If the Tables were Turned... (a #1000speak Post)

If I were sat on concrete throughout the day, curled cold in a doorway at night. If stone were my pillow, cardboard my sheet, and my blanket fell from the sky. 

If I were hungry, huddled, cold, exposed; afraid of an unsheltered night. If I'd found a hideaway, been discovered, moved on; had nowhere else to go. 

If I knew what it was to hunt butts on the floor, scavenge food from a bin. beg handouts from passers by. If I was hungry, thirsty, drained; tortured by bellies cry.

If my gloves were wet from shifting snow, my fingers froze to biting. If my feet were screaming, barely shod, my skin icebound in tattered clothing. 

If I had to look down, was too ashamed to look up, was afraid of the look in their eyes. If I knew what it was to be guessed at, frowned upon, judged in a moment. 

If the tables were turned. If I were Homeless. I'd wish for (pray for) compassion. 

Poem by Cliff Letts. Read more Here

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If my life had been torn apart by conflict. If I knew what it was to watch friends and loved ones die. Torn apart, blown apart, tortured. 

If I'd been forced to leave my home, community, country. Leave a life time of people behind.

If my life, my children's lives depended on running, if there was little hope in the running but running was all we had. 

If I'd had to bundle up belongings, a whisper of our all. Drag my babies through the night, throw them onto an uncertain boat... answer their cries with lies and maybes. 

If I (we) survived the journey. Were thrown (traumatized) from a sea of hope into an unfamiliar (largely unwelcoming) world.  Washed up, weary worn, stranded! 

If my children now wandered barefoot in the rain, in the-there-that-we-had-run-to... rejected, hungry, hurting.

If I'd arrived at hope to find hopeless, and would rather we'd died in the there that we'd fled... than die in the there that we'd run to.   .

If the tables were turned. If I were a Refugee. I'd wish for (pray for) compassion. 

***

If I were old, lonely, unwanted, forgotten. Old; forgetful, childlike, demanding. Old; frustrated, sharp tongued, aggressive. If I were hard work...a burden.

If I'd been Marie; unloved, abused. Surrounded by hopelessness; voiceless. confused. If I'd known fear without comprehension. If my screams had gone unheard. 

If I were alone; scared, unprotected. Nothing-to-no-one; wretched, neglected. If I were they that are!

If the tables were turned. 

*** 

This is a #1000speak post. Thankfully, there are a lot of kind, compassionate people in the world. People who make a difference. People who give what they can, do what they can, bring hope to the hopeless.  Not least the folks who write for 1000-Speak.

1000-Voices-For-Compassion is such a beautiful movement. There are so many contributions, from bloggers all over the World.... I encourage you to check them out if you get a chance, I'm sure you'll find some that resonate with you. 

You can do that by following @1000speak on Twitter or by checking out the '1000 Voices for Compassion' Face book page Here

#1000SPEAK FOR COMPASSION 

Speaking for GOOD on the 20th of every month

***

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love 

Kimmie x

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Streets Ahead (a #1000speak post)

It would be impossible to write this post without sounding like I'm blowing my own trumpet, because the events of the two (short, I promise) compassion stories I'm about to share with you, were born of my own compassion. But, it's not MY horn I want to blow today... Ignore my horn! :o)

***

A while back, November-ish I think, Hubs and I were on our way to post some letters when we passed a homeless guy. He was sat on the pavement; head down, eyes closed, huddled. 

Within moments of passing the man I was kicking myself for not stopping, and knowing that we would be crossing his path again on our way back to the Co-op I asked Hubs if he had any spare change in his pocket. He dug out what he had. It wasn't much. 

The mans reaction when we stopped and handed over 'not-much' was smashing. His face lit up instantly. His expression a mix of surprise and... actually I'm not quite sure about the and; relief with a hint of joy I think. 

At this point he had already made my day!

We said goodbye to the man and crossed the road to the Co-op, stopping first at the cash point just outside the store. While I was waiting for Hubs to withdraw the money we would need for our shopping I noticed another (elderly, frail) homeless man sat just to the right of us, outside the bakers. 

I turned to hubs, and was just about to ask him if we could spare anything else, when I heard... "Come on mate, up ya get, I'll buy ya some breakfast." followed by a mumbled, (inaudible to me) reply. 

I turned toward the voices (as nosey people do ;) and then watched in awe, as he (the man we'd just left on the other side of the street with not-much to his name) gently helped the somewhat bemused elderly man to his somewhat shaky feet. 

Turns out not-much, as far as Mr Compassionate was concerned, was enough. More than enough for two!

I turned back to hubs, and under my breath, asked, 'Can we spare a bit more?'.

After adding a-little-bit-more to their not-much , we said goodbye to Mr Shaky and Mr Compassionate. They, one held up by the other and both smiling, shuffled off in the direction of the nearest cafe. We, also smiling, disappeared into the co-op to get the food we needed to cover our own meals that week. 

Someone once said (Mary Poppins, I think), "Enough is as good as a feast."... Well then, I hope my Mr Compassionate, was served 'enough' fit for a king!

***

Some weeks later; the week between Christmas and New Year. We (me, Hubs and Littlie) were on our way to The Book Shop in Town (to spend Littlie's book-vouchers), when we saw another homeless man, sat on a concrete step between two shops. Eyes to pavement. In a world of his own.

He looked up, startled, when hubs approached him, and was just about to accept the coins offered when he suddenly pushed Hubby's hand away, exclaiming, "No, I can't!" 

At first I thought we'd offended him, hurt his pride, but then he gestured toward Littlie (in her wheelchair) and said, "Disabled, I can't take from disabled, it's not right." 

His reaction took my breath away. He was so sincere. Clearly, more concerned for us than for himself. Choked up even. 

We're not well off by any means, Dear reader, but we had, just days earlier, enjoyed Christmas dinner (and pudding), by fairy-light-glow.  Opened gifts. Eaten sweets. Watched Christmas TV... Together.

We have a roof over our heads; food in the cupboards. Hot water, home comforts, warm beds... Each other. 

We're a long way from concrete!

Anyway, I, made brave by HIS compassion; took the coins from hubs, approached the man myself, and said,  "please take it. It's not much, and I promise you... we have enough." 

The man (I wish I'd asked his name) took the coins from my hand and said 'Thank you'. 

As we turned to walk away he called out, 'Wait'. Then he stood up and shuffled towards us, saying, (addressing Littlie, but looking between us and her for approval), "Let me give you something; can I give you a kiss, Child." then gently, (as gentlemen do) he leaned forward and  kissed Littlie on the cheek. 

The Mum-in-me (without meaning to) had mentally clocked his grubby beard, queried germs, made a mental note to dig out the wet wipes when we were out of sight. 

The ever-present-fear-in-me was on edge, not quite sure, fingers-crossed. Because, well, that's me. 

But I didn't stop him. Nor (amazingly, for a germ obsessive such as me) did I wipe away his gift; his compassion (his 'enough'), when we were out of sight. 

They didn't amount to much; the coins we gave him... they never do. 

But there was love (and compassion) in the giving, and an unspoken; 'I-hope-it's-enough'. 

Much like his gift to us! 

***

Thank you for allowing me to share

I wish you enough. 

Kimmie x 

***

There are so many #1000speak contributions, from bloggers all over the World.... I encourage you to check them out if you get a chance, I'm sure you'll find some that resonate with you. 

You can do that by following @1000speak on Twitter or by checking out the '1000 Voices for Compassion' Face book page Here

#1000SPEAK FOR COMPASSION 

Speaking for GOOD on the 20th of every month

***

Related Post: Somebody's Son 

 

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In a Nutshell... Because Nutshells are Easy.

My God, I needed to write today. Yesterday. All of last week.  If ever there was a ramble (or 10) waiting to come out, it's now.

I've spent hours in front of the laptop attempting to unravel my muddled mind, but absolutely bugger all has made it as far as the keyboard.

How does that work exactly... with a head so full of blogger-fodder. A head so full of feels.

In a nutshell; because nutshells are easy... I feel like I've been picked up and thrown back to May 2015. I'm depressed-scared-overwhelmed. Exhausted. Withdrawn. Hurting. 

I thought I had it under control; The-Grief. Turns out I don't.
I cannot. I CANNOT accept!

I've pondered taking a complete blog/social media break, but I don't really want to do that. Cutting myself off completely isn't the answer; as I've discovered this week. Too little can be as harmful as too much. 

I think what I need to do for a while is write freely. Write without worrying about edits, readability... blog-worthiness  

So. Over the next few weeks I'm gonna continue with my Wordless Wednesday and Just-a-Quote posts; because they're (almost) effortless to put together.

Today I'm going to (in a minute) throw one of those My-10-most-popular thingies at you... assuming they're as easy as I imagine they are to throw together; I've not done one before.

Next week (all being well) I'll be sharing some of my favorite other-bloggers with you, and I'm hoping to write something for the 1000-Speak movement on the 20th.

In the meantime I'm going to be throwing thoughts to paper; any which way they come... writing-doodling-painting. Make a start on my Dear-Dad journal. Read; other-bloggers, and my long list of kindle saves. Have a go at putting some of those blogger how-to's that I've been pinning for months into practice. And rest!

I'll still be around to read/respond to your comments here on the blog (though perhaps not same-day, so bear with me).
I'll catch up with you, dear Twitter-Facebook-friends, on the not-so-down days, and join you, dear fellow-bloggers, for the blog-share parties as and when I can.
As for you, dear readers-just-readers... Thank you (assuming you're still here) for reading.

And Thank you, dear All-Of-The-Above, for supporting-encouraging-comforting me this past (awful) year. x 

Okay. *Takes a breath*. Lets have a go at this 10-most-popular-thing. Actually, lets not. Let's do 8; multiples of 4. Because... the 4-thing. 

#1 Marie's Voice

   

Once upon a time, (1970 to be exact), in a children's home in England, run by an order of nuns called The Poor Sisters of Nazareth... there lived a very 'special' little girl. She was a tiny little dot who had short cropped hair, and the bluest-of-blue eyes. Her beauty, often overlooked, was breathtaking. 

At five years old, such as she was; she was unable to feed herself, she couldn't walk, she couldn't talk, her understanding of the world around her was extremely limited, and her behaviour would have tried the patience of a saint (or nun, as the case may be). Read More

#2 Somebody's Son

Snow falls, blanketing the town 

Somebody's Son is cold 

His hands are froze to biting 

his body (though not) feels old 

Sat upon a cardboard sheet 

Somebody's son alone 

Huddled against a letter box 

gloves wet from shifting snow... 

Read More

#3 Lets Hear it for The Hashtags

I really enjoy these blog share memes. I've met some great people, read too many good-reads to mention, and received lots of encouragement with regard to my own writing. What's not to like :o) Read More

#4 Still Afraid... and the Line's Still Fine.
I originally wrote the following piece in 2013... I'm sharing it again today, edited only marginally, because almost 3 years on there is STILL no change for the better... Government are STILL ignoring campaigners... Disabled people (those who have survived the sustained attacks) are STILL afraid! Read More









#5 It's your Birthday and I'll cry if I want to.
Dad,

What do I do today? How do I do today?  Should I be doing something? - What do I say? I don't know what to say, Dad... should I be saying something?

What do people say to dead Dads on their Birthday?

Happy Birthday Dad. Are you happy? Are you here? Can you hear me? Can I see you? can you do that?... I want you to do that. Read More

#6 If I Could

If I could live anywhere... Oh I'm so glad day dreams are allowed... If I could live anywhere, (anywhere, any time, any dream) I would choose 'Walnut Grove'... Except I'd have Pa build me a proper oven, cause I'm buggered if I could bake like Ma bakes in a tiny little hole to the side of the fire place. Oh, and I'd be needing an inside loo... how Ma manages to poo in that tiny little outhouse; in THAT skirt, is beyond me. Read More






#7 Is This Tired... Fibromyalgia?
A few months ago, I had a severe pain/mobility episode, during which my back/hips went out of alignment and I was left virtually unable to walk for a period of around three weeks, it's not the first time this has happened, and as (over the past 18 months or so) I have experienced ongoing (though less severe) pain in other areas, and a variety of other (random) symptoms, my GP made a referral for me to see a rheumatologist. Read More






#8 I Am.

When other mental health sufferers say they are ashamed (many of them are, for one reason or another) I'm usually the first to respond with - "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you can't help being ill" - and I mean it!

However, I'm afraid it's a case of 'Take my advice, I'm not using it', because there really is no other word than 'ashamed' that describes how I feel, overwhelmingly so, and have felt for a very long time.

My 'shame' might not be rational, but it is 'my' truth, and that's what this space is for. Read More

NB: #8 was actually written toward the end of 2014. I've included it in 2015's most popular list because it is (according to stats) the most viewed post of 2015. 

***

Thank you, as always, for allowing me to share. 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

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Wordless Wednesday 28/10/2015... Such Love!

Kimmie x

Related post... Marie's Voice... the story behind the pic

Prayer for Refugees... (a #1000speak post)

Father, God, 

Please help the world's refugees.

All who's lives have been torn apart by conflict, 

forced to leave their homes, loved ones, countries. 

Protect those who are journeying now 

heal those who are safe, but still traumatized 

Soften the 'hard hearts' - comfort the broken 

Send hope for the hopeless.

Let all who can do something to help... do it

all who have something to give... give it

all who seek a safe place to live... find it. 

All who can do nothing but pray... pray.

That all who suffer be given strength; to persevere, to hold on to hope. 

That they be accommodated, comforted, cared for. 

These people, they're aching... physically, emotionally, spiritually 

Their pain must be unbearable, beyond comprehension

Mothers, Fathers, children, babies 

Hungry, hurting, homeless... afraid. 

Human beings... some dead, some dying

and those who survive the journey... 

thrown from a sea of hope into an unfamiliar (largely unwelcoming) world 

Washed up, weary worn... stranded. 

Help them, Lord... please help them 

Amen. 

***

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

I'm adding this post to this months #1000speak linky on the 20th of October... to find out more about 1000 speak, click here.

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Hope For Jenny. #HomeForJenny

My friend, Lizzi (who is a beautiful bean) is trying to help her friend, Jenny (who is, by all accounts, also a beautiful bean). Jenny is homeless, but (Thanks to Lizzi) not hopeless! 

I'm not going to tell the story... it's not my story to tell, but I'd love for you to read Lizzi's account, (below), because, (I believe...from what I know of you via Twitter, & the blog), many of you are likely to be as moved by Jenny's strength, (and Lizzi's heart) as I have been. 

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OVER TO LIZZI

My Lovelies, if you’ve been around here for more than the odd occasion lately, you’ll know all about Jenny; the amazing lady I met a few weeks ago when I took post-hotel-conference food to distribute to the homeless people in the city centre (I’m not an angel – food waste is anathema to me when there are people going hungry, and I couldn’t bear it to be thrown away rather than shared, with just a tiny bit of effort on my part). Well, I have AMAZING news about her, but also need your help. 

If you’ve followed our story, you’ll know that I offered to help, however I could, if it was possible, because she got under my skin and became part of my Village, and she matters to me. I visit each day and bring her tea, because that’s what she said would make life better for her (except not right now because I’m laid up at home with shingles (and if this post wanders, I apologise now – I’m on some heavy-duty pain meds) and I miss her lots) and she has opened my eyes to an entirely different world.

A harsh world. REALLY harsh. 

Continue reading... HERE 

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Lizzi Rogers is co-founder of the #1000speak (1000 voices for Compassion) movement...inspired by An article she wrote in January 2015 , she has a heart of gold. 

You can connect with Lizzi on Twitter (if you'd like to) HERE

You can read more about Jenny HERE...meet Jenny 

Excerpt... "But I want you to see her. And Gabriel. In their ‘home’ – an alcove of the 13th Century Old Walls in my city. A ‘home’ with a brick back and a cardboard front, and no…well…no anything, except what they can beg, borrow, adapt or scrounge. A ‘home’ which when Gabriel has convulsions because of a suspected brain injury, he can fall through the box wall into the public car-park which the old wall is a border of. A home with a scavenged toddler’s pushchair as an extra seat. A ‘home’ where Jenny has made a purple craft-paper window, cut into four, and stuck it in between the box/cupboard/bricks which make up the front, because sometimes even a homeless person wants to be able to look out of the window."

****

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

A love Letter... A Thank you... & some recycling. (a #1000speak post)

I wanted to (tried to) write something new for #1000speak this month, it's a stunning movement, and one I feel incredibly proud to be a part of; but (as some of you already know) my Dad passed away a few weeks ago, and with Fathers Day just around the corner and my head still so full of missing/wanting/needing Dad; I'm finding it hard to think about (or write about) much else.

However, I did find (whilst surfing 'compassion' on the net, hoping for inspiration) a beautiful 'Love Letter to the World, so beautiful, that I thought (rather than cop out altogether this month) I'd share it with you, dear reader...along with a 'Thank you' (I'll get to that in a bit), and a couple of *Compassion I wrote earlier* links... in case you missed them...:o)

'Love Letter to the World' was originally written by Kate Swoboda and is free to download Here

Enjoy :o)

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Before I get on to the recycling... I'd like to take a moment to say a huge, and heartfelt *Thank you* to all the gorgeous souls who supported me through Dads illness (Cancer), and who've continued to support me over the past few weeks since he passed away.

Losing Dad has been the hardest thing (to date) Iv'e ever had to bear, and you (you all know who you are), have been a Godsend...your kindness, friendship and *compassion*.has helped me (is helping me) to muddle through it.

..  

Thank you X

****

The Recycling... 

Somebody's Son

{Excerpt}... Across the street, now sleeping 

somebody's son dreams hungers dream

Of Yorkshire pud, fish and chips

and mint choc chip ice-cream

Marie's Voice

{Excerpt}... There were no toys in the pram room for the little girl to play with, no cushions for her to snuggle into when she napped fell into an exhausted (scream worn) sleep - no padding to protect her, when out of fear, abandonment, desperation, she smashed her head against the floor... over and over again!

There were no hearers of responders to her screams, no wipes for her tear stained (often blood stained) cheeks, no cuddles for calm.... no attention, no love ...no compassion.

I sit down next to her, and imagining that she can see me/hear me, as I can her; I say, "It's okay darling... everything's gonna be okay... Compassion is on her way."
"She'll be here soon - she'll be your voice, and one day (though she doesn't yet know it herself) she'll be your mum.
She will fight for you, care for you, love you....and she'll be with you - always."

If you'd like to read the above Compassion posts in full just click on the titles and whoosh, you'll be gone...................................no wait, come back, there's more... ;o)

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This post is my (I've a muddled mind, but my hearts in the right place) contribution to June's 'One Thousand Voices for compassion' movement - a monthly event to promote and encourage good in the world.

On the 20th of each month bloggers and video-makers from all over the world come together to speak for compassion, in the hope of making a difference. 

#1000speak is a beautiful movement and one I'm proud to be a part of.  :o)

"Let ourselves care about strangers, act on behalf of those who are helpless, and encourage everyone we know to do the same." ~ Lizzi Rogers

There are so many #1000speak contributions, from bloggers all over the World... I encourage you to check them out if you get a chance, I'm sure you'll find some that resonate with you. 

You can do that by following @1000speak on Twitter or by checking out the '1000 Voices for Compassion' Face book page Here

#1000SPEAK FOR COMPASSION 

Speaking for GOOD on the 20th of every month

****

Thank you as always for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x 

P.S Check this one out... not one of my rambles, but definitely worth a read... because, well... *sugar-mousiness*... what's not to like :o) Sometimes the village needs a little sugar

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'Somebody's Son' (Nurturing in passing) #1000speak

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SOMEBODY'S SON

Snow falls, blanketing the Town 

Somebody's son is cold 

his hands are froze to biting 

his body (though not) feels old.

Sat upon a cardboard sheet 

Somebody's son, alone 

Huddled against a letter box

gloves wet from shifting snow

Across the street a chip shop

full of faces, bright, but one

Sad face's heart is breaking 

because she, is somebody's mum. 

As she watches through the window 

somebody's son lays down to sleep

his head on stone cold concrete 

body curled on cardboard sheet 

As she turns to place her order

Somebody's mother wipes her eye

and offers up a silent prayer

'Lord, Please don't let him die'

Across the street, now sleeping 

somebody's son dreams hungers dream

Of Yorkshire pud, fish and chips

and mint choc chip ice-cream

He doesn't hear her snowy tread 

or the "here son" she does tell 

It's to dreams come true he comes around

awakened by the smell. 

Ten doors up, hugging 'Chippy tea'

a mother's eyes stream

Because somebody's son is smiling

whilst unwrapping hungers dream 

Somebody's mother, one portion down 

turns away, heads off home

Where waiting, no doubt hungry 

are two sons of her own.

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved

***

***

This post is my contribution to Aprils 'One Thousand Voices for compassion' movement - a monthly event to promote and encourage good in the world.

On the 20th of each month bloggers and video-makers from all over the world come together to speak for compassion, in the hope of making a difference. 

Each month there is a new topic (This months focus is NURTURING) alongside the broader topic of compassion.

#1000speak is a beautiful movement and one I'm proud to be a part of.  :o)

"Let ourselves care about strangers, act on behalf of those who are helpless, and encourage everyone we know to do the same." ~ Lizzi Rogers

There are so many #1000speak contributions, from bloggers all over the World.... I encourage you to check them out if you get a chance, I'm sure you'll find some that resonate with you. 

You can do that by following @1000speak on Twitter or by checking out the '1000 Voices for Compassion' Face book page Here

#1000SPEAK FOR COMPASSION 

Speaking for GOOD on the 20th of every month

***

Thank you as always for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x

You may also like: Marie's Voice #1000speak

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MARIE'S VOICE... #1000speak

Once upon a time (1970 to be exact) in a children's home in England, run by an order of nuns called 'The Poor Sisters Of Nazareth'... there lived a very 'special' little girl.

She was a tiny little dot, who had short cropped hair, and the bluest of blue eyes.

Her beauty (often overlooked) was breathtaking!

Like all children, the child had needs; the need to be kept fed and safe if she were to survive, and the need of attention, love, and compassion if she were to thrive, but (as mentioned before) she was a 'special' little girl, and as such her needs far outweighed those of the other children who lived at the orphanage.

At five years old (such as she was) she was unable to feed herself, she couldn't walk, she couldn't talk, her understanding of the world around her was extremely limited... and her behaviour would have tried the patience of a saint (or nun, as the case may be!).

The child had 'special' needs. She needed 'special' care.

And so it was, that the Nuns (in order to best manage their 'special' little charge), had devised an extraordinary care plan.

The child was fed on 'special' food - wickedly small portions of Librium laced cereal!

She was given a 'special' bed... a cot cage on the nursery floor, away from children her own age, which was tied to the wall with rope... to keep her safe contained!

And, she was given her own 'special' play room prison - The pram storage room, which contained, well, prams!

There were no toys in the pram room for the little girl to play with, no cushions for her to snuggle into when she napped fell into an exhausted (scream worn) sleep - no padding to protect her when out of fear, abandonment, desperation, she smashed her head against the floor... over and over again!

There were no hearers of responders to her screams, no wipes for her tear stained (often blood stained) cheeks, no cuddles for calm.... no attention - no love - no compassion.

If she wasn't trapped in a cot or squeezed into a high chair, she was allowed to forced to use her 'special' room (unattended) for most of the day.

Her only companion - the frightened little girl in the mirror!

The little girls name was Marie; she was born profoundly disabled, with severe learning disability, cerebral Palsy, mobility problems and epilepsy.

She was placed into Nazareth house children's home when she was six weeks old.

***

In my minds eye

The room is just as I imagined it to be; empty, aside from a row of old fashioned prams and a long mirror on the wall. The main door to the room is closed. The doors to the veranda are locked.

The child is sat with her back to me in front of the mirror; head down, torso slumped, and she is crying... body-wracking-sobs.

Another lonely day; voiceless, trapped, afraid. Hopelessness surrounds her.

She lifts her head, and (through the rain) looks despairingly at her mirrored self; the expression in the eyes reflected back at her is one of pleading... the child is in such pain.

There are no words for the emotion that almost explodes from my heart. It hurts to look, and just for a moment, I turn away.

I want to reach out and touch her; lift her onto my lap, cuddle her calm and tell her I love her.

I want to take wipes from my bag; wipe the blood from her forehead and the tears from her cheeks.

I want to hold her to me, stroke her hair, kiss her perfect little face and tickle her into giggles.

I sit down next to her, and imagining that she can see/hear me as I can her, I say, "It's okay darling... everything's gonna be okay... compassion is on her way.

She'll be here soon - she'll be your voice, and one day (though she doesn't yet know it herself) she'll be your mum.

She will fight for you, care for you, love you... and she'll be with you always."

Just before I opened my eyes (and headed back to my laptop) the child shuffled forward, and (still gulping down sobs) she reached out toward the mirror, lifted her gaze above and to the right of her reflection, and smiled... I smiled back.

***

MARIE'S VOICE

Michelle Daly was just under 17 years old when, after taking on the role of housemother at Nazareth house children's home in Bristol, England, she first met Marie. Marie had just turned 5.

On that first meeting Marie was in a cot on the nursery floor which was tied to a pipe with rope. She was incredibly thin, of pale complexion, and had a large lump on her forehead. Michelle was told that the child screamed for hours on end and bashed her head on the floor or against the side of her cot.

"I looked at the child's pale face; her eyes were like glass. I thought how strange it was that we stood so close and she didn't reach out to be picked up, as though she was used to being looked at, but not touched" ~ Michelle Daly

The following day Michelle was horrified to learn that not only was Marie dosed up on Librium three times a day (to keep her calm) but also that she was locked in a storage room (and left there alone) for hours on end each day (to keep her out of the way). Staff couldn't possibly be expected to watch over such a challenging child and get the floors shining (priorities! o_O), and the nuns couldn't abide the way Marie (who was unable to walk) dragged her feet over their beautiful polished floors.

Marie was placed on the floor in the pram store room, the door was closed on her and she was left there alone for hours.

Her screams could be heard all over the house, until she either exhausted herself or knocked herself unconscious! She was bought out at meal times and fed a small potion of Librium laced cereal, then returned to the pram room or put in her cot.

Michelle couldn't bear it; she soon found ways to sneak Marie out of the store room and very quickly formed a strong bond with 'her little friend'.

"Come on!" I said, picking her up, "You'll get me shot!" I ran down the stairs with her. She laughed; glad to be rescued. I sat her on the table in the empty Laundry basket while I emptied the drier. For a bit of fun I put the hot nappies over her and she laughed again; she loved to get the attention. I turned my back on her to fill the washing machine, and when I looked around again she was fast asleep; her little face still wet from crying." ~ Michelle Daly

Toward the end of 1970 Nazareth house was condemned and the home office closed it down. Marie was given a bed in a hospital in Taunton for the mentally handicapped; 17 year old Michelle followed her, taking a job in the same hospital and visiting her little friend whenever she could.

"Working in the hospital was like stepping into another world; a world where human beings with over-whelming qualities were classed as sub-normal" ~ Michelle Daly

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Within a few months Michelle knew she couldn't continue working at the hospital. She also knew she couldn't leave Marie behind. She was getting out, and she was getting Marie out too! 

To cut a very long story, a lot of opposition, and much heartache short; Michelle traced Marie's birth mother who agreed to sign over legal guardianship papers, and (eventually) Michelle was able to take Marie home. 

Michelle was just 19 years old when she took Marie (who was eight by this time) home. Nineteen! A bit of a lass, with her whole life ahead of her, and she chose to take Marie along for the ride. 

It's been one hell of a ride hasn't it 'M'?!  (At this point Michelle is nodding :O)) 

Ask me to define compassion... and I'll answer 'Michelle'. 

***

Marie is 50 years old now, a year older than me. I'll avoid a virtual slap by leaving you, Dear reader, to work Michelle's age out for yourself.

Marie has not always found life easy... but she has lived! 

She is still profoundly disabled, but there are things she can do; is encouraged to do. She especially loves playing with her building blocks and colouring books. 

She still needs full time care, and she still struggles (terribly so) on the rare occasions that she has to go in to respite. These occasions aside; she is happy. 

She still has extremely limited speech and understanding, but she understands love... and my word is she loved! 

***

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie X

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If you'd like to read more about Michelle and Marie's life together you can find her book here
Follow her blog here >>  http://michelledaly.blogspot.co.uk/
And find her on Twitter here >>  @michelledalyliv

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1000 Voices for Compassion is such a beautiful movement.... there have been so many fabulous contributions (from all over the world). I would encourage you to check them out if you get a chance.

You can do that by following @1000speak #1000speak on Twitter, or by checking out the FaceBook page here

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