Eek, first day of blogging, sat at my kitchen table trying to write the short story that’s been in my head for the last three months. So, I’ve made coffee, pints of cherries and berries squash, cycled to the shop, met Norma and discussed the merits of high heels whilst looking in the Oxfam window. She smelled of talcum powder and wore bright red lipstick. I liked her. Her husband told her she shouldn’t wear heels anymore so she had on a pair of slippers as it stopped her falling over. She said ‘Goodbye. Looks like it’s going to be warm today.’
She was lovely and I’m glad I cycled but none of this is helping me write about the woman I recently helped find her birth family after 52 years and 30 years of looking. It all happened by chance and I was one of three hundred people she randomly contacted. What were the chances? More random is that we ended up being related, distantly but her aunt is married to my second cousin.
How to do the story justice, that’s the problem. Because it was, it is an amazing story of betrayal, lust, adultery and abandonment covering three countries. Early on I felt the pain of the birth mother, husband abandoned her, her three children taken away, back to Ireland and then having to give up her fourth child for adoption, only to discover over a period of a few days (it took just 4 days to find her entire family) that she wasn’t the victim at all. I still don’t know why she abandoned her four children, only to go on and have four more. As I type all eight children are in Ireland at a reunion, a gathering. Some of them didn’t know about the others. Some love their mother dearly, some can’t remember her, some never met her at all and some never want to.
There, I’ve told you most of it and helped myself write some of my short story. Maybe this blogging will help after all.