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

Kimmie x

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

All Finished Now.

You're bad, do you hear me; BAD BAD BAD

Look at me

I SAID LOOK AT ME!

God, you make me so mad.

Get up those stairs

get out of my sight

You're bad, do you hear me

you wont eat tonight

For goodness sake child

what’s wrong with you

Why must you wind me up like you do

If I say quiet - I mean QUIET

why can't you see

Just do as you're told, child

LISTEN TO ME!...

***

Shhh... shhh-shhh 

 Come on now, good girl 

Mummy's sorry
Shhh now
no more tears
Mummy's sorry-Mummy's sorry

That's it, that's it baby

there-there 

all better

no harm done

All finished now 

all finished

Mummy loves you

Mummy loves you

Mummy loves you

Mummy loves you

***

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love 

Kimmie x

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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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If I Could...

Iv'e been tagged by the lovely Laura, who blogs at My Life as a Mummy to take part in the 'If I Could' tag. Thanks Laura.

The idea is to answer the preset questions, daydreams allowed, and then tag other bloggers to take part (If they want to).

So here goes...

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.

A little house on the Prairie...where all the skies are blue (In my dreams they're always blue). Where all the people (with the exception of Mrs & Nelly Olsen) are kind and compassionate, peace loving, neighbourly.

Imagine washing in the creak, watching Pa (preferably topless, Pa should always be topless!) working the fields. walking through fields to get the kids to school. Kids that skip, and tag, and ring-a-rose.

Imagine a town where no one goes hungry, because as poor as they are they can always, always, stretch the stew to one more!

I do :)

If I could have any home ...This is a tough one because I love the house I'm in now, it's been home for a long time, I've always felt safe here, it's familiar, it's beautiful... it's home!

The trouble is, it's not my house, and as our Landlord has spent the past year attempting to sell it from under us (though currently it's off the market temporarily until neighbouring building work is completed) it's no longer safe! .

On that note, if I could have any home other than my current one (or 'The Little House on the Prairie')... it would be secure, safe, preferably owned.

It would have disability adaptions, (including wheelchair access) for Littlie... and a private, south facing garden, with a pretty little shabby-chic Lady-shed, to write in.

Actually, while I'm still day dreaming... I wouldn't mind one of those DIY-SOS jobbies...not least because then I'd get to meet Little-Leci-Billy- ;o)

If I could have any garden... That's easy...the garden I have now. I'd love to pick it all up, worms and all, and take it with me. As it is, since every plant in the garden attached to the-house-that's-not-mine was payed for and planted by me, I will be digging up anything remotely dig-up-able, and taking it with me.

If I could be on holiday right now... The reality is, fear prevents me from flying, it also prevents me from travelling (other than locally) in a car, and even if I could travel my budget wouldn't stretch to a holiday.

The dream is, Spain... I went to Spain (Marbella), for a week when I was eighteen, and would love to revisit.

Actually, I say a week... I fell in love with a gorgeous Spaniard and stayed put. Three months later I (and my broken heart) came home... Turned out Gorgeous-Spaniard wasn't mine to love, he had a wife and child in Lanzarote!

Despite the heartache (not to mention the shame), I still have such beautiful, and incredibly vivid memories of the places I visited, and the things I experienced whilst there.

Oh, how I'd love to walk those streets again - paddle those seas again - visit those cafes again - dunk those doughnuts again... "Un chocolate con churros por favor" :)

If I could have any job... Illness prevents me from working these days, but if I could work I'd go back to what I used to do before (and after, once they were old enough) I had children... caring for the elderly.

When I was a teenager my best friends Mum owned, lived in, and ran a home for the elderly, my friend and I worked Weekends as teenagers and went on to work there full time after leaving school, and then periodically after we both married and had children.

I loved every single minute of it... I'll never forget my ladies!

If I could have any talent... I don't need to think about this one, I'm reminded of my lack of talent in this area every day. I would LOVE to be able to sing.

I often sing along to music (I use the term loosely!) if I'm at home, but always mime anywhere else, even in Church; because there are no words to describe the unholy noise that comes out of my mouth when I sing out loud!

I've always been aware of my (tone-death-doesn't-cover-it) singing voice... I remember being as young as seven-ish and miming during assembly so that the other kids couldn't hear me, silently mouthing each word dramatically so as to appear believable if a teacher looked my way.

Turned out one teacher was looking my way; he picked me for the school choir... because, he said... I opened my mouth so beautifully when I sang. o_O

For the rest of that school year (wishing I was invisible, and still miming) I was sat at the front of the hall during assembly...with the rest of the choir!

If I could live one day again... - it would be the last day I saw my Dad.

My Dad lived a long way from me, and, as mentioned above, mental illness/fear prevents me from travelling. In February of this year (3 months before he died) my Dad, my always-there-and-if-he-wasn't-there-he-was-getting-there, Dad, came to me. Riddled with Cancer, barely able to stand, and in unimaginable pain, he came to me... he came to say goodbye.

We hugged lots, loved lots, talked as much as he could manage... goodbyes were left unspoken, neither of us able to say the words.

When he left, knowing how hard the moment was for him, I hugged him brave...like a grown up. The child inside was bawling, I didn't let her out.

He released my hold on him, kissed my head, and said "keep smiling babe", then he turned and walked down the garden path.

When he reached the gate he turned and looked straight at me, he held my gaze for only a moment before turning away again... in that moment I read my life time in his eyes... and I read his breaking heart, his I love you... his goodbye".

I didn't want to be brave anymore. I wanted to run down the path with the child's tears pouring down my face, throw myself into his arms, beg him to stay.

I stayed dry-eye-brave in the doorway until he'd disappeared through the gate. Then went into the toilet, stamped my feet like a child, and cried.

If I could live that day again... I'd run down the path!

If I could have any super power... Ooh, now then... can I have two?
Time travel would get me to 'the Walnut Grove' of the Ingalls's, but I've always quite fancied being Mary Poppins. If I were Mary Poppins... I could click my fingers and put the whole world to rights.

David Cameron...click...gone. George Osborne...click...gone. Iain Dunken Smith...
click, click, Dunky!
World peace...click...done. New home...click. Housework...click... *clicks fingers hopefully*.

I'm think I'm gonna go with Mary-Poppins-Power...
If I can jump into pictures, travel by brolly, and have tea on a ceiling, I reckon time travel will be a breeze...
Walnut Grove here I come... Just as soon as I've outed the Tories ;o)

Thank you for allowing me to share

God bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x

I tag the following people

Carol - carolhedges.blogspot.co.uk

Lizzi - summat2thinkon 

Henrietta - https://thetriumphantweed.wordpress.com/

Stephanie - http://stephanieneighbour.com 

Lynn - thegrumblinggargoyle.blogspot.co.uk

Paula - http://paulareednancarrow.com 

Elena - http://www.livingwithbatman.com/

Shawna - honeyquill.com

Dear tagged... Please feel free to ignore the prompt if you are busy, or if  blog tags are not something you usually take part in.

Dear reader... Please do visit the bloggers in the above list if you have time. They are all fabulous bloggers...well worth reading :o) 

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Art for Anxiety, Finding the Self, and Finding each Other. A guest post, by Amy Oestreicher.

I love creating inchie art, and in dire medical circumstances, this was the best way to express my uneasiness in the midst of uncertainty. Each individual inchie expressed a fear, worry or concern I had about my future. I called this "Can't Distract" because I was unable to take my thoughts away from this anxiety. Rather than deny these thoughts, I made art from them. Suddenly they became less scary. 

Art Therapy for Finding the Self - I am Myself - Art and Mental Health. 

Originally Published in Dropping Keys

The pieces I have the most fun creating are the ones that I have no expectations for. This started by some random shredding and gluing of newspapers, magazines, coupons, plastic, wrap, gum papers, and whatever else I was about to throw out. Then, I spent hours just painting layers and layers of paint, trying to obscure some of the printed text. Eventually, this face emerged. For me, this symbolized the process of finding myself - hard to find at first, but with each layer, applied tediously and determinedly with meticulousness and great care, my face eventually surfaced. 

Art Therapy for Finding Each Other 

I created this for my mother at a time when it was hard for us to have hope. For me, yoga is centering for my body, and the poses are very grounding. I painted us both in the tree asana with the quote, "If we stand like trees, we can weather the storm". 

***

Amy Oestreicher is a 28 year old actress, musician, teacher, composer, dancer, writer, artist, yogi, foodie, and general lover of life. Surviving and thriving through a coma, 27 surgeries and other trauma has inspired Amy to share her story with the world through her passionate desire to create and help others. Piecing her life together after her initial dreams of performing musical theatre took on a beautiful detour into broader horizons. Amy has written, directed and starred ia a one woman musical about her life, Gutless and Grateful, has flourished as a mixed media and acrylic artist, with her art in multiple galleries and mounting dozens of solo art shows, and continues to share her story through her art, music, theatre and writings. 

More information on her unique story, as well as her creative ventures can be found at amyoes.com, visit her blog for her newest art, music and INSPIRATIONAL musings. 

You can also visit Amy's Etsy shop HERE, and learn more about her show HERE 

***

My thanks to Amy, for being my guest today, and as always, Thank YOU dear reader, for allowing me to share. 

God bless you and all those you love. 

Kimmie x 

Oooh, wait, I almost forgot... The poem! - Amy's beautiful, breathtaking, MUST READ, poem :) 

If (like me) you're a lover of poetry, you're gonna love this!... It's a long one, so I'll just give you a teaser here. Click on the 'read more' text under the excerpt if you want to read the poem in full. (I hope you do, it's one of the most beautiful poems I've ever read!) 

INTRUSION ~ By Amy Oestreicher. 

Whether I am the trespasser, alien 

The outcast, the tortoise turned on it's side 

I can see the stream from here 

and I long to dance with the source 

Can I fish for you, blue glimpse? 

A glimpse of the word as it was intended to be 

The realism thrills me 

In a world of perfect 

geometric-shapes, painted signs, bright-red-automobiles 

my hollow shell over flows with relief  

READ MORE 

Copyright©2015AmyOestreicher

My Daughter Writes

The following poems were written by my middle daughter. She shared them with me recently, and (with her permission) I'd like to share them with you.

The first was written for me, the second for her Grandad (my Dad), who passed away recently.

Both made me cry!

****

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

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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

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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

.

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

***

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

***

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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We Love You Littlie

My child

Taken from arms

Tubed, tested, incubated

Disabled

languid in arms

Weak, floppy, fading

beautiful 

loved in arms

praying - can we keep you

Special care

 Special needs

Just special 

Brighter

Strengthened in arms 

Fighting 

breathing

Being

Home

safe in arms

Enduring

Growing

Learning

You did it
you did it all 

 First smile 

first word 

First everything

A bit late

(very late)

 but you did it!

Stunningly beautiful, wonderful child

you're so loved 

by us 

By all who know you

Proud of you darling x

Thank you for allowing me to share 

God bless you, and all those you love

Kimmie X 

Copyright©2015kimmie All Rights Reserved 

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Extremely, unashamedly, wonderfully GAY!

As I type I can see 'Danny' so clearly (partly because my memory is full of his gorgeous little face right now, and partly because a picture of him as a boy is hanging on the wall in front of me.)
 
He is three years old in the picture I speak of, his head is tilted on one side, he has chubby cheeks - baby bum skin - bright hazel green eyes, and a smile that lights up the room. A happy, cheeky, smiley toddler who knows even at this young age that he is loved, cherished and accepted by all who know him.

Now to another picture, one that exists only in my mind but is as clear to me as the one hanging on the wall in front of me today. 'Danny' is five years old and is hopping around excitedly in the living room dressed in his new school uniform while mum (that's me) does her best to do something with the unruly mop of curls on the top his head.

His cheeks are still chubby - his eyes are still smiley, he is a happy confident little boy eagerly anticipating his first day at school.

Here I will fast forward through infant school, where 'Danny' spent two happy years eager to get to school in the mornings and popular amongst his young peers, and on into the later years of junior school where I begin to notice a change in him.

He is no longer eager to go to school each day - is no longer asked to friends houses for tea (nor does he ask if they can come to ours) - he sobs uncontrollably on the morning of sports day begging me to let him stay home (he stays home!) and his smile no longer reaches his hazel green eyes.

Worried, I approach the school who convinced I am an over protective mother patronize me for half an hour before politely showing me the door.
I am still concerned by the change in him that only I seem to notice, and do my best to encourage him to open up, but to all intense and purpose he is fine. The school report no evidence of bullying, 'Danny' won't (or can't) tell me whats wrong, and his grades remain promising.

Fast forward again.. 'Danny' is now somewhere between the age of twelve and thirteen and in secondary school, the lad he is now bears almost no resemblance to the three year old I described at the beginning of this post.
He is introvert, sulky, in trouble at school (nothing major but enough to prompt the school to tell me on a regular basis what a pain in the arse my child is!)  and his grades are dropping.

Now what I do know at this point in his life is that he is Gay -  he hasn't told me this, and for all I know hasn't yet realised himself - but I know, I am sure of it, don't ask me how I know, I just do.

What I am not aware of, and won't be for another few months is that he is being bullied!
The school tell me there's not a problem, 'Danny' tells me there is not a problem - until one summers day toward the end of August just after his thirteenth birthday.

I am enjoying a well earned cup of tea in the back garden, nursing the mother of all headaches, and the phone rings - It's 'Danny', and he is in a terrible state, I can barely make out what he's saying, he's sobbing and whispering my name over and over, which at this point is all he can manage.

I tell him to come home, right now! - Do not ask permission, do not explain to the teacher why you are leaving the school, do not pass go!  Stay on the phone and come home - which is what he does.

When he arrives home he falls sobbing into my arms but can't tell me whats wrong. We hug for a while until he has calmed down a bit, and then I suggest he go up stairs and lay down for a while. This gives me time to think about what I need to say to him, throw some more pain killers down my throat, and work my way through half a packet of cigarettes.

I'm nervous as I climb the stairs - what if I'm wrong, if I throw this thing out there and I'm barking up the wrong tree will he ever forgive me.

I find him curled up in a vulnerable ball when I enter his room, 'Christina Aguilera' fills the room, and behind the music 'Danny's racking sobs. I cross the room, and then sitting on the edge of the bed put one hand on his shoulder to announce my presence while reaching with the other hand to turn 'Christina' down to a more acceptable level!

"What is it son" I ask, and he, still sobbing, still with his back to me, "I cant tell you mum", I turn him around so that (despite the fact that he can't bring himself to look at me) we are at least face to face.

I say, "Danny, there is nothing in this world that you could ever say to me that would stop me loving you", he doesn't answer but he does look up at me, I cannot begin to describe the pain in his eye's, but his expression is one of pleading.

Okay, here I go, sink or swim! "Danny' are you gay?" - no answer, but no horror or anger in his expression either, he looks down, and then after what seems like forever - quietly, whispering "I'm Gay mum" .... my answer, "I know".

Turns out the school bullies had that day put posters of my gorgeous boy up all around the school corridors with a phone number underneath his profile, and the words.. 'I LIKE BOYS, CALL ME'

My son is twenty seven years old now, he still turns his head to the side when he smiles, his skin is still 'baby bum like' and his smile always reaches his hazel green eyes.
Oh! he is also extremely, unashamedly, wonderfully GAY! - I couldn't love him more if I tried.

PRAYER
LORD, I thank you for my children, the disabled one, the scatty one, the bubbly one, the hyperactive one and the GAY one. They are all exactly as you made them and all perfect in your eye's. AND MINE! Amen

POSITIVE THOUGHT
That's easy MY KIDS!

Thank you for allowing me to share

GOD bless you and all those you love

Kimmie x                                        

Copyright©2012kimmie All Rights Reserved



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