Where Angels Sleep

She had the most piercing, adorable bright blue eyes and hair that coiled in little gold springs around her pale face.  She was the absolute double of her Dad.  So much alike to him that she was almost so pretty it would have taken the breath from people, had she reached her adult life.

Three weeks ago, though I never knew she existed until just before she passed, this little girl; this small and vulnerable human lived inside my body.  The wrench of losing a second child was like a stab to the heart.  Not because of untimely creation and subsequent death, but because of circumstance.  Above all things, I believe in fate as if it were the bible.  I firmly believe that if something is taken from you, it's because it was never the right thing to allow you to have it.  The pain of this belief made dealing with the loss so much more difficult.

One loss was trauma....but the loss that followed some days later was one that will stay with me always.  Not a single day has passed without grief for that boy.  I trusted that fate brought us together, as it did, to realise something I never thought possible.  Now I am cheated and doubt myself beyond repair.  When I started my blogs I felt hope, love and promise and felt a future which was idealistic and tinged with naivety.  This was nobodys fault.  I know not why a child came to me when this was technically impossible.  I have no idea why my daughter died (I am adamant she was a girl, just as I know my first passed was a boy)....I have no idea why I was so foolhardy to push something certain to fail, but I did.

I will always have a marker now for what love is, always.

I knew nothing of love until this moment and I know only the pain caused, which is why it is a first for me.

This was nobodys fault...

Timing, distance and ambition will keep us apart but I'll never forget that boy with the tattoos who changed my entire world with his humble and adorable honesty.  I'm so grateful for the honesty.

Make no mistake, this blog is not intended for pity or sorrow, only to finalise the story which started only 4 months ago.  It has taken three weeks of strength building to even say the words without breaking down.  But the boy is gone.  In my heart there will always be a space for him, we will always be friends.  As for that little girl, the most peculiar thing happened - some two days later, a smiling face came into view and the words 'she's fine now with her Grandad'.  My new found spirit guide.  Grandad.  He said she looks like a Daisy Marie....I'm puzzled, but I'll take his word for it.

Rest in peace baby Kightley.  Tell your big brother hello from Mummy xxxxx

Party like its my birthday

'let's get fucked up' he says, clutching a tray of tequila. My best mate cookie is on a mission; to help me forget my troubles and show me how loved I am, one of the many reasons I adore him! The tequila goes down about as favourably as shards of glass, after all I was drinking whisky for the majority of the previous 48 hours! After sitting on a bus from London for 9 hours, having a panic attack and getting lost and missing my daughter's school concert, this drink was welcoming. I was determined to enjoy every minute and so, armed with my sweet friend Mark and my partner in crime, I threw back the tequila and sucked the lemon, hoping in vain that it wouldn't disagree with me. Cookie made a rule that it was unforgivable to have a second without a drink, so the night had a theme in the form of a 2 drink combo. Enhanced by copious amounts of fishbowls, we assumed that we would never make it past 3am! By 6am, I had been asked for ID, given free drinks, been called stunning, chatted to a very butch, very 'highly scented' woman in the toilet, planned out mark's moves to pull a fit boy, been offered a managerial job, drank champagne, danced terribly and stood in a wannabe posh bar with hundreds of pretentious tossers! Yet I was still going strong. Perhaps a major highlight of the night was drinking with the travelodge staff at 5.30am. Bemused by our silliness, they never even questioned the third member of the party who wasn't booked in, nor did they reprimand Cookie for stealing 'emergency' milk from the breakfast fridge for a very tired and pale looking mark. After posing for ludicrous photographs, sitting down in the lift and yelling through other peoples' hotel windows, we retired to our room. Mark was close to death by this point. What better time to open a birthday present? As we downed several shots of talisker at 6.30am, mark laid on the bed looking forlorn. I insisted that cookie photograph us in a duvet cover and I ran round the room screaming with my ten year malt in hand. We named a stuffed hedgehog 'Simon' and I waltzed about in my 'manjamas' before being forced to take the middle spot in the bed. The straight man, the bi woman and the gay man in a bed - it was beyond hilarious! The two most trustworthy men ever! At around 7.30am it was decided that we were idiotic and essentially must give in to sleep. Between talk of poo, vaginas, love, life and best mates, there was no way we could sleep. Without a clue how it came to it, mark announced that he 'had the flavour of pakistan', resulting in raucous laughter from myself and cookie. This is the last thing I remember before the whisky addled coma took hold. ....fast forward 3 hours and I'm standing on 2 snoring bodies to get out of bed and answer the phone. .....fast forward a further 2 hours and I'm examining a black splice on my cheek, a print on my foot and a black hand. ...... Fast forward an hour and we are in a service station overlooking a lake, chain smoking and throwing egg sandwiches on the floor ... An hour later we've been lost in Bolton .... An hour later we have been in mark's house talking to his dad, me shoeless and now returning to the car ....by 4pm we have stopped off for a beer after getting lost again and cookie has bottom issues By midnight I have a boyfriend. Best birthday ever!!!

War and peace

You know when you just can't stop yourself from saying something even though it's guaranteed to stir up a storm? Why is it that I'm so stupid that I don't know when to keep my big mouth shut? The utter despair I have at this situation is simply destroying me. One of the best things in my life is also the thing which brings so much heartache and I'm completely powerless to change that. So I wear my heart on my sleeve knowing only too well that it will get me nowhere. As is often the case, I'm on a bus home from London at the moment. The sky is grey and distinctly reflective of my mood. I might be misconstrued as irritable or miserable, but in reality I'm neither; I'm just lost! For regular blog readers I'm sure it is obvious why I'm suffering. It is indeed related to that boy that I stumbled upon back in April; the boy who everybody just has to speculate over. He has been a close friend since day one and after getting to know him more and more my worst fears have been confirmed.....he's wonderful! Even when he's dreadful, he's wonderful. Watching him perform the other night my heart swelled in my chest with sheer pride and excitement. I feel touched and humbled that somebody so precious could ever give me the time of day. But it's a conundrum. It should absolutely not be this gut wrenching every time I say goodbye. I can deny myself the truth indefinitely but it is becoming impossible to not want more. This is when I get really angry.... Why oh why would life be so cruel as to show me what I want like bait on a fish hook? I don't have a private jet I can charter to fly me 300 miles every day. I don't have magic answers for everything or indeed any solutions. I don't look pretty, I'm too clumsy and I'm stupidly over the top with my honesty. I cry at silly things like puppies and daffodils and I can't make gravy without lumps in. Worst of all I can't be good enough for anyone it seems. If I never tried to make this happen I'd have never forgiven myself. At worst I've met a beautiful person who has their name etched in my soul for always. I treasure every single second we spend together. He's so funny that boy, everyone loves him. Whatever happens from now on I'm going to have to toughen up and leave the tears behind me. Apologies for the depressing entry, I have to write it down to remind myself how silly I am. Make no mistake about it, there's no intention of morbidity. I spoke to the boy ten minutes ago, he's not going anywhere yet. It's very daunting to think of private feelings being read on the Internet but sometimes I just don't care. Hopefully me and my over sized mouth aren't going to get in any more trouble this week. As for the boy, I hope I see that silly crazy man soon :) :)

Deny deny deny

My daughter asked me today 'Mummy which princess do you like best? Which one would you be?'. It wasn't a difficult question; after all, all women aspire to be princesses don't they? I chose Ariel, the little mermaid, purely for the use of a tail. I remember as a child fantasising about how amazing it must be to glide through the water with my shimmering gills and my cute little shell top, hair glistening through the waves.... But they aren't real are they, princesses? In a way they represent much that's wrong with the world: false expectations, enhanced beauty, rags to riches and an insane desire to be rescued by a man with a sword! The reality is far removed. What if Cinderella had been gay? I'd have liked to have seen the look on Prince Charming's face as he danced at the ball with her in her hoody and jeans (don't you know fairy tales are very un-pc?). See this is a problem for me. I'm guilty of calling my children princesses and guilty sometimes of dreaming that happy ending. Problem comes when I remember that I'm not beautiful, nor rich or talented, nor popular and charming. I'm the bisexual girl with the tattoos and a fetish for welsh rock Gods. I just don't fit. In my life there have been fairy tale moments; the day I gave birth, got married.... The day I met my ex girlfriend over a bar with a hangover! Who says romance is dead? Thing is, these fairy tale moments only exist briefly, they are marred by the daily grind- tarnished by the essential mundane. If someone had told me that at the age of 31 I'd be a single parent of four children, I'd have eaten that poisoned apple voluntarily!! I have no idea what possible point I am aspiring to make with these musings, I might add. I live my life and love it to the core! It's not the castle and unicorns I wrote on my career plan, but it is wholesome and true in many a way. There are dragons in the form of mothers who know best and knights in the form of best mates called Cookie: there are dwarves in the form of four little girls and glass slippers which bear an uncanny resemblance to Dr Marten boots. I got to thinking all this recently when I was having a down day and being a misery guts led me to challenge my own thoughts. See the thing I figured out recently which has disturbed me in a way, is that prince charming DOES exist (I know, I couldn't believe it myself!). He's stubborn, confusing, abrupt, overtly honest and utterly exasperating....but I knew it was him as soon as I saw him! It'd be a huge lowering of standards for him to kiss a toad - but I've got to believe in it now that there's hope after all, haven't I?

Distanced

Because my heart got damaged you see It slipped and fell And shattered into a thousand pieces I've no idea how that happened But I welcomed it just the same What's the point in regret and allocating blame? Closing eyes only makes things clearer Life path melodrama My head is the theatre But I'm fine now you see As fine as the interlocking arms Around me Where the tenderness in fingertips Holds the affirmation And blankly I wait With chantless incantation Hide from yourself So easy to be A nameless face Running from honesty

Bliss

Let me speak about the emo boy Pretty eyes wannabe goth boy We make it happen you and me We start the drama Spend a lifetime daydreaming safety pins You and your innocent blue peepers Gazing with intensity My little fall out boy What happened that made you this? But you know that I like it, whatever it is Scratch the ink from your arms Seal the holes in your lips And you'll still be you Hiding in the dark My lovely fucked up boy It's just the way you feel in my arms With the cynical smile love the way your hair sweeps Speaks a mind of its own Me and you can go places you know We'll pass time on trains until then My far far far away boy What I wouldn't give to press against those lips But who wouldn't, right? Its the way you're so damn magnetic When you speak the world stands still And that's when you shrug your shoulders Serious boy We talk too much You and me But how about when the sun comes through the curtain? If you actually listen They all say this about you A beautiful face And just the right amount of raw In your straight talking bones I think I just forgot to say How much I'd wished i was yours 03/06/12

I can see tomorrow already

The fact of the matter is, being a medium has its drawbacks at times. I get an enormous sense of relief when I pass on messages for loved ones who really need them; the pain comes when that message is for me. This morning when I woke suddenly to be told that something had happened, I asked, as I always do 'what is it?'. I wrote down what was said and closed my eyes again, knowing that when it was revealed to me, it would feel different. Two hours later, when the message was confirmed, I sat and questioned myself. Why does this happen to me? Why do I know what's going on without having to be told? It's like the life I'm in I've lived a thousand times. It's very painful to accept a truth that came to you from spirit, before it presented itself in real life; it's like an intrusion of privacy. The worst moments are when the living messenger won't allow the truth to be heard and you shoulder the burden of feeling like you got it wrong. Tonight, when I gave a reading about someone's child, I felt better. The other week when I passed on words from a woman killed by cancer, I felt valuable. In general though, having the 'gift' is quite traumatic. At the moment this is amplified by the people that pass through my house daily, telling me things I don't want to know. The absolute worst thing is when someone tells you that something is not going to work out, yet you had always believed it would. Sometimes the world comes crashing down. If I had made mistakes in readings I would shrug it off, but so far I just haven't. So I have to listen to what I'm told. It's a very good job I needn't speak of it!