Some stories need to be told even if they are difficult to write.

A while ago there was a discussion in blog land about whether we should share sad stories. I think it may have been on Sian’s blog. The general consensus was
that as they formed part of our lives as well as the happy stories it was ok to share.

My story is very sad

I have had this story written in my head for a few months, I wrote it all down at the weekend, today I will write it to my blog.

I know that everyone of us has a special child, one that stands out from the rest, just that bit funnier, a little brighter and certainly more beautiful. Do you agree?
Having got your agreement then, may I beg your indulgence and tell you about one that I know?
This particular special one was born 10 years ago in the summer of 2001,
The whole family were so very excited because we hadn’t had a baby in the family for 12 years.
Oh my goodness was he going to be loved, and cooed over and clucked over by his adoring aunties, and cousins who were all old enough to love him and not be jealous of him.
Because we lived 150 miles away we relied on phone calls with updates of his progress, he was cooing, laughing, rolling over, sitting and walking.
Of course he did all these things much quicker than the average baby because he was, well special.
So many people queued up to ‘baby sit’ So many aunties to love and be loved by!
So many nannies!
So many willing hands to push the pram, teach him to balance on a scooter and to ride a bike. All done, much quicker than the average boy, obviously!

He went to play school and loved it, he talked non-stop, a little old fashioned shall we say but then he lived with a house full of adults.
He went to school and loved it, he was a popular little chap at his first school, he loved to bring his friends home to play especially as his older brother and sister would join in the games which they were far to big for, but what kudos!
He grew to love the computer and e-mailed everyone, how lovely for his daft Aunty Miriam to receive an e-mail from her gorgeous nephew, with every e-mail I try to send a picture of my dog because he loves her so much.

Anyway, In February 2010 the beautiful child became poorly.

Every one of his huge and adoring family have been amazed by this fearless, funny, strong, wonderful, brave, beautiful boy.
We have learnt loads and loved loads, we have laughed and we have cried we have held each other tight, we have shouted, screamed, questioned, prayed and asked why, why him?

We spent some time with him on Saturday, in the beautiful hospice in Oxford.
He passed away today.

Cousins. May 2006

God bless you and keep you beautiful boy.
13 June 2001 – 8th March 2011

Sian over at High in the Sky had a brilliant idea. Sian has lots of great ideas.
This particular one follows on from her very successful Advent Stories at the end of last year. On the first Sunday of the month, we have an opportunity to link our stories together.
I haven’t felt able to write anything until now, so here is my story for March 2011.

No one was in the least bit surprised…

… when she left the big city, her birthplace, and moved to the middle of nowhere, to join a convent.
It was the way she was, the way she had always been, kind and quiet and prayerful. Not Holy, just, well prayerful. Just our sister and our friend.
She cared for our eldest sister during her illness. She was the one who got her special meals, little treats, sat through the night with her, prayed with her and over her, until the end.
She nursed our father. Moving the great heavy iron bed over to the window so that he could watch the children and the men coming and going. She bathed him in his bed, brought him soup and bread, sang to him and prayed with him. We visited him of course bringing stories of our days but it was her who sat with him.
So, no, it was no surprise that when he passed she took herself off to the Franciscan Missionaries of the Divine Motherhood (FMDM) at the Portiuncula convent in Ballinasloe, out in the country, in county Galway.
She stayed with them for a little under twelve months; writing letters telling of her days, mostly in prayer it seemed to us, until she was ready for the move to the Novitiate house over in England. A young woman in her early twenties to make that journey, we all thought she was crazy. But her faith was so strong. This is what she wanted to do with her life she told mammy in her letters home. She took a different name of course as is the way of life in a convent. She was a novitiate, a nun in learning. She needed to learn the ways of the sisters, of the convent and of a life devoted to God. She told us it was like a marriage but to God. She would be there for some time, thinking and working and praying until she was positive that this way of life was to be her way life.
In England she would learn and devote herself to God.
One day, out of the blue, we got a letter to say she was returning home, this life was not for her. The Lord had something else in mind for her.
In August of 1951 she boarded the Irish Mail in Euston for Holyhead for the boat home.
The Lord did not reveal to her that her life would change again on that journey home.
The first any of us knew about her meeting on the train was the day a letter arrived with an English postmark.
She told us that on the train there was a young man who was also on his journey home. She watched him board the train in London. He was about her age, much taller than her with dark hair and a wide smile. He had been running and was out of breath, he almost missed the train and it was hours until the next one.
He was heading for his home in Wigan, changing at Crewe,
For the previous twelve months he had been at the beginning of his training for the priesthood…. It was not to be.
Such a momentous occasion should have so much more detail, snippets of remembered conversation, may be a hope or a thought or a dream but it was just a part of their shared journey, no detail was ever passed on, just a few facts and later a magazine article written by the Franciscan brother who had counselled the young man through his decision to leave his training.
A young couple at the end of one chapter of their lives: were about to embark on another.

Daffodil, a symbol of re-birth and new beginnings