1993. A life defining moment- and not in a good way

 I can trace all of my decisions back to one moment in 1993. I can trace how I am as a person to this moment as well. This was the first time I started to change; to realise that our world is not perfect. I realised that actually, it’s a bit shit. A lot shit. This event is something that I still think about pretty much every single day. It doesn’t shape my day to day decisions but it has shaped who I am. 

My brother and I were one school year apart. I think my parents had by this time forgotten how difficult it is to have children. Young ones anyway and decided to have a third. Personally I think any more than two and they start to gang up on you. Although my brother and I were pretty much self cleaning by this point so maybe they thought it’d be easy. I feel I’m making light of a difficult situation but I’m probably skirting around the issue before I write about it. Maybe I’m nervous. Despite this being probably one of the biggest things to ever happen to me, I’ve never written about it before. 

So I’m 7 years old. My Mum is having another baby. Everything is so exciting. I can’t believe I’m going to have another brother or sister to play with. Despite this excitement, I was a worrisome child anyway and I felt horrendous every time my Mum went for a scan, wringing my hands every time she went until she came back and said everything was fine. 

Everything was fine. The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months and before I knew it she was almost full term. One day, I was walking out of school at hometime and saw that my Mum wasn’t there to collect me, my Grandad was. My heart sank. Why wasn’t my Mum here to pick me up? No offence to my Grandad who I loved very much but this looked worrying. 

‘Where’s my Mum?’ I asked. 

“She’s had to go to the hospital, but don’t worry, everything is fine.” He might as well have said- things are going very badly wrong and you ought to worry intensely. I got in the car knowing things were wrong. Everything was wrong. People had pained expressions, trying to put a brave face on. They didn’t tell me the truth because they didn’t think I could handle it. They were protecting me. They couldn’t protect me from my thoughts which were rampaging around my brain. The time passed on to 6 o’clock, 7 o’clock… I must have been getting on my Grandma’s nerves by this point. I kept thinking if I just go in my room for a bit, by the time I come out my Mum will be back and everything will be fine. Things were not fine. The more time dragged on, the more I cemented in my mind that the worst was about to happen. 

I had no idea when my Mum got back. When the door opened I rushed down the stairs praying everything would be fine. When I saw the tears in her eyes I knew it simply wasn’t. My Mum somehow told me that the baby had gone to sleep. I thought I would be able to wake her up. I remember begging her to take us to the hospital because I was convinced that I would be able to save the baby. I’m not quite sure how she found the strength to explain what needed explaining. She said the baby was asleep and that God had taken her to heaven because she was an Angel. She was too good for this world. She said God needed her help in heaven. I doubt she believed this at the time but I still believe this to this very day.  It didn’t make me feel any better though. 

These moments have always stuck solidly in my mind as the worst moments that I’ve ever experienced. I’m not blaming anyone but I sometimes wonder how much my brain was damaged as a result of this trauma. Mental health wasn’t even a thing in those days. I didn’t talk to anyone at school about it. I’m not even sure people believed children had feelings. I did. I felt some real feelings on that day. Feelings I’ll never forget. 

The aftermath is less clear. My mum couldn’t pick us up from school for a good amount of time so my Grandad stepped in and no doubt had to field the questions we would ask on the way home. I did understand why he was collecting me (and I’m very grateful) but I was desperate for my Mum to come back and pick me up. When she did come back, I was so happy I think I ran to her. She must have gone through hell. And then some. I obviously didn’t realise the practicalities related to miscarriage until recently. The strength of women who experience this is truly superhuman. This is why although I’m not overly religious but I do believe in God. I do believe he gives you the help when you need it most. 

What a horrendous time. God can also be infinitely cruel too. Like he was just then.