foot encased in a sneaker, her little sister dangling precariously over the edge. Both girls are screaming for help. The other children do not come to help, they stand mesmerised, staring. As if in slow motion, the shoe and the foot part company.

There is no initial splash, just a dull series of empty sounding thumps echoing, as the small girls body bounces from one side of the shaft to the other. Eventually, after what seems like many minutes, there is a loud thump, and a small splash. She has reached the bottom of the well, and the end of her young life.

A little after 2 hours, her body was recovered and bought to the surface, smashed to pieces like a broken porcelain doll. The skull in 3 pieces, with one beautiful eye completely missing.

The parents identify the body. It is an horrific sight. The father suffers complete nervous collapse, and has never spoken of the event since. The grandmother blames herself, as she was minding the two girls. She still cries every night. The sister's life is never the same again, she blames herself because she let her sister fall. The event will haunt her to the end of her days. The family are never able to live in the house again. The well was their water supply. The eye is still down there. The marriage dissolved under pressure.

Finally, we get to the mother. She was working that particular day, satisfying the craving for money, to support her Western lifestyle. She also blames herself, of course.

This event was I hope, done in the innocence that comes with childhood, in a land where there is no war.

It is bad enough a child dies, let alone being killed in war.


To be continued.