24 January 2019. The day after I wrote THAT letter.
My husband took AJ to work. Somehow, he was just about hanging onto an apprenticeship at a leisure centre about 15 miles away. His manager was tolerant beyond any employer I have known. He liked AJ, and said when he was on form, he was far and away one of the best apprentices they had ever had. However, he also had me on speed dial for the days when AJ was chaotic and low. I have lost count of the number of times I had to leave my desk at work, usually because AJ had locked himself into a cupboard and they needed help coaxing him out.
Anyway. His shift started early that day, possibly around 6.30am. By 7.30am, he was on the phone to me. Frantic, gibbering, afraid. So afraid. He was absolutely incoherent. I tried to talk to him, to ask him where he was. He ended the call. I phoned the Centre and they hadn’t seen him. He had practically been dropped at the door, but hadn’t made it through it. More frantic phone calls. Some he answered. Many he didn’t. I could hear traffic. He phoned, and was silent. I phoned, he didn’t answer. He phoned, talking frantically. Making absolutely no sense. I was beside myself.
I called the police. Not the emergency number, but the station in the town where he worked. Babbling, I explained the situation. His background. History. How unwell he was. I described what he was wearing – asked if they could put out a description to officers on patrol. They took details.
Time passed. Calling AJ over and over, mostly no reply. Fear of missing a call from the police. Then they called back. Having reviewed the information I had given, they said that they would not help. They did not feel he was at risk and there was no role for them. “You’ll have to find him yourself”.
My husband was already heading back there in his car anyway – which was followed by hours and hours of driving around, looking. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack. We couldn’t use the tracking on his phone to locate him – we had tried that months before. He took it off within minutes of us putting it on. More phone calls. He was on the move…but where? He wouldn’t say – just repeating over and over “I’m not coming back. You’ll all be better off without me”.
He eventually told his dad where he was. He arrived home, looking ashen. Without a word he went upstairs, closed the door and didn’t come out.
I phoned the Crisis Mental Health Team, explained what was happening. Response: you are not entitled to access this service. You’d think I’d be furious but I just accepted it with a shrug. By now, I had come to expect nothing more.
At least we knew where he was. And gradually, we started to think about returning to what we were doing before that all unravelled. Because against the backdrop of chaos, there was a dog and two other children and two full time jobs all needing attention. Over the years it has struck me – the bizarre contrast of being gripped by real and visceral terror and grief in one moment and then thinking about what to cook the kids for tea the next. Maybe it’s partly those things that get you through.
25 January 2019 – two days after I wrote THAT letter
A sleepless night. Then morning. Saw The Middle One and little M off to school. Thankfully a day working from home, I couldn’t face being seen at work, I looked absolutely shocking. I was afraid to leave the house, although I was also more than a little afraid to be in it, on my own with AJ. After a gentle enquiry late morning which was met with little more than a grunt, I retreated. Emails, dog walked, kids back from school. They ask about their brother in something of a wary way. The Middle One went to work, little M went off to football training with his dad. The household continued, because it had to continue.
I was working downstairs. Suddenly AJ was in the doorway, a wild look in his eyes, saying he was going out. I begged him not to. He said “you can’t stop me”. It was as if I was talking to a complete stranger. Slamming the door behind him, his last words were “this is the last time you’ll ever see me”.
Little M returned. We ate in near silence. We put the TV on to drown out the silence, waiting for the evening to end so that we could begin the battle with sleep. I thought about ringing the police, but they didn’t want to know the day before.
I woke in the middle of the night, thinking I was dreaming about an argument. Sat up, realised I could actually hear shouting. It was The Middle One. I opened the door to AJ’s room and was so struck by what I saw I realised my nails were digging into the door frame. I remember blood. Everywhere. Up the walls. Over the carpet. AJ on the floor. The Middle One shouting and shouting, trying to bring him round. There was blood pouring from his head. He murmured, tried to get up and fell back to the floor. An enormous thud.
The police arrived first, even though we hadn’t asked for them. Then the paramedics. They took over and tried to clear us out of the room. I wouldn’t go. Wires, machines, questions, so many questions. I was shaking uncontrollably with shock. I went to get ready to go in the ambulance, turned and saw him standing there, in the doorway of AJ’s room. Little M, in his pyjamas, clutching his teddy and wide-eyed. He had managed to get past the police on the stairs with nobody noticing him in the chaos. I don’t know how long he’d been standing there.
Blue lights. Apologising to the ambulance crew over and over. More wires, tests, questions, the majority of which we couldn’t answer. Where had he been? How did he get the injury to his head? Had he taken anything? Questions, wires, monitors, alarms, running, bloods, whispering.
He tested positive for alcohol, ketamine, cocaine, benzodiazepines, opiates, weed, I can’t remember what else. He was wildly tachycharic (and already with an underlying history of arrhythmia). I was terrified.
Gradually, he came through it.
They tried to discharge him without seeing the emergency psychiatry team. Up until this point over the two preceding years, I had been at times patient, assertive, passive, cross, frustrated, distraught, bewildered, but always, perhaps astonishingly so, polite. That day I absolutely lost it. The problem with parents like me is that I read too much, and research too much, and I know what we are entitled to. I refused to leave the hospital without him being seen. After a long wait, we were seen, and I can truthfully say that after that assessment I felt abject despair. The person we saw couldn’t have looked more bored and disinterested if she had tried. Most of the people we have met on out journey have I think, been truly concerned even if they haven’t been able to help us. There are only a few which seemed to lack any tiny trace of human compassion. I can only imagine that their experiences in working in these services for any length of time has served to harden their reactions and emotions. Maybe you need to do that in order to be able to go to work every day. What we needed that day was compassion. What we got was total indifference. And you know what? A referral to CAMHS. It was so horrendous, it was laughable. AJ shot me a look as if to say “what did you expect?” and of course, he was right.
To this day we have no idea how he got that head injury, but thankfully there was no lasting damage from it, although he bears a permanent scar on his forehead. A daily reminder of the day the sky fell in.
We came home. Mum and dad were there, they had been looking after little M. AJ disappeared upstairs immediately, dad made tea. We were all exhausted. Mum, who has never been tactile, put her arms around me and I was a child again, and I broke my heart.
Darling Lisa. Your above day must have been like 25th November 2011 was for my poor husband. I am well now. He still bears the emotional scars of the trauma. Go gently.
Linda thankyou. And I know that you know.
So, so sad Lisa. And unforgivable. How can these so-called experts in their field, these professionals, totally ignore a situation such as this. I feel so angry and upset for you, and how you can’t relax for a moment. You must be constantly waiting for the next thing to happen. Makes the trials I had with my husband, torturous as they were at the time, pale into insignificance. Lots of love, lovely girl xx
They were trials all the same Sue. We all have our stuff. Thankyou for your kindness. Thankfully things are better than they were, at least for now.
Oh god how horrendous and utterly frightening for you. When I insisted the on call psychiatrist saw my son after one of his self harming episodes when he needed stitches, she turned up after 5 hours…spoke to my son on his own for all of 5 mins and then left. She told him to go home and watch some funny films to cheer himself up!!!! I again lost my shit at that point.
You have been through sooooo much, I’m not much good with words but I’m thinking of you and in awe of your strength and survival. I send you lots of love…to all your family too xxx
We had something similar at a later stage Louise – “when he feels like this try getting him to do a few star jumps”. I literally couldn’t believe it. You are so entitled to lose it. The frustration is real, isn’t it? Thankyou, and keep going, my friend.
Oh, Lisa ~ you have such courage and grace, darling girl. Sending warm love to you and your dear ones with a prayer that you may all keep safe. With love from Joanne (Australia) xx
Thankyou Joanne, so gratefully received.
Lisa, for all that’s said about steps forward in breaking down the stigma of mental health needs it’s patently obviously that we live in a country where the the services are unfit for purpose. Dear Lord I wish I had answers, how can we be so incredibly unable to care for our most vulnerable? My love to you all xx
I wish you had the answers too Rach! It is mind blowing to think that we are supposed to be an advanced nation and yet we don’t seem to be able to work this out. Thankyou, as ever, for your support x
Oh darling girl, I could barely breathe whilst reading this. You are incredible, so very brave. I am heartbroken at the way your son has been ignored by those who could and should help. Compassion is the least they could have offered you at that dreadful time. I’m sending belated hugs and love x
Thankyou Donna, and very gratefully received. I’m afraid our story is frighteningly common. It’s just trying to find a way through to get your voice heard and effect some change. I’m not sure I can take on system change which is why I am writing this instead – hoping to make a difference by trying to make it more normal and less taboo. Fingers crossed!
Oh my gosh ! We never really know what goes on in people’s lives ❤️ I follow you on Instagram thinking what a perfect world you live in and here you are my darling gliding along serenely on the top of the water like a swan whilst below your world is one of perpetual motion !
I too have children who in various ways are struggling but are now in adulthood. We sometimes believe family life is like the Waltons ( those of a certain age will get this reference …. goodnight Jon-boy) but the reality for some of us is vastly different ! Thank you for your honesty and your unflinching willingness to share ❤️ You make me braver with every post xxx
Ah, very fond of the Waltons! Thankyou for taking the time to write, I really appreciate it. I thought it was time to peel back the facade a bit as it might be helpful to reveal our struggles. It’s dangerous to perpetuate life being perfect, I think very few people’s really are. The fact you say you feel braver makes every word worthwhile. Take care.
This made me cry 😢 I do wonder why some people go into a profession which calls for empathy and compassion and they are unable to show any.
Thank goodness he has a loving and supportive family.
❤️❤️❤️
Thankyou. And yes, I know what you mean. I can only imagine you must get a bit immune to it, or it’s a coping mechanism. I have to say most people along the way did seem to care, even if they couldn’t help us. It must be hard being on the end of the phone telling someone like me that they can’t help.
Dear Lisa
I’m sure you will have done interminable reading and research, but wonder if you have read “Stranger on the Bridge” by Jonny Benjamin. He has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder. I heard about it on the radio and haven’t read it myself but I believe Jonny is now a mental health campaigner and vlogger… there’s stuff on YouTube I think.
I hope that this “episode” of your lives was the last and worst crisis you have had to endure and that things are currently calmer.
With love to all.
Pam x
Thankyou Pam, I haven’t heard of that so I am off to look it up later. I’m hoping we are through the worst too. Who knows? Things are better than they have been but I don’t know if that’s a temporary reprieve or not. I hardly dare think it’s behind us. Thanks ever so much for taking the time to message.
I have only just caught up on your blog Lisa and I had no idea of what you’re all going through. I knew AJ was having problems, but not the extent of them. It’s not much but you’re in my thoughts and sending you much love. You’ve always been strong, a fighter and if there’s a way to get AJ the help he needs, you’ll find it. ❤
Thankyou T. We all have our stuff, as you well know. I guess it’s how you deal with it and getting through that is the key. Who knew, all those years ago, when I was carrying him? In an case, determined to try and make some good of our experiences, in the small way that we can. Thankyou x
Hard to read Lisa. I’ve probably mentioned this before but I’ve written a bit about the same feelings of utter disbelief and insanity – not at the heath issues, but at the Orwellian services that are supposed to help. Google Joanne Bloggs and 24 hours in hell for the time I sat opposite a doctor for hours asking to be informed of my rights before they admitted me to a psych ward, with the doctor refusing until the moment I cracked (3am) when they handed me a piece of paper which said “you need to read this before you consent to admission”. I had it on my phone, as you say, we read and we know our rights and much as they dislike that in parents they like it even less in patients. I got an apology, after an 18 month complaint. But nothing can compensate for the trauma that has resulted which means I can no longer trust them to offer help when I really need it.
I think that lack of trust will resonate with so many. You start to work out what you can say and what you can’t, and who to. I’m so sorry. I shall look you up later this evening and have a read. Take care of yourself. Much love.
What unimaginable horrors you have been going through. Your poor boy, it’s dreadful to think of the turmoil he must have inside his head. I wish that there was some magic wand that could be waved over you all to help and heal. ❤️❤️❤️
Thankyou, that’s terribly kind. I wish there was too but I don’t think it’s coming anytime soon. He is much better just now and we hope that continues, but I can’t let myself imagine we are out of the woods – the realisation when you figure out you aren’t is too hard. Thankyou for taking the time to message me.
Oh Lisa I have so much to say, but nothing to say at this moment. My heart goes out to you. It’s so so tough to remain in control when things are totally out of control, when all you need is that person in a position of support to be of common sense, intelligence, experience and most importantly empathetic. As children we look to our parents who possess all those qualities, then we become parents ourselves and we turn to those people who hold these positions and yet that fail us. The hopelessness of the situation is all consuming. Like you I research too, yet when you challenge these people you are met with the look of ‘Oh she’s been on the internet, read a book and she thinks she knows everything’, when all you are asking for is that one person to help. They are rare but occasionally as long as you keep searching, you will find them. But often the tornado is reeking it’s damage now and you are doing your damn hardest to keep your head. Xxx
Thankyou so much. And yes, I know that look very well! I imagine we must be the worst kind of parent to come across in the service – but even so, with all that research behind us, its crushing how many times it gets you absolutely nowhere. It feels like a service designed to keep people out. I don’t know what else to do but try and use our experiences in a way that might help some others, if they cannot be used to help rethink the service. We endure!
Oh my lovely friend I knew things had happened and it was serious but honestly I had no idea how serious. My heart breaks for you all, that you had to go through this…. I tearfully write simple words of I’m sorry…. how awful… But no one can erase those memories and trauma that you all experienced and there you are like a mother lion fighting for your cubs ignoring your scars and pain to power through to help make change for others. I am.so very proud to call you a friend and the fact you are all willing to share these experiences to help others is a testament to your families strength and love.
And well you are one mighty woman yourself, my friend. Thankyou. I’m looking forward to your guest blog with absolutely no punctuation whatsoever. It’ll be like a piece of performance poetry!!
Well there will be either too much punctuation or not enough lol.
Gosh Lisa. I had no idea. So much courage to share this story. Sending the biggest hug to you and your family and praying that the sky stays intact from this moment on. Much love Kaye x
Thankyou Kaye, and I have the same prayer. We take every day at a time – can’t think too far ahead and its ok like that. And we are ok, just now. Fingers crossed.
My heart hurts for you…be gentle on yourself, you need it, deserve it. X
As do you, Sarah. Thankyou, and take care of yourself too.
Struggling to type this through my tears. I have just read all of your posts. I really don’t know what to say. Your writing is so brave and raw and will be so helpful to many I’m sure. Someone close to us took their own life (no one else knows that was the cause of his death, he was an older man and his sister asked us not to tell anyone) – we were the ones who alerted the police as there were some signs that concerned us. Three years on I still feel guilt, and wonder if we could have done more. I hate knowing what he did and not being able to tell anyone. He relied on us to look after him but I feel we let him down. My husband suffers from stress and depression too and has some manic behaviours, he emotionally pushes our son away which makes me so sad … if he ever received tests I’m sure he would be diagnosed with‘something’. We never know what is going on in other people’s seemingly perfect lives. Take care my lovely … we are all here for you. x
You’re absolutely right, we don’t, and that’s why I decided to write this in a way. It’s so easy to imagine everybody else is completely sorted and it’s just you that seems to have made a mess of it, and so I thought it’s time for that to stop. And I feel ready to talk about it publicly in a way that I couldn’t before, I just didn’t have the energy. It sounds to me as if you have spent a great deal of time being an incredibly important source of support to other people, so important to remember to take care of yourself too. Go gently, and thankyou.
Sending huge love to all your family unfortunately we have been let down by mental health so many times our daughter who is now 25 had no help or support from any one until 2 years ago when she was sectioned we thought we were on the right track but the minute she came home it was all on us it was horrendous things escalated durning lockdown and the police had to be involved I had been crying every day for help on phone to the mental health team they didn’t care the police were fantastic and saved her life and made sure she got the right treatment it’s going to be a long road ahead but I’m feeling more confident she’s currently in mental health rehabilitation I was actually told by the top professional I had to refuse to have her home to enable the real help 😔 what does that say about our system ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Hello Roberta and thankyou for commenting. What does it say indeed? It is so hard, having to work with the system in that way in order to get access, sort of a “cruel to be kind” approach. I’m sorry. It does sound as if she might be in the right place though if she has a place in rehab and it might give you a little respite rather than having her at home. Which sounds terrible but you’ll know what I mean. I’m also pleased to hear you found some support with the police, once again – a sign of the system being so wrong. I can’t think how many police hours must be taken up with dealing with issues that should be dealt with my mental health services – the funding needs so desperately to get to the right places. Take care of yourself, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. It is all that we can do.
This resonates with me on so many levels. I was in my twenties when my flat mate phoned for an ambulance because I had taken an overdose. I spent the whole journey to the hospital apologising to the paramedics for wasting their time. They were incredibly kind and reassuring. At A&E I was seen by a psychologist, which astounds me that you had to beg for your son to see one given his history. As the psychologist was assessing me he was constantly interrupted by nurses barging in and aggressively telling him that they needed the consultation room we were in for real emergency patients. They said this whilst looking directly at me. I felt so guilty that I got up and walked out.
The shock of being there had brought me round and I never tried to do it again, but I was so stunned at the way I had been treated and that someone else in a much darker place than me may well have gone home and succeed in ending their life. I don’t even blame those nurses, I’m sure they were exhausted and overwhelmed trying to work with little resources and understaffed.
I’m so sorry. That must be very difficult to deal with, that feeling of having been in the way. It is unforgivable yet as you say also understandable. It is good to know that you are in a better place than you have been, and I hope it stays that way. Thankyou for taking the time to comment.
Dear Lisa, I am 73 now and my son is 43. Reading your heart breaking posts takes me back to when he was younger and the problems we had.
He was a beautiful boy, very talkative, friendly, talented and popular until he hit age 16. He had had ribbing when younger because he wasn’t sporty but was musical and enjoyed performing. But in 6th form he was bullied, more than we ever realised but he still hasn’t forgotten to this day. He started to take weed and his behaviour was quite challenging. He changed from school 6th form to a 6th form college and seemed much better. He always had Saturday jobs which he did really well but was sacked from Next when they found weed in his locker (someone had spilled the beans). He was devastated but decided to try for a job at Clark’s shoes but admitted his dismissal when interviewed. Luckily they saw the best in him and he worked there successfully until going off to university. He drank a lot there, no real surprise, and had a year out in France as part of his degree. He had not been back here long when he suddenly announced that he’d just taken an overdose of paracetemol. We called for an ambulance which took him to hospital and thankfully he didn’t need a stomach pump or similar. He couldn’t tell us why he did it and really refused to speak about it – even to this day. He spoke to a doctor but had no follow up after care and was sent home to deal with it. It all seemed very unreal.
After university he soon got a job in eyewear and went to work in Hong Kong for about 5 years. He always seemed to hold down his job though he decided to come back to England as he realised he couldn’t party at the level he did for much longer. It was easy to get weed there and he seemed to use it as self-medication to ‘quiet’ his over active brain.
He has continued to work in eyewear and is very much respected in the business. He is liked and respected and is now in a pretty high-up position. He still smokes cigarettes and weed and seems to manage work well. He is really kind, has lots of friends, is a great cook and is extremely creative. He is still single and I think will stay so. He has had several relationships but all have ended quite acrimoniously. Since the pandemic he has shared his flat with a female ex-colleague but with no romantic commitment and it seems to work well. He adores his 4 year old niece and is popular with friends’ children but I doubt he’ll have any of his own which sometimes seems a bit of a shame.
So dear Lisa, I hope this may bring some hope that things can get much better after teenage years though I guess never totally go away.
Of course we blamed ourselves especially when he told me once that he just wanted me to be proud of him which of course I am, but probably haven’t said enough in the past. I came from a very non-emotional family!
I so hope things get better for you and AJ and the rest of the family and hope you don’t mind me putting my thoughts here.
Sending my very best wishes.
On the contrary Jane, it is good of you to take the time to comment and really good to hear of a family that have come through it. As you say, perhaps not unscarred but nevertheless out the other side. And thankyou, he is doing well at the moment, so much better than we have been. But we don’t count our chickens for a minute, it will be a very long time I think before this doesn’t cast a shadow over us, if that day ever comes. I’m so grateful to you for sharing this with me. Take care.
One day beautiful lady I will give you the biggest hug possible.
Until then thank you for sharing this painful part of your lives.
The treatment for the mental health of the young needs to change and quickly
Lynn xx
Doesn’t it just? Thankyou Lynn, gratefully received!
I read this this morning after a night of “bad dreams” and wasn’t sure when I saw you’d posted a new blog whether I would need wine or coffee at 9am😁As you know my story is the other way round seeing my mother try twice when I was young. As a parent of two beautiful children/teenagers now I am so fortunate – I can’t comprehend what you face but your story is reaching out to so many people and that’s amazing Lisa
Jason thankyou. I wonder that you are able to read it at all given your own history, so thankyou for that. Really appreciate it.
Hi Lisa
This is the first time I have popped on here to read your blog, Heavens Above my lovely I am lost for words, my Nan used to say ‘you never know what is going on behind someone else’s closed doors’.
I know where you are, I’m in there somewhere too…..
Lots of love to you all, you are in my thoughts and prayers Xxx Samantha Xxx💗
Thankyou Samantha – ad you know, I think your Nan was absolutely right. And if you are in there somewhere too, then take care of yourself. x
I fully empathise. It is THE most scary situation, the helplessness , the abject fear. Mental health is beyond the worst of any situation to support a loved one through. My heart aches for you. I so hope its onwards and upwards now for you all. And well done on sharing this. We need more people to highlight the issues surrounding mental health.
I hope so too. So far, so good, we are in a much better place than we have been. I don’t think we are out of the woods, but you know, I’ll take a temporary reprieve! Thankyou so much for taking the time to message me, I really appreciate it.
Dear Lisa, one thing is very clear – he has you in his corner. I would say that speaks volumes. I wish you and your family well.
Thankyou, that’s really kind.
I had to brace myself to read this Lisa as I know you know we have been going through similar CAMHS trauma for the last 2+ years. Where after initial refusal things had to get really bad and I had to shout very loud for us to be seen. Funny when you have a police tag on your house and support workers in your house for your safety they still don’t consider it a priority. It’s shocking, absolutely shocking. I did some consulting work for the NHS many years ago on some best practice project and sharing knowledge. Involved some very senior people at the time, one of them mid meeting interrupted the flow of conversation to ask where the patient was in all of this and we mustn’t lose that perspective. That’s what I’d like for people to remember, whether they are weary, have seen it a hundred times before or don’t know how they can help, the patient has a need, a very real need.
It’s heartening to think someone, somewhere in a senior position got it, but disheartening to think that by and large that doesn’t seem to be the case. I’m sorry Carolyn, some of these posts are a hard read, but I am getting to the end of the really tough bit. It feels important for context. You have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, however weary you may be. But you aren’t alone.
Oh my dear .. I have just read this. How are you … exhausted, lost all the feelings I guess. I hope things are slowly improving xxx
I’m feeling significantly older and marginally wiser. I guess it all makes us the person we are. And yes, thankyou, things are improving….
I was the medical power of attorney for my ex husband-he had mental health and physical diagnoses.
He was in the hospital and I called to speak with the social worker. She said “well what do you want me to do?” I kid you not-she actually said that. I replied to her “that I don’t normally tell people I’m a nurse but I was letting her know I was. I know how the system works, what the protocols are and I expected her to do her job. I went on to say that he was a man who had served his country. He wasn’t always the man she saw now-he was a man who had served his country and did what was asked of him. Yes he is out of it right now but he is so much more than the confused, handicapped man in that bed”.
God I was so angry-then the female chaplain came round to introduce herself and asked who I was. Surrounded by my ex’s family and our son I said “hello” and explained who I was. When I said “ex wife” she replied “yes, I heard there was one”. I literally laughed out loud-after spending 7 nights in the hospital at his bedside And washing my hair in a public bathroom sink I got to deal with that? His poor parents who were elderly and scared just stared at her. I just replied “we are done here” and escorted her out the room.
Sorry for the tirade-obviously it still affects me. Mental health is such a huge subject and no one seems to know the best way to go about approaching it. Having compassion would be a first step but even that seems lacking. Like the person did this on purpose ya know? Who in their right mind wakes up and says “I wanna be mentally ill-that’s right! Pick me!”.
My thoughts are with you, your family and everyone else that is on this journey with their loved one.
Hello, and thankyou for commenting. How absolutely awful, I literally don’t know what to say. Except these stories are so much more common than people might think, it’s criminal. I’m sorry. And I know what you mean about carrying things round with you, you think you are over it and then it takes you by surprise. One foot in front of the other, my friend x
I have read this with a tight throat and I’m ridged with anxiety… many folk can relate to your story in varying degrees I’m sure Lisa .. I know I can … reading it was as though I was living it … I just wish there was someone .. someone somewhere to give you the support the answers when we most need them .. but it seems we are often alone .. but there was one person who gave you the very thing anyone could have given you at that time .. your mum .. ❤️ Bless you and your family xxx
Thankyou Penny. My mum is terribly undemonstrative – always has been. Such a generational thing, I think. But she did exactly what was needed right then. I’m sorry if this has taken you back. It is both painful and cathartic to write it almost in equal measure, but I think there is value in doing so, for me and for some others. Take care x
I totally agree .. sometimes we need to be taken back ., it’s good as it’s a way of learning like no other way .. learning that life is not always a bed of roses far from it .. and when it is we can appreciate it
I learnt a lot from it lisa … thank you
bless you🙏🏻
Penny xx
And thankyou Penny, I really appreciate you taking the time to comment x