I have previously mentioned that I was mis-diagnosed as being "educationally subnormal" as the term in use at that time went. For the sake of one reader of this blog I will repeat, this was a MIS-diagnosis, my learning was affected because of a degree of undiagnosed congenital deafness, it was much later discovered that I am dyslexic, and this affects me in sequencing and some numerical tasks mainly. Both of these disabilities/problems I have passed on to my two sons. This is often the case both with congenital ( and hereditary problems) and with dyslexia which does have a genetic component or predisoposition.

I have also mentioned that my ex-wife and I had four children. Kirsty, the second of them was born with severe spina bifida. her back was open from just under the shoulder blades right down to the base of her back. The spine itself was not complete, having 3 vertebrae either missing or malformed. This meant that had she lived longer than her 20 months, she would have remained paralysed below the waist. Kirsty was an angel on earth. She never once cried, although she experienced many invasive medical procedures, and much pain and discomfort. The smile rarely left her tiny face. In trying to be 'strong' for my ex-wife, who was devestated at Kirtsy's passing over, I never really grieved properly at that time. However, the grief was there and making itself felt in the depression, anxiety and general inability to concentrate attest. It was on the first anniversary of Kirsty's passing that these things came to a head for me.

I lost all interest in life. No one and nothing held any importance to me, including my ex, my first daughter or myself. I became listless, un focussed, lacking in motivation, unable to sleep for more than an hour without waking up screaming from the nightmares I had. I lost a great deal of weight, and was unable to accept any help from anyone, I simply felt unworthy of this as, being Kirsty's Dad, I should have been able to help her, to protect her and to make her better. This type of thinking drove me lower and lower, but at the time it made perfect sense to me, after all, that's what Dads are for! The worst symptom I endured at this time, was the 'flashbacks' I had, seeing myself carrying the tiny white casket into the church for her service. Dads shouldn't have to do this, they are supposed to escort their daughters to the alter to 'give them away' when they marry. Not to place them on a conveyor, in preparation for the burning of her final remains.

That is my enduring memory of that time, and even when, one year later my health went out of the window, no help from official sources was forthcoming. I was told that after a year I should be over it, that we could have more children, (indeed a couple of years later we did). That I still had to be strong for my ex, as she was still working through her grief, that I had to be strong for my elder daughter and many such remarks. All made by doctors etc. Eventually, friends began to avoid me, it was too uncomfortable for them to deal with me and my one track mind. I was only able to speak about Kirsty, and when I did I got angry. Angry is the best word I can use but it describes nothing of the great emotion I had inside me and threatening to consume me.

I am not going to dwell on this time except to say that the start of the turning around of this was due to a man in the village I lived in. No-one had anything good to say about this man, who had been in prison many times, he was a thief, a drug addict and dealer, a burglar and aggression was his norm. However, one day he simply walked into my home, and literally shook me. He gave me a complete verbal dressing down, backed up with lots of shouting. My initial response was to attack him, I needed to vent my hatred for the world that had taken Kirsty, and he had just volunteered as the recipient in approaching me in this way. The ensuing fight spilled into the garden outside the back door. It was short lived. I was already exhausted from lack of sleep and none existent to poor diet. When I finally collap[sed into a whimpering heap. This 'hard' man, this career criminal, got down on his knees and hugged me. He held me for what must have been 20 minutes or more, whilst all I could do was sob.

When I could cry no more, he helped me to my feet, took me back inside my home and we sat and talked from then (tea time) untill lunch time the next day. Actually I did all the talking, he simply listened, but he listened with his eyes as well as his ears, he challenged me when I started feeling sorry for myself, he made me look at my loss through different eyes, with his questions and statements. He literally saved my life, because I had been at the end of my emotional tether for a few weeks and was actively planning on ending my own life to 'be with Kirsty'. Terry, you did what was needed as it was needed and I am eternally grateful.

For any readers who wish to make comments about this aimed at trying to make me feel less of a person, it wont work. I have been to hell, and nothing on this earth compares to that. Misquotes and nasty comments do not serve the purpose you have for them. They cannot hurt me, I know pain, and words are nothing. ( Yes, dear readers, these comments have been made, but they mean nothing to me).

More soon.