A Brief Journey.

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#stunning

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Bye winter! #stunning #sigh #outside #wales #anothersunset #cymru #iphone #discoverwales (at The Pelican in her Piety) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw09-LenwsB/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=irakgkzx9chm

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#dad #family #ancestors #history #familyhistory #truelegend #legend #father This is a man born in 1917. A man who had eight siblings, he being the youngest.
Who’s father left for America, taking three sisters and a brother with him when he was eleven years old. He didn’t see him again until 1935, aged eighteen. His father didn’t send any money back and left the family destitute and living with the eldest, married, sister. This man went down the coal mines, aged fourteen, earning a pittance, not knowing when or even if his father would return.
His brother returned from America after being deported for throwing a house brick through a New York jewellers window, but failed in procuring any swag.
One sister died in a New York hospital after an in infection gave her sepsis.
The father only returned to Wales when a second sister died after being hit by a car in Ohio. She died in the arms of her remaining sister.
In 1939 this man sought to exchange one hell for another and escaped the mines to join the war effort. Posted to an anti-aircraft gun crew in London, he met his true love, they married in 1942. Their happiness cut short when she contracted TB, the man would go Absent With Out Leave to be at her bedside. Her condition worsened and she passed away in 1943. The Army sent the man to fight in Burma, with his new regiment the Black Watch, until 1946.
After demobilisation, he went back down the mines of the Llynfi valley. Over the years he, as were many of his comrades, was buried in roof collapses, collecting a whole range of injuries and scars, until finally, an accident dislocated both his shoulders, partially wrenched off his thumb and tore out his left eye. He refused to go back down the mines again. In fact, he never worked again. He developed a stomach ulcer, deteriorating over the years, until, whilst out walking his dog in early spring 1986, he collapsed and died of a heart attack, unbeknownst to his son, who was at work not 250 metres away from him. The man was 69 years old.
He tried to live with dignity and honour, to overcome his background. On occasion he would get lost in the emotional debris he carried with him.
I miss him. He was my father. 
https://www.instagram.com/p/2vBX0sjF2s/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1q8i1pclnifpm

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2. Downtime:- Slowing.

Fortunate to be able to purchase my own place after the split, but only just. Sold all I had of any value. Took nothing, was very nearly bankrupted, but kept working through the entirety of the mental chaos. Being busy didn’t help. My close friends told me much later that they kept an eye on me, expecting the worse. I lost 12 kilos in weight in a matter of weeks.

Life came rushing at me. I lost focus and let it pour over me, I lost the ability to detail. Focused inward, let whatever happened, happen. I had control only of the moment, there was no expectation of the future, no recollection of what just happened or even the recent trauma.

My mind closed its doors, double locked them, swallowed the key.

I functioned. Time slowed.

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1. Downtime

Eleven years ago my beautiful best friend of eighteen years passed away from cancer. We had divorced three years earlier but I was the first person she told when she fell ill. Then I had to tell our fifteen year old son. Then I had to tell my second wife.

We had to watch as she gradually left us over a period of a year or so. The cancer was too far advanced to be stopped and eventually and eventually.

Time paused.

Six months later news that my second wife had been having an affair for a year and a half. Divorce followed.

I went through a personality change that is, even now, evolving. Anxiety/depression/obsessive rumination became part of my make up. Coming through that gave me greater perspective. I’m somewhat recovered.

My son grew introspective, private, quiet.

We, or rather I, had foundered.

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Injury stress...

I’ve broken my arm. Above and below the elbow, hairline fractures. Partial tricep tear. Blew two ribs as well. Patently my own fault, snowboarding.

Peoples standard responses, (as they have no will or original thought.), is to say, “You’re a bit old for that now.” This makes my eyes bleed. I have previously replied, “I’m 52, not dead.” Or “At what age, in your infinite wisdom, should I have stopped?” I now ignore, sidestep and carry on. I keep my opinions on their plastic existence private, else I alienate my self further.

So I’m feeble for yet another week. Until it’s somewhat healed. I have a change of plan coming, instead of just running, cycling and swimming, I’m going back to the gym! It’s been fifteen years.

Fuck!

As the Doctor says, “This May hurt a little.”

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Age-d

5 and a bit years ago I had a phone call, early on a Saturday morning, “I’m pregnant.”

Statement of fact.

We had split up two weeks before. A shroud of calm drew down around me as I immediately accepted. 

“Right, and I’m assuming you’‘re going forward?”

And so on. Seven and a half months later, a small, perfectly formed beautiful baby girl came into the light of day.

I’m a Father, a Dad, a Pa at the tender age of 48 years for the second time. The first time I was 26, my son, who had previously had the, you know, the “talk”, was now witnessing his old man shoving a pushchair about, grinning like a madman, happy as a pig in shit! (Regardless of the hypocrisy.)

Still single, did not rehash the ‘relationship’ if it could be called that, as it had only lasted 5 months in the first go around.

So my son thinks his new sister is amazing and immediately bonds as do I, the doting Dad. Five and a bit years later, now, nothing has changed, I get to see my daughter as and when I like/can my employment dictates unfortunately.

Because, even though there was no real relationship and we have no input into each others lives, we remembered we were adults. There was no recrimination. It happened, except it, move on. Bring your best version of you because you now have a small child to bring up in a difficult world and she must know that she has people around her that will unconditionally support and above all love her. My son is now 27, I’m 52 and he lives away and as he has a life, he’ll come to see me when I have his sister for a few days which is usually every fortnight, that’s without the school runs and ballet and swimming etc and that’s epic, he has a full schedule. 

Relationships suffer, its par for the course. That’s ok, there’s always a way forward. It depends on the person, but if they’re not prepared to put the work in, if there’s no joy in sharing and a want to be there, then it’s move on.

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#relaxed #timeout #appreciative #gaia

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Newton, eventide.

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So, what's this REALLY all about?

So, what's this REALLY all about?