Stephanie Connolly Writer Wife Mumma & Shoe Queen ;-)
| Excerpt taken from Chapter 8 '~ Harrisons Journey,
From Bump to Butterfly' - of ' Give a girl the right pair of shoes . . . And she can conquer the world.' Purchase your copy for just £12.00 (incl. Postage & Packaging!)
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. . . Jay's words continued to spin around and around in my head, 'We've just got to get on with it.' He'd said. 'We're strong enough for this, we'll be fine.'
'But they said he might never be able to walk!!' I'd cried back.
I couldn't be sure that the dampness that now clung to my inflamed cheeks was a result of Mother Nature and her unexpected July shower or indeed yet another impromptu explosion of emotion from me. I rubbed my sore eyes and shook my head. Either way, I'd decided, it stung like hell and was most unappreciated at that time.
I turned down another windy lane and stopped abruptly, leaning my hands on my knees and allowing my legs to take my weight for a few minutes. Panting hard I realised that indeed once again I was becoming hysterical.
I sobbed and wailed and then felt my knees give way as I landed in a heap on the ground.
'Why did you have to do this to me??!' I screamed. 'Haven't I had enough?!' My words bounced off the rolling hills and echoed back at me.
The sheep in the adjacent field stared in bemusement. One by one they lifted their lazy, grazing heads and focused on the strange sight of a creature in shorts and a t-shirt, mud in her hair, sitting in a newly formed puddle. I caught my breath and composed myself, flicking my finger at the rude sheep and uttering obscenities under my breath.
My journey continued at a much slower pace. I hadn't realised it but I had travelled almost four miles from home already. It wasn't good to run like this, not in my condition. Yet what damage could it possibly do now? I mentally kicked myself for thinking such an awful thought.
During those last few weeks a whole host of awful thoughts had plagued me. I'd desperately tried to file them into an unopened safe in my mind, like some kind of a prison for the evil that lurked within.
I'd become familiar with the process now. The bad thoughts would creep to the surface of my mind and alert the guilt police who would chase after the bad thought and stop it in it's tracks. Leaving nothing but guilt, heavy as a ton of rocks, sitting in my stomach.
I was riddled with guilt and self pity.
Yet guilt and self-pity had almost become my most loyal companions.
I'd battle with myself to recall everything I had done in my past, anything that could be classed as sinister or cruel. Anything that could justify this happening to me. Then I'd slip immediately into self-pity mode, contemplating exactly how crap my life was, before feeling guilty for being so self-centred. And so the cycle would repeat. It was quite a comfort actually, to know that some things in life could remain so consistent whilst others were just so uncertain.
The sun continued its war against the drizzling rain, the rays shone down on my skin, yet the full extent of their burning power was defeated by the cooling sensations of the misty drizzle. On I ran, along the tarmac of the unoccupied roads, past the rich green and yellow fields.
I did not want to fight with him. Not under those circumstances. There were no wrongs, no rights, there would be no winners. We needn't fight in separate corners, we ought to have united in our despair.
It wasn't that our opinions differed, on the contrary, we had both made the decision to let fate guide us. The trouble was that until the test results came back we were playing a waiting game, and both of us foresaw very different outcomes for the life of our unborn little boy.
I was grateful for the first sounds of a car creeping up the hill behind me at that point; it provided a welcome distraction from the confusion of my own muddled thoughts. The gravel crunched under the tyre's. I wiped away my tears, just in case the driver chose to look at me in his rear-view mirror as he passed. But I heard the engine slow to a gentle rumble, electric windows slid down. I turned slowly, sucking in my breath and saw that the driver was my husband, coming to rescue me.
He stopped the car, climbed out and held his arms open wide. His face was red and blotchy. Much the same as mine I'd imagined.
'Come here,' he said sniffing hard. I obeyed, I let his arms embrace me.
There we stayed, silently crying inside, long enough to watch the poor sun be truly defeated by the rain.
'But they said he might never be able to walk!!' I'd cried back.
I couldn't be sure that the dampness that now clung to my inflamed cheeks was a result of Mother Nature and her unexpected July shower or indeed yet another impromptu explosion of emotion from me. I rubbed my sore eyes and shook my head. Either way, I'd decided, it stung like hell and was most unappreciated at that time.
I turned down another windy lane and stopped abruptly, leaning my hands on my knees and allowing my legs to take my weight for a few minutes. Panting hard I realised that indeed once again I was becoming hysterical.
I sobbed and wailed and then felt my knees give way as I landed in a heap on the ground.
'Why did you have to do this to me??!' I screamed. 'Haven't I had enough?!' My words bounced off the rolling hills and echoed back at me.
The sheep in the adjacent field stared in bemusement. One by one they lifted their lazy, grazing heads and focused on the strange sight of a creature in shorts and a t-shirt, mud in her hair, sitting in a newly formed puddle. I caught my breath and composed myself, flicking my finger at the rude sheep and uttering obscenities under my breath.
My journey continued at a much slower pace. I hadn't realised it but I had travelled almost four miles from home already. It wasn't good to run like this, not in my condition. Yet what damage could it possibly do now? I mentally kicked myself for thinking such an awful thought.
During those last few weeks a whole host of awful thoughts had plagued me. I'd desperately tried to file them into an unopened safe in my mind, like some kind of a prison for the evil that lurked within.
I'd become familiar with the process now. The bad thoughts would creep to the surface of my mind and alert the guilt police who would chase after the bad thought and stop it in it's tracks. Leaving nothing but guilt, heavy as a ton of rocks, sitting in my stomach.
I was riddled with guilt and self pity.
Yet guilt and self-pity had almost become my most loyal companions.
I'd battle with myself to recall everything I had done in my past, anything that could be classed as sinister or cruel. Anything that could justify this happening to me. Then I'd slip immediately into self-pity mode, contemplating exactly how crap my life was, before feeling guilty for being so self-centred. And so the cycle would repeat. It was quite a comfort actually, to know that some things in life could remain so consistent whilst others were just so uncertain.
The sun continued its war against the drizzling rain, the rays shone down on my skin, yet the full extent of their burning power was defeated by the cooling sensations of the misty drizzle. On I ran, along the tarmac of the unoccupied roads, past the rich green and yellow fields.
I did not want to fight with him. Not under those circumstances. There were no wrongs, no rights, there would be no winners. We needn't fight in separate corners, we ought to have united in our despair.
It wasn't that our opinions differed, on the contrary, we had both made the decision to let fate guide us. The trouble was that until the test results came back we were playing a waiting game, and both of us foresaw very different outcomes for the life of our unborn little boy.
I was grateful for the first sounds of a car creeping up the hill behind me at that point; it provided a welcome distraction from the confusion of my own muddled thoughts. The gravel crunched under the tyre's. I wiped away my tears, just in case the driver chose to look at me in his rear-view mirror as he passed. But I heard the engine slow to a gentle rumble, electric windows slid down. I turned slowly, sucking in my breath and saw that the driver was my husband, coming to rescue me.
He stopped the car, climbed out and held his arms open wide. His face was red and blotchy. Much the same as mine I'd imagined.
'Come here,' he said sniffing hard. I obeyed, I let his arms embrace me.
There we stayed, silently crying inside, long enough to watch the poor sun be truly defeated by the rain.
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