For me, a story is not the vehicle, its the journey, or a stream, flowing into a river. The Thames was the first river I’d ever seen. I was driving through London early one Sunday morning, going to see my mother. We were to be reunited after 21 years. As a small child, I was mesmerized by a tiny stream running through James Town, I was fascinated by the great Atlantic ocean too. The calm gentle waves developing into high aggressive swells knocking you off your feet.
Some of the people I meet mirror the oceans, kind, caring, and understanding, while others rough, ill-mannered, and deceitful. I embrace the highs because I have had so many lows. Some psychiatrists now think children who are exposed to some trauma and abuse can be streetwise and confident. I endured years of physical, mental, and sexual abuse. My self esteem is low, but I am not a pushover. Just a hint of injustice and I will fight my oppressors, I believe I have rights. My grandmother raised me to believe in my self, and to always do the right thing, while my grandfather passed hatred, jealousy and aggression on to me. My grandmothers story was far from good, she didn’t know her parents. Her first husband died leaving her with three small children, the two boys went to live with relatives while the daughter stayed with her. My grandmother married my grandfather Fred, he was a violent cruel brute he would beat her and the children. Her daughter from her first marriage died a few days after a violent physical assault from my grandfather. My grandmother died in 1971 but her legacy lives in my soul. My story goes on. A journey steeped in misery at times, abandonment, a destroyed childhood, depraved men, concealed pregnancy, dumped after 37 years of marriage poor health, my grand son’s claim I sexually abused them. Along with their carer, they withdrew their statements against me. Social services have broken all contact between me and my grandchildren. The foster carer also plays a big part in all of this, his lack of empathy doesn’t help. I won’t let them break me, or make me out to be a fool. I am an optimist after all.