I think about love a lot, I love my life but it hasn't come naturally to me. I have spent times in my life feeling not worthy of love and being terrified of losing everyone I love and recently I have wanted to write about how I ended up here, managing to live without the fear that it could all disappear instantly.
However, I think I need to start earlier than that by first of all thinking about the first loves, real loves in my life, so before I start on the human relationships I have learned to love from I need to talk about my animal loves. To write about them all would be too long, so this is the first post mostly about my childhood dogs.
The first dog I can remember having was a wire haired fox terrier called Penny. I can't remember life without her, so my parents must have got her when I was wee. I remember the story being that she had belonged to an elderly lady who couldn't look after her anymore and we got her. She was the sweetest little thing, one of her favourite spots in our house was sitting behind the door in the bathroom next to the electric towel rail. We didn't have central heating at that time and it must have been a cosy spot, quite often you would go to the loo, sit down and realise that there was a wee dog looking at you. It was very nice to cuddle her and she used to smell of clean towels and was always toasty warm. Sadly, when I was about 5 or 6 years old she developed a skin condition which after a few trips to the vet, meant she was referred to the Glasgow vet hospital. She didn't come home and I was told that she had gone to heaven. I cried and cried for days, I still remember that bus ride home from us visiting family when my Mum told me she had died. I was devastated.
Some time later we bought a puppy, this time we had been to the breeder to pick our puppy out and one Saturday morning off we went to pick Sheena up. Sheena was a Shetland Sheepdog, she was quiet and shy and she totally loved us. She chewed her way through umpteen pairs of shoes, the side of a wall (yes really) and a couple of wicker baskets, my Mum finally getting a bread crate from the local supermarket which became her bed. Sheena was the best trained dog I have ever had. I could walk her all around our small town and she would sit at the edge of the pavement if we had to cross the road. She never ran away, barked or chased other dogs. We used to walk everywhere together, we had lots of favourite places to visit, the record shop in the village - the owner Cathy had 3 Shelties too and we used to meet on Sunday evenings in the local park for walks with the dogs, thinking back the friendship I had with Cathy (who was also great friends with my Mum) was one of the first friendships I had on my own with an older person, I loved those walks together, she really was a lovely lady. Sheena(dog) and me used to love visiting my Auntie Nan who lived around the block from us. Sheena could have whole conversations with Aunt Nan, joyfully whining away when talked too. I used to tell my friends that Sheena must be related to Lassie, the famous film dog, as I was sure that she would save me if I fell down a well! Sheena did save me in a way, I had a person in my life that really loved me, just me, not the me that had to be good or had to try really hard to be loved.
As an adopted person I think that even then I knew that the love Sheena had for me was unlike any other. I didn't have to work for it, she slept outside my bedroom door and used to come into the bathroom with me if I had been naughty, I would wrap us both up in warm towels and wonder if we could live in there, how long could we stay hidden and could I eat the toothpaste? One of the best things was being able to completely hide my face in her long coat, she was a lovely dog for cuddling. Sheena loved me and I loved her, it was unconditional. Being able to walk the dog was a great way to escape from the house and be out for hours. Once I started going out with my first boyfriend Alasdair, he and I used to take her for huge walks up in the country park next to our town, she used to go nuts when she saw him, always whining and wagging her tail madly.
It was Sheena who helped me cope with my grief after Alasdair died, a few days after his 18th birthday. I could still escape from the house, which I needed to, my parents really couldn't cope with me or my grief, I suppose they were trying to cope with their own but we didn't talk about things like that in our house. My Dad's solution to any difficult situation was to isolate himself and not talk about it, my lovely Mum just tried to make the peace but she would never stand up for me against my Dad, she really was his wife first and foremost, with that taking priority over being a Mum to me or my brother.
We still had Sheena when I started dating my ex-husband, I was still living at home and walks with Sheena had stopped now as she must have been about 14 or even 15 years old, totally blind and finally she had a stroke and we had to have her put to sleep. My Mum took her up to the vets and left her there, I hated that I hadn't been with her in her last moments, it wasn't until I came home from work that I walked in our back door and noticed that the dog bowls were gone that I knew what had happened. I remember being both distraught and furious, I don't think my parents really thought about it, I know my Mum was upset but she didnt understand why I was upset that Sheena had just been left at the vets. I have never ever done that with any of my animals since, I truly believe that if you have an animal that has loved you and shared your life then it is up to you as the human to be there at the end of their life too. I know sometimes circumstances dictate differently but if you can you need to be there for them.
I was 19 when I started dating my ex he was seen as a bit of a 'calming' influence on me by my family I think. We got engaged and married too young and too quickly, 21 when we married, and 25 when I left him. The one thing that we did have in common was that we both liked animals, Tomas's Mum bred Birman cats and the first cat that I have ever owned was a male Blue Point Birman, called Turbo, who I even took to Cat Shows for a couple of years (don't ask, I wasn't really myself then!). It was with Tomas that we bought my Mum a Yorkshire Terrier puppy, she was called Tara and was quite the best small dog I ever met. It was a good thing for Mum to have her as both me and my brother had left home by then. Tara never ever felt like my dog though, I had to get used to visiting home and being greeted by a dog that wasn't really mine. Tara was a funny wee thing and used to get quite jealous of me hugging my Mum, we now own a terrier cross and she is exactly the same when others are getting attention. I think it is a 'small' dog thing!
It took going through CBT (Cognitive Behaviour Therapy) after a serious riding accident for me to realise that these first loves with my childhood dogs were to shape me as a person for the rest of my life. I did not have to be 'good' to earn love from my dogs, I didn't ever worry about them not loving me, it was a tangible real love that came without strings of being grateful or not being like them - I loved them and they loved me and the loss I suffered when they died was as real as any other bereavement I had known at the time. In my 20s I went on to discover myself and who I really was through my other massive love in life - horses. And that is the subject of another post altogether.
I truly believe that our lives are woven together with threads and cords which link us, bind us with love and shared values and worths. Through animals I have met and been inspired by some of the most amazing people I know, and through them I hope I have learned and grown and in return reciprocated with my love too.
Showing posts with label adoption. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adoption. Show all posts
Sunday, 7 January 2018
Friday, 6 January 2017
Rhododendron
Rhododendron, one of my all time favourite words and flowers.
'Rhododendrons are grown for their spectacular flowers, usually borne in spring. Some also have young leaves and stems covered in a striking dense woolly covering (indumentum) and some - the deciduous rhododendrons or azaleas - have good autumn colour.' RHS Gardening website.
Rhododendron. I was probably 5 or 6 years old, in Primary 2 at school and my teacher had called me out to the front of the class to show the rest of the children what I had just painted. My painting was of the hedge we had at the back of our garden. I had painted shiny green leaves, shaped like big ovals and had then added lovely splodges of purple and white for the flowers. Each flower was arranged next to five others, in a circle pattern. The paint smelled lovely and the paper I had used was going soft and wrinkly where I had used too much paint or where my watercolour had too much water. The paints were large solid circles of primary colours in a plastic pallet and I remember being very happy when the colours (red/blue and some white) had mixed to make the purple I wanted.
My teachers Mrs Hein, wrote a large word on the blackboard. Rhododendron, it was a very long word and she wondered if any of us could learn to spell it. This was the name of the plant/hedge I had painted, although Mrs Hein said you could also get white and pink flowers on those plants, I didn't know about that. The flowers in my back garden were purple.
Rhododendron - it is a nice word to say as well as to spell out.
My Rhododendron painting got pinned on the wall. It was the first painting I had had pinned up that school year, I had had a crayon drawing of trees hung up the year before but that was a different class and this time my painting was much bigger. Those things matter when you are probably 5 or 6 years old.
I went home and told my Mum all about the painting and the name of the flowers. Mum helped me practice my spelling of Rhododendron, I wanted to be able to spell it properly as well.
My exact recollection of what happened next is a bit hazy but I think we had a student teacher or some other person, a 'lady', come into the classroom. This 'lady' wanted to watch our class and then talk to our teacher and perhaps she would ask some of us about what work we were doing. Then if she wanted to, she could take you into the headmistresses office (with your teacher there too) and she had a tape recorder where she could record you answering these questions. If you got asked to go in, you would be able to hear what you sounded like on a tape player, it seemed very exciting. I was very excited and happy about this. Perhaps if I got chosen I could hear what I would sound like on tape. My Dad had a Phillips reel-to-reel tape player that he used to play music on at the time.
I can't remember whether this 'lady' was in our classroom for a day, a week or a month. This was 45 years ago after all. Anyway, I did get chosen to go and have a chat with the lady and her tape recorder.
Mrs Hein took me into Miss Adair's (the Headmistress) office and sat next to me as I was asked questions. What did I like about school, what were we working on, what was a I good at? Well, I liked my friend Fiona, I liked my teacher and I liked painting Rhododendrons. I could even spell it, Rhododendron and I did spell it correctly too. Well, that seemed to make everyone very happy, especially me, and wasn't I lucky that I had a back garden with Rhododendrons growing in it she said?
I must have replied, well yes I was very lucky, because I was actually very special. The reason I was special was because my Mummy and Daddy couldn't have children of their own and that God gave them me to be their child instead. I did believe in God then, my Mum was very religious and I was taken to church and Sunday School right the way through my childhood. The 'lady' finished recording me and then let me listen to my answers back, I sounded funny and I thought I had done well telling them about my Rhododendrons. I was sent back to my class while Mrs Hein and the Lady talked.
That was when everything changed for me.
I was sent home with a letter for my Mum.
My Mum had to go to school to have a talk with Miss Adair.
My Mum came home from school and then told me that what I had said was wrong and that I had said something bad. I shouldn't have said I was special, even though that is what I had always been told about myself and my little brother, from then on I wasn't to tell other people that I thought I was special or lucky or adopted. I had to keep it a secret and not upset people. I think my Mum got quite upset about it. I remember thinking that she seemed sad about it. I didn't like that I had made her sad, it made me sad too.
I can't remember what happened to my Rhododendron painting.
And that is the moment I think, when I remember back to my childhood, when the 'fear' started. The fear that I have lived with for most of my life but that now as an adult I try not to. Naive that I was, I told the girl that I sat next to in class what had happened and about how I wasn't to tell people I was special because I was adopted. That girl told me that she knew what being adopted meant, it meant that my 'real' parents didn't want me so they gave me away. She also told every one else in my class too.
I spent most of my childhood trying to be very good, but having nightmares about being given away again. Anxious, timid, shy, daydreamer and quiet - all words from Primary school reports about me. It took me until my teens and twenties to realise that I didn't have to be that scared person, although 'she' appears at times, I do think that I'm doing okay. My fear of abandoment stays with me, it is much smaller now but it is still there.
I will always love and grow Rhododendrons in my garden. They are such happy flowers with beautiful colours and scent, although ours at home was not scented.
I may even try to paint them again. I've signed up for an folio building art course in the spring, perhaps I'll get the shade of purple just right again.
The Rhododendron hedge still grows in the back garden in the house where I grew up, my Dad still lives there, my Mum passed away 7 years ago.
As an adult I think I have finally accepted that I will always carry that 'fear' and that primal wound that all adopted people have. Even after searching and finding both my birth parents, one of whom sadly I can't have a relationship with and the other who is a very important part of my life, I do feel as if I am still scarred. Actually perhaps scarred is not the right word? Not scarred as scars heal, but that there is a covering or scab on that wound which shouldn't be poked or picked at too much. And that is just the way things are, and as with everything in life that I cannot change, there has to be my acceptance of it.
And when Spring arrives this year in a few months, I will look out for the purple flowers of the Rhododendron blooming to remind me of my happy life, which I hope I live as well as I can. Not special in any way but happy.
And for that I am very grateful.
Ali
'Rhododendrons are grown for their spectacular flowers, usually borne in spring. Some also have young leaves and stems covered in a striking dense woolly covering (indumentum) and some - the deciduous rhododendrons or azaleas - have good autumn colour.' RHS Gardening website.
Rhododendron. I was probably 5 or 6 years old, in Primary 2 at school and my teacher had called me out to the front of the class to show the rest of the children what I had just painted. My painting was of the hedge we had at the back of our garden. I had painted shiny green leaves, shaped like big ovals and had then added lovely splodges of purple and white for the flowers. Each flower was arranged next to five others, in a circle pattern. The paint smelled lovely and the paper I had used was going soft and wrinkly where I had used too much paint or where my watercolour had too much water. The paints were large solid circles of primary colours in a plastic pallet and I remember being very happy when the colours (red/blue and some white) had mixed to make the purple I wanted.
My teachers Mrs Hein, wrote a large word on the blackboard. Rhododendron, it was a very long word and she wondered if any of us could learn to spell it. This was the name of the plant/hedge I had painted, although Mrs Hein said you could also get white and pink flowers on those plants, I didn't know about that. The flowers in my back garden were purple.
Rhododendron - it is a nice word to say as well as to spell out.
My Rhododendron painting got pinned on the wall. It was the first painting I had had pinned up that school year, I had had a crayon drawing of trees hung up the year before but that was a different class and this time my painting was much bigger. Those things matter when you are probably 5 or 6 years old.
I went home and told my Mum all about the painting and the name of the flowers. Mum helped me practice my spelling of Rhododendron, I wanted to be able to spell it properly as well.
My exact recollection of what happened next is a bit hazy but I think we had a student teacher or some other person, a 'lady', come into the classroom. This 'lady' wanted to watch our class and then talk to our teacher and perhaps she would ask some of us about what work we were doing. Then if she wanted to, she could take you into the headmistresses office (with your teacher there too) and she had a tape recorder where she could record you answering these questions. If you got asked to go in, you would be able to hear what you sounded like on a tape player, it seemed very exciting. I was very excited and happy about this. Perhaps if I got chosen I could hear what I would sound like on tape. My Dad had a Phillips reel-to-reel tape player that he used to play music on at the time.
I can't remember whether this 'lady' was in our classroom for a day, a week or a month. This was 45 years ago after all. Anyway, I did get chosen to go and have a chat with the lady and her tape recorder.
Mrs Hein took me into Miss Adair's (the Headmistress) office and sat next to me as I was asked questions. What did I like about school, what were we working on, what was a I good at? Well, I liked my friend Fiona, I liked my teacher and I liked painting Rhododendrons. I could even spell it, Rhododendron and I did spell it correctly too. Well, that seemed to make everyone very happy, especially me, and wasn't I lucky that I had a back garden with Rhododendrons growing in it she said?
I must have replied, well yes I was very lucky, because I was actually very special. The reason I was special was because my Mummy and Daddy couldn't have children of their own and that God gave them me to be their child instead. I did believe in God then, my Mum was very religious and I was taken to church and Sunday School right the way through my childhood. The 'lady' finished recording me and then let me listen to my answers back, I sounded funny and I thought I had done well telling them about my Rhododendrons. I was sent back to my class while Mrs Hein and the Lady talked.
That was when everything changed for me.
I was sent home with a letter for my Mum.
My Mum had to go to school to have a talk with Miss Adair.
My Mum came home from school and then told me that what I had said was wrong and that I had said something bad. I shouldn't have said I was special, even though that is what I had always been told about myself and my little brother, from then on I wasn't to tell other people that I thought I was special or lucky or adopted. I had to keep it a secret and not upset people. I think my Mum got quite upset about it. I remember thinking that she seemed sad about it. I didn't like that I had made her sad, it made me sad too.
I can't remember what happened to my Rhododendron painting.
And that is the moment I think, when I remember back to my childhood, when the 'fear' started. The fear that I have lived with for most of my life but that now as an adult I try not to. Naive that I was, I told the girl that I sat next to in class what had happened and about how I wasn't to tell people I was special because I was adopted. That girl told me that she knew what being adopted meant, it meant that my 'real' parents didn't want me so they gave me away. She also told every one else in my class too.
I spent most of my childhood trying to be very good, but having nightmares about being given away again. Anxious, timid, shy, daydreamer and quiet - all words from Primary school reports about me. It took me until my teens and twenties to realise that I didn't have to be that scared person, although 'she' appears at times, I do think that I'm doing okay. My fear of abandoment stays with me, it is much smaller now but it is still there.
I will always love and grow Rhododendrons in my garden. They are such happy flowers with beautiful colours and scent, although ours at home was not scented.
I may even try to paint them again. I've signed up for an folio building art course in the spring, perhaps I'll get the shade of purple just right again.
The Rhododendron hedge still grows in the back garden in the house where I grew up, my Dad still lives there, my Mum passed away 7 years ago.
As an adult I think I have finally accepted that I will always carry that 'fear' and that primal wound that all adopted people have. Even after searching and finding both my birth parents, one of whom sadly I can't have a relationship with and the other who is a very important part of my life, I do feel as if I am still scarred. Actually perhaps scarred is not the right word? Not scarred as scars heal, but that there is a covering or scab on that wound which shouldn't be poked or picked at too much. And that is just the way things are, and as with everything in life that I cannot change, there has to be my acceptance of it.
And when Spring arrives this year in a few months, I will look out for the purple flowers of the Rhododendron blooming to remind me of my happy life, which I hope I live as well as I can. Not special in any way but happy.
And for that I am very grateful.
Ali
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