I Was Almost A Mother

Frequently, I still feel as if it was just last week when I left school. I still do not feel like an adult. Adult experiences still sort of unnerve me. I think because I profoundly disagree with the worldwide social, political, economic system and have sought to avoid becoming entangled with it, I have lived a lot of my life feeling free, able to give my time and energy to things that feel truly important.

Naturally, the friends I have drawn closest to have shared the same view, the same vision, the same yearning for something so much better than the monstrously inadequate current way of mismanaging things. But over the years, many of my friends have had to make decisions as a new and precious responsibility was assigned to them. They experienced the wonder of becoming parents. They had to make changes to their lifestyle in order to care for their incredible gift.

I was talking to a friend last night. We have been friends since we were teenagers. She is a mother of three beautiful little girls. She was telling me about some of the dramas in their family just in the past month. They have been to A&E four times in a month with their three daughters. It would seem the girls are attracted to danger.

While my friend was talking…I was thinking back to four years ago. Four while years ago. It seems so crazy. I was almost a mother. A life, a unique and precious human was growing inside of me, developing intricately and miraculously. I felt a sense of mourning today…for all sorts of reasons. I miss friends I have lost, beloved friends, relatives, and the precious little child that I lost when she (or he) was just the size of an apricot. I am comforted that she lays peacefully near to my family in Snowdonia. She will always be a part of me. A precious and epic part of my voyage of a lifetime.

Her father will always be a part of me. Whether he needs to be or not – he will always be one of my most treasured friends. Whether he needs to be or not. What he allowed me to experience – makes him sacred to me.

Photo by Thanh Nguyu1ec5n on Pexels.com

It Matters To Me

Three years ago….

…I lost my little apricot.

What an eventful three years it has been. She would have been over two years old by now. That’s an amazing thought. But it is a thought that is not all sad, it is also very important to me, very special.

She (I don’t know for sure whether my little apricot was a girl) matters to me. Her life represents a million opportunities, a million interactions, a million thoughts and feelings and words and funny faces…and purposeful meaningful decisions and actions.

Her loss caused me grief because I know that she missed out on amazing opportunities….and I too lost out.

While watching the news about the events in Ukraine, I cannot help thinking of the value of life – all the opportunities, adventures, relationships, challenges and victories that life presents. Every single life matters, and it is hard to think of anybody being callous to the precious value of life. It is hard to see someone mindlessly ordering the bombing of areas that are clearly resulting in the loss of life of innocent people, including young children.

There will be justice. There will be an end to violence and the callous disregard for life. There will be a future without fear, without terror, without distrust. Of this I am sure….because it is not just to me that the precious gift of life matters…the one who paid the ultimate price…it matters much more to Him!

Another Cover Story

Last year, when Gary, Jeanne and I were working on the 2019 BAKE-OFF, I was recovering from a sad loss. It cheered me up immensely to have lovely occupation for my mind. I had also been writing “ditties”…some WordPress viewers were kind enough to call them “poems”, but they were more me putting down words from my heart without following any rules. It was good for me to have that avenue to grieve.

Earlier this year, a friend of mine helped me combine my ditties and journal entries into a little book. I have mentioned it before, but it’s such a personal “project” of mine…I like to keep it in my special untouchable place.

My friend helped me to publish a collection of ditties I wrote when I lost my little apricot. I was very pleased to have a paperback copy of the finished result. But I was not really sure about the cover.

I have learnt that after you have written a story or poetry cover, finding a cover that expresses something of what is within can be a real challenge.

That was especially so with something I wanted to be a permanent record, a keepsake of something very special and sad that I experienced. The one thing I could not bear is if my little apricot was forgotten as if she (if she was a she) was of no value.

I lost her, and naturally I was saddened. But it would make me more sad if it was as if she was never a part of me. She is a part of me, always! She sleeps soundly in a safe place near to my family in Snowdonia. She sleeps soundly in my heart.

Anyway…this is another cover story…another! I found a much better cover that captures the spirit of the contents of my book of journal entries and ditties about someone I never had chance to hold in my arms, but whom I don’t want to be forgotten.

So…I asked my friend to talk me through the whole cover process (so patient he is) including making sure there are cover credits on the inside page and then I pressed publish. The only thing I am worried about is the white text. There was no colour that was right, so I went with white. I hope it will look ok. I am going to order an author copy to see how it looks.