I went to a charity auction night tonight for The Charlie Jones Foundation which was set up by a very brave friend of mine following the tragic death of her baby at just 4 months old. Charlie had hypoplastic left heart syndrome (HLHS), which I don't profess to understand the details of. What it did mean was that Charlie fought an incredibly hard battle from the moment he was born, and spent a large part of his short life in the PICU at Southampton General Hospital. His death came as a shock as he was out of hospital and during his check up just days before he died his parents were told he was doing very well.
So to make sense of losing their baby, Donna and Dean and a couple of their very good friends set up the foundation in Charlie's honour to raise money for the PICU and for research into HLHS. To date on the donations website they've raised just shy of £2500 and tonight they raised over £2500.
I can't begin to understand the pain of losing a baby. I've never particularly wanted to have kids, never felt that 'thing' that other women feel when they hold a tiny baby in their arms or watched a toddler in the park. But the thought of having a baby, a life that you've created, and to have to carry that baby to their grave at such a tiny age is possibly the cruelest thing I can think of having to live through.
I have nothing but admiration for Donna and Dean, for even being able to think about putting one foot in front of another each day, let alone doing something as incredible as raising all that money in hopes of saving another mother and father from the heart break they have to live with for the rest of their lives.
Marry Me Girl Be My Fairy To The World
Question: If you like someone, but they think you're "great as a friend" (the words 'salt water' and 'open wound' ring a bell right now), how do you go about getting over them?
Standing In The Way Of Control
Every Sunday evening I make sure I find time to check out postsecret. This Sunday being Valentines Day (bleurgh) I was intrigued to what secrets would be on there, and although expecting to be moved by them (for all my cynicism I am a hopeless romantic at heart) I didn't expect for one to resonate particularly with me. But one did, it reads "I think I'm crushing on you, but I'm very shy so please talk to me first". Most people will automatically say that I'm not a shy person, that if anything I'm the opposite to it. So why is there this lad I've been doing my best to persuade myself I'm not interested in so I don't have to face the idea of having to say something to him if I ever want to be more than just friends?
The Gap That Grows Between Our Lives
Two of the things that I hold most dear about my heritage feel like they're being stolen away from me this week.
I overheard my mum saying to Dad on Thursday that she's going to contact the estate agents to put Grans bungalow on the market now. That bungalow represents so much to me. It was obviously the venue for so many happy memories I can't begin to list them (and nor do I want to). It also give me a sense of belonging, some concrete (literally) routes in the country I feel is my home but I don't get to live in. As I type this I'm wrapped up in my Wales rugby jumper and I feel like my right to wear it is slipping away from me. I feel like I have no reason to cross the border any more, no right and no reason to think the other side of that bridge is home.
The other thing being that Xerox are selling their plant at Mitcheldean. My beloved grandad set up a factory there for Rank Xerox to make cinematic machinery after the Second World War. He got an OBE for bringing industry and promise to a depressed area. After my grandad passed away, Rank Xerox wrote to my dad, telling him they'd named a large part of the factory in Mitcheldean after Grandad in his memory. Now it's been (or being, not sure which) sold off. Who ever buys it will carry on bringing employment to the area, like Grandad did. But what he worked so hard for has gone. The entrance way with his name above the door will likely be torn down and that plaque tossed aside.
They're just buildings, I know that. And as a friend said to me on Thursday, times change. I feel like I'm being cut adrift from where I'm from and who I'm from. That every day a bigger gap is being forced between me and the people who played such a huge part in giving me a sense of history.
I overheard my mum saying to Dad on Thursday that she's going to contact the estate agents to put Grans bungalow on the market now. That bungalow represents so much to me. It was obviously the venue for so many happy memories I can't begin to list them (and nor do I want to). It also give me a sense of belonging, some concrete (literally) routes in the country I feel is my home but I don't get to live in. As I type this I'm wrapped up in my Wales rugby jumper and I feel like my right to wear it is slipping away from me. I feel like I have no reason to cross the border any more, no right and no reason to think the other side of that bridge is home.
The other thing being that Xerox are selling their plant at Mitcheldean. My beloved grandad set up a factory there for Rank Xerox to make cinematic machinery after the Second World War. He got an OBE for bringing industry and promise to a depressed area. After my grandad passed away, Rank Xerox wrote to my dad, telling him they'd named a large part of the factory in Mitcheldean after Grandad in his memory. Now it's been (or being, not sure which) sold off. Who ever buys it will carry on bringing employment to the area, like Grandad did. But what he worked so hard for has gone. The entrance way with his name above the door will likely be torn down and that plaque tossed aside.
They're just buildings, I know that. And as a friend said to me on Thursday, times change. I feel like I'm being cut adrift from where I'm from and who I'm from. That every day a bigger gap is being forced between me and the people who played such a huge part in giving me a sense of history.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)