Where There Is light, There Is Understanding.
By
Stephanie Fletcher
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PUBLISHED BY:
“Where There Is Light, There is Understanding”
Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie Fletcher
This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Reading Material
To all mothers’ everywhere who understand what it is to love unconditionally, whatever colour, race, or religion, we are all children of Mother Earth. In Love and Light, Namaste.
I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
Stephanie.
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Where There Is Light There Is Understanding
“Patience and Peace are the Mother and Father of Love.” (Buddhist saying.)
I am alone and too young to cope with all this dying and giving birth. In eight months I have lost my Gran and had a screaming baby that will not shut up. From the moment I bought him home from hospital, this bundle of 'joy' has not stopped screaming. Luke was big at nine pounds ten ounces, so every midwife, nurse and Doctor told me. It was a long, difficult birth, which I endured alone, with no one to help or encourage me.
The only people I had seen since being in the hospital were the midwife, who checked me over, and the health visitor, Ruth, who checked Luke over. I felt like I was under a microscope of judgement; are you doing this, are you doing that? Ruth, who was a year older than me at twenty-four, went into reams of advice on how it was best to handle this lump of flesh I had produced. I'm afraid I switched off.
Why didn't he cry when she was holding him? Luke was chuckling and gurgling, he’d never done that for me so what was wrong with me? It didn't last long either because as soon as she had gone he began his normal screeching, it was just like a strangled cat. It grated on my nerves like finger nails down a blackboard.
I picked him up and tried to feed him the 'breast' way for the umpteenth time that day, but it was never enough. He cried for more, I changed him, winded him and did everything I had read in the ‘Dummies guide to having a baby’ book. Oh, how I wish my Gran were here, she would know what to do. I rocked him from side to side as I usually did but it had no effect, the little sod was still crying and I hadn't a clue why.
“GRAN! Help me please!” I screamed out, but deep inside I knew my plea was in vain.
You may think that a new Mum would look to her own Mum for help and advice but chance would have been a fine thing. I never knew my Mum as she died when I was two. It was suicide. Gran had told me all about it when I was old enough to ask, as it was a lesson she wanted me to learn, life was unfair and she wasn't wrong.
My name is Holly, I am twenty-three and my mother was Dianne, she was a career girl, just as I had intended to be. She went to university, passed her degree with a first in Law and then straight into a firm of solicitors, and she never looked back. My Gran whose name was Elizabeth but everyone called her Betty, was so proud of her, and still loved her even after what she had done to herself. It showed in her voice when she used to tell me stories about my dead mother.
Apparently it all came to a grinding halt when my Mum found out she was six months pregnant with me. It devastated her and tore her perfect world apart and all for a one-night stand. My Mum couldn't cope, even with her Mum's help; she struggled to keep her job. When she eventually lost it, she evidently thought she was not made out for motherhood either, as she took her own life by overdosing on drink and pills.
It was my poor old Gran that found us. My so-called mother, dead on her bed and me abandoned, soiled and starving hungry, crawling around in all the mess I had made in my cot. Okay, so no one believed she intended to take her life. The coroner put the reason for her death down on the certificate as ‘misadventure’; making out it was just one big horrible mistake. Or perhaps I should say I was the mistake, and now just like her, I am not coping with my own big 'Luke' shaped mistake.
Initially, I was put into care until my Gran was awarded custody and she did her best to fill the cavernous hole in my life with her love and absolute devotion. I think it helped her to cope with her grief as well. Luckily, I remember very little of these times. I never had the luxury of a father figure; my Granddad had passed away before I was born. Even so I had a wonderful childhood and flourished at school and college.
I wanted to be a fashion designer as I loved making and wearing my homemade uniquely designed clothes. I was lucky, as I had done so well at school to have the chance to go to university to do just that, to take a degree in fashion design. I decided to go to one nearer to home so I could commute. I wanted to look after my Gran, who was getting frail at seventy-five, and it went a little way in repaying her for all the time she had cared for me.
I had only just finished university, having taken my final exams, when my Gran suddenly passed away from a massive stroke. Talk about shock! At the age of twenty-one I had to cope with funeral arrangements whilst devastated with grief and the horrible feeling of abandonment all over again.
Alone, I was alone and so tired all the time. Then the worst happened; I started being sick - all day. I put it down to being stressed, or maybe a bug, or so I hoped but when I went to the doctors my deepest fear was confirmed - I was pregnant; fourteen weeks pregnant and history was cruelly repeating itself.
The so-called father high tailed it as soon as I told him I was pregnant. It was no surprise as he wasn't up too much anyway. He had been a fling; a one nightstand, when I had been drunk, on a high celebrating after my exams. Now I am paying for it, for the rest of my life!
It was a small blessing that Gran wasn't here to witness my blunder; Mum's mistake repeated by me, insanely and stupidly. It left me cold and very mixed up. What should I do? Should I have an abortion? Should I give it up for adoption? It was a decision I battled daily, never getting anywhere, like a game of tennis repeatedly stuck at deuce, back and forth I batted all the options and then when I couldn't decide; fate decided for me, it was too late, I was to far gone.
I am alone, with this big hungry baby hanging off my body, sucking the life force out of me, I was drained of energy and feeling. I had no love for this infant. Why was that? I wanted to run away, to leave him somewhere; for someone better than me, but something always stopped me so I carried on doing my duties as the mother I never had and could never be.
“Grandma! Help me, please help me...!” I sobbed into the night sky. I was having a particularly bad time with Luke as he had decided that projectile vomiting was a good sport, and as soon as I had one feed down him, changed him and winded him, up it would come again, over him, over me, over everything.
“Ahhhhh!” I screamed. This was the fifth time today. “You little git!”
I’d had it. Somewhere, something inside me broke and I tossed my sixteen-day-old baby onto the settee. He rolled over, spreading the vomit all over the place and screaming at the top of his lungs. With no thought what so ever to what I had just done, I ran out of the room.
“Parasite!” I heard myself shout. I needed to sleep. At this point I flung myself onto the cold kitchen floor. It was two in the morning and I couldn’t stand another minute of my life.
“Take him for a walk.” a familiar voice whispered in my ear.
“A walk? At this time?” I thought.
“Why not?” The voice replied.
I slipped into automatic pilot, not really thinking or understanding and returned to my screaming
infant, who luckily, was still on the settee, wriggling around in his vomit. I cleaned both of us up, not even noticing that Luke had stopped crying. I put him into his pram and chucked in a blanket in for good measure. I grabbed my keys and the changing bag and we set out on this loony escapade.
“Go to St Peters.” the familiar voice, insisted. I didn’t think hearing voices was in the slightest bit strange; I thought it was the sound of my sanity breaking in two.
It was lovely outside, fresh, dark, but not totally pitch black; there was a full moon, which hung in the sky, welcoming me into its embrace. It was quiet, and it never occurred to me then that Luke was part of this 'quiet' scene as I was enjoying the moment for myself.
I strolled casually to the church and by the time I got there, Luke was fast asleep.
“Sods Law!” I said to myself. “I'm away from my bed so the little git goes to sleep!”
The moon lit up the church and I noticed its big wooden doors were wide open.
“Strange?” I thought. “There can’t be a service at this time of night?”
“Come in my dear.” Here we go again follow the insane persons voice. I still couldn’t quite place it.
Inside the church was dark, except for the Altar that was lit up by a myriad of twinkling candles. There was an outline of an elderly woman, re-arranging the flowers. I could see her taking out the dead ones, and replacing them with new, just like my Gran used to do, in this very church!
The realisation hit me like a bucket of cold water being tipped over my head, its icy fingers trickling down my face and body, I began to shiver and shake. NO! It couldn't be…
“Gran?” my voice shaking, I pushed the pram nearer so I could see her familiar shape, her favourite Sunday hat perched on her immaculate white hair and I could smell the heavy scent of her favourite perfume. “Gran!” I shouted with relief not disbelief, as you would expect.
“Hello, sweetheart.” (Her usual greeting.) “No need to be afraid my love, after all, I am only answering your call.” She said with her younger face, not tired or as lined as when I saw her last.
In no way was I afraid. There was too much I wanted to say to her and anyway, I thought, I was obviously going mad and therefore had an excuse for this stupid, silly, behaviour. It was a dream, wasn't it? I'm still fast asleep on the kitchen floor really… But it was so vivid, so colourful, it felt real, it smelt real, the scent of Grans perfume and my hearing was perfect. I could not believe what my senses were telling me.
“Gran, it can't be? How?” I spluttered through the tears pouring down my face as I ran into her open arms.
“The how and why, my dear, is up to them above; I am here because you needed me. I didn't want you to make the same mistake as your Mother made.” Gran explained.
“Mum? Is she here too?” I glanced round hopefully.
“No, my dear, you called for Me.” she said gently. “ Your Mum is in spirit, happy and whole again, and fully aware of what she did and the consequences of her actions. Her life was how it was meant to be and it is not for us to question the whys and wherefores. That’s why it is called faith. Now lets have a look at the cause of all this trouble… Where's my great-grandson?”
I lifted Luke out of his pram, he was now wide-awake, and I placed him gently into the open arms of what must have been my Grans spirit. I had never seen him so responsive, so aware; and he was smiling - really smiling.
Somehow he 'knew' my Gran and I could see the love pouring from both of them, especially him - he was practically glowing. It must be the candlelight playing tricks on me, I told myself. It was just the special effects man gone wild in this strange dream.
“Come and sit with us.” Gran said, so I let myself be pulled into the glorious warm light that emanated round us. It was surreal but I felt safe and relaxed, and more importantly, I felt loved and I was definitely NOT alone.
Gran and I talked in the peaceful setting of the church and she gave me all the knowledge of motherhood I would ever need. I soaked up every precious word. It was like time had stood still, for just the three of us, wrapped in a bubble of peace and love. It was magical and I never wanted this moment or this beautiful dream to end.
Dawn's colourful light inevitably filtered through the open church doors and played with the dying flames of the candles surrounding the Altar.
“Time to go, my dear” Gran said sadly. “ But please don't worry, I will always be with you ” She paused with a serious look on her face that I knew so well. “I have decided to be Luke's guardian Angel and I will try to guide him on his spiritual path, to help him when he is undecided or worried. I am sure he will grow into a fine young man.” She added, “ and as for you, your Mum and I are always by your side watching you, listening to you, and coming to you through your dreams. We are never more than a prayer away.”
It gave me extra comfort and confidence knowing Gran and Mum would be looking after us, and for the very first time I could think of my Mum with more understanding and forgiveness.
“Thank you Gran.” I replied, kissing her softly on the cheek. “I had nearly given up but now I know we have a future, my son and I.”
Luke was no longer an 'it.' For the first time in the sixteen days since his birth, I looked at him through the eyes of a Mother. My heart was open and filled with unconditional love like I had never known before. It actually hurt. Even my Gran's love for me, had more meaning. I understood now, how she must have felt and what my own mother had missed.
Luke was lying quietly in my arms, our eyes met in this love and then 'BANG!' A thought hit me, I understood, I was enlightened. I knew why we are all here, the reason for life. It had become so clear to me.
In my excitement I glanced up to tell Gran about my epiphany, but she had gone. Had it really happened? I wondered. I was disappointed that Gran had seemingly disappeared but no longer afraid. I knew now I wasn't alone. I had been given proof, an affirmation that I could take through my life, instead of taking my life. And at the very end of my life I knew they would be there waiting for me.
What a night this had been with so many revelations! I was fully awake and alert now and I realised that this massive miracle had saved my life and the life of my son. It definitely had not been a dream. It was an intervention from the highest power.
I put my serene, happy, cooing baby back in his pram, ready to take on the world with abundant hope, love and new faith in the fantastic future that awaited us.
Oh yes, the reason for life? I am so sorry; you will have to discover that for yourself, on your own journey on the path to enlightenment.
In Love and Light.
I am Holly, granddaughter of Betty, daughter of Dianne and proud mother of my very own son, Luke.
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Other books by this Author
Time Tells Tales
A Novel In Five Tales
Set in Ireland and England in the early 1900’s, covering a century, Time Tells Tales is a Novel in five parts or ‘Tales’. They explore the history of three families; their interconnected lives are intricately woven together by love, birth, death, and marriage. These lives are spiced up by religion, revenge, scandal, abuse, heartache and spiritual intervention.
The five Tales are told from different perspectives by the characters that drive this novel along to the surprising conclusion, spreading across time, space and dimensions, hence the title - Time Tells Tales.
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Alfred’s Tale
Dead in a Ditch
Alfred of indeterminable age is lying at the bottom of an icy cold deep muddy ditch, where he is hidden by brambles and branches. He has been knocked into this desperate place by a hit and run driver on a lonely, unlit lane on the Staffordshire moorlands. He was drunk as a skunk and it was pitch black. He didn’t blame the driver for not stopping, why would they? He was one of life’s destitute wanderer’s, better for all if he was not found.
He was sure that broken bones aside, this was going to be hi
s last resting place. As this realisation hits home Alfred begins to review, play out the high and lows of his mostly misspent life, whilst his body succumbs to hypothermia, and finally death.
What will he reveal? Will he be found? These and many more questions will be answered in this first novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher.
For sure, Time certainly has some Tales to Tell.
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Catherine's Tale
Love, Loss, Lust, and Lies
This is the sequel to Tale One - Alfred's Tale, and tells the story from the perspective of Catherine, the love of Alfred's troubled life. Here we meet this young girl, Catherine, on the verge of womanhood, who has to deal with the unexpected death of her Mother under suspicious circumstances, and the fallout of her Father's grief and the interference of the Catholic Church.
Catherine is brought up a devout Roman Catholic living in a town called Puncheston, County of Kildare in Ireland, in the 1930's. Just as Catherine seems to be coming to terms with her loss, she suffers an unexpected attack on her person, raped by a trusted member of the family, a cousin older than her twelve years who makes this abhorrent, botched declaration of his love for her, resulting in uproar and more emotional outbursts.
We can live every moment with Catherine as we read from the pages of her Diary. She aspires to become a writer like Jane Austin, her heroine. We have access to her most private thoughts, written as she struggles to come to terms with all the devastating trials and tribulations that beset her. She describes her first love, a secret and forbidden, eventually giving into lust with Alfred, the apprentice butcher, who comes from a family of some disrepute. We continue with her as the consequences of their actions drive them far apart - forever.
What are these consequences? Will Catherine ever recover from the highs and lows of this emotional roller coaster? Will she recover from the loss, the lust, the love, and the lies? These and many more questions will be answered in this first novel by this new author, Stephanie Fletcher.