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When I was growing up, I thought friendships were restricted to those with whom I went to school—people I saw and interacted with every day. As the years passed, these people began to disappear, and our lives took different paths. Contact was lost, and inevitably, I became forgotten, as we probably all did, as those relationships were not nurtured. This is life; it is not wrong but just how it is.

Over the years, when that same life throws at you lemons and various hurdles, even successes and achievements, you can suddenly feel the loss of those relationships you had once grown up with. Someone to pick up a phone and talk with and meet up with and share your newfound hopes or fears.  

And yet, as these doors close, others open up, and new relationships get forged.

I speak of myself in the main and how, through circumstances not always in my control, my childhood friendships have been lost. And yet, I am blessed to have met so many new contacts through the opening door that, by chance or by destiny, have come into my life and world and set me on a path I had never envisioned.

I was encouraged to share my family life journey and also write, something I had yet to think about in those early years. Buoyed by the suggestion that what I have to say in my words may support others following our journey, I put pen to paper to see what I could draft.

It was wholly unexpected, and following a period of writing responses and articles for a specialist magazine, a publisher approached me, wanting to publish my draft manuscript.

Many of those new contacts have become friends to whom I owe so much for their encouragement, support, and ongoing friendship.

The book is in the process of being edited, its cover design completed, and final proofreading. It is an honour to have such a story identified as suitable for publication and I thank all those who have steered me to this point.

The Crow …

“The shadow is that hidden, repressed, for the most part, inferior and guilt-laden personality whose ultimate ramifications reach back into the realm of our animal ancestors … (Carl Jung)

Day after day, the crow sat on the fence, just watching. Its eye seemingly penetrated my soul, freezing the lifeblood pumping through my heart. Unafraid as I approached it, the crow remained unmoving, just staring. Memories, none of them good, of mystical associations with doom flooded my thoughts. This crow was taking me on a journey into darkness – a journey down a long, dark, damp passage without light. Without hope.

Unwanted thoughts of regret course through my mind. I am grieving for something I do not have, and I do not have the right to grieve. Do I?

Over many long weeks and months, watching my son writhe in tormented pain, unable to help him other than to hold him, I was comforting him only by my presence and suffering a father’s regret of not being able to do anything tangible to release him from his burden. Each day, several times a day, he needs more and more support. My life seems to be nothing more than forever kneeling at my son’s side, trying desperately to bring him comfort. His seizures cause him to strike out. He strikes me, claws me, and knows nothing about what he is doing.

I take a short respite from his care and walk into the neglected garden. The crow sits as it always does, watching and chilling me as it stares as if waiting for a dying soul.

This is relentless. My journey down into this dark place has gripped me, sucking all optimism out of me. Was this what fatherhood should be like? Why was I not blessed with the son we had thought we would have? Would I regain any happiness in my life? The darkness increased, and all hope was now completely drained. Shut off from the world, I withdraw into my dark thoughts. I deal only with those essential needs of care for our son. I am not eating correctly, not seeing anything positive in life, and praying for a permanent end to this feeling.

However, crows can represent death, danger, misfortune and illness, but also rebirth, self-reflection, intelligence, and loyalty, and as such, can be both good and bad omens. My mind was in such a dark place I had assumed Hades had sent the crow to pick over my carcass after watching me suffer. I have realised this crow signalled a change in our son’s health. He will remain seriously unwell, which is inevitable, but the dark place he was in appears to have changed, too, and gradually, a smile returns to his face.

I feel guilty now that I was feeling so low. In all the years since we were blessed with the arrival of our boy, I have never felt this bad. We are told it is okay to feel this way. It does not feel OK, but it is wrong. Slowly, as our son’s health stabilises, we have a more optimistic outlook.

Trust in those who interact and support you is essential as a parent of a special needs child. Every day has challenges, and it brings expectations that those involved in that support deliver what is needed.

            The supposedly simple act of ordering and collecting a repeat prescription for much-needed, life-saving medicines should go smoothly. We trust both chemists and doctors to make that happen. When we arrive to collect the medication, a blank look on the chemist’s face signals concern.

            “Your GP has not signed them off,” we were told. “You will need to speak to them”.

            A subsequent conversation with our GP informed us, “Your chemist has not sent the request through.” Our hearts sink. We are back at the Chemist, as the GP will not talk directly to them, and they insist the order has been placed. “The computer says …” is the inevitable reply.

Why does it have to be this difficult, and why can we not trust people to do what is needed instead of my having to be the go-between to get the issue resolved? As each hour passes, we are nearing the moment when we have no medication to administer to our son, which in turn heightens the risk of severe and life-threatening consequences for him.

We have so much that requires our intervention each day. It is a sad fact that even processes that are set up and should work automatically, fail. Another day, travelling between doctors and chemists, making phone calls to verify each step has been completed, and all the time, the hours count down to the weekend when both are closed, and nothing can be done until Monday.

Trust is essential and so valuable. I wish those who are involved understood and embraced it.