Miss Toulouse broken heart and empty womb - how it began for her.....
1973
All little girls when they are younger have wonderful, grand dreams of what they want to be when they are older, some want to be famous actresses on the silver screen, others want to be award winning scientists making a difference, some would like to be doctors and cure the world of all illnesses - I only ever wanted to be one thing - a mother.
So when I met Harry, I was sure all my dreams were going to come true, I was 18 and naive to ways of man, he was 24 and so much more worldly wise than me, we courted for only a few months before he proposed, my friends advised me against it, they said he had a reputation with the ladies but I didn't believe them and even if this was true, he had me now, so I didn't hesitate to say "yes".
I knew he could be short tempered and cold at times but I thought to myself, when we are married, he will change.
The first time he slapped me was because I'd burnt his dinner, he apologised instantly and cried for my forgiveness, he brought me flowers and chocolates and he said "it was because he was stressed at work".
The second time he punched me in the stomach, this was because the shop boy was flirting with me, he didn't cry this time but begged for my forgiveness, he told me he couldn't help himself he just loved me so much he couldn't bear the thought of someone taking me away.
The third time he head butted me and broke my nose, it exploded like a popped balloon, blood trickling down my tear stained face as my eyes begin to turn the colour of fresh aubergine as the bruising came to the service, this time there was no crying or begging forgiveness or feeble reason why - It just was, after that I lost count how many times, it just was.
When I fell pregnant I was overwhelmed with joy, I felt my prayers had been answered, I would finally have my child that I had dreamt about. Naively I convinced myself that this would be the thing to change Harry, he would be a father, I would be bringing his child into the world, this would bring us together and give us a fresh start that we so desperately needed.
Four months passed without a single raised hand or crossed word from Harry, life trickled by with the promise of a better future for us all, a warm glow washed over me as my precious baby grew inside of me. I loved my baby more than life itself, more than Harry and I think he knew this.
Quarter past three I'm awoken as I hear him banging around down stairs, cursing up a storm in the kitchen. I know before I've even set eyes on him he's drunk. He had a vile temper sober but drunk he was pure evil, like a man possessed. I pull the covers up over my head, silently praying he will wear himself out and will eventually fall asleep in his chair and leave me alone.
But he had other plans.
I didn't hear him enter the room until it was too late and he was ripping the covers off me as he drunkenly slurred "get up you lazy bitch, make me something to eat". Eyes glazed over, he looked more beast than man.
I knew better than to argue, he was deaf to anyone's voice other than his own when he was in this mood. I swung my legs out of bed ready to appease his demands but in my half sleep state, I wasn't moving fast enough and I suddenly felt a searing burning pain in my scalp as he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me up like a stringless puppet.
He pushed me forward as he stumbled behind me like a ghostly looming shadow that is angrily haunting me. Head down, I march forward as he grumbles obscenities about me "fucking whore" and "useless in bed, useless wife, I don't know why I keep you around".
I bite my tongue as hard as I can and repeat to myself in my mind "say nothing, you'll only anger him more". His cruel words are nothing new, they once stung and cut me deep to my core but now they have no value as I've heard it all before.
But the thing about Harry is that he always knew how to up the game, just when you thought he could slip any lower or be any viler, he would find a new disgusting low.
"What chance does this kid have with a pathetic, useless lazy whore for a mother, it would be better to be born dead than have to suffer you for the rest of its life, like I do".
I didn't have a moment to think before my hand instinctively raised up and I slapped him as hard as I could muster, knocking that nasty sneer of his face and replacing it with utter shock. He wasn't used to me fighting back.
Shock was quickly washed away with wild burning rage as he pushed me flying back. I stumbled trying to keep my footing as I felt my feet float underneath me as I glided backwards down the stairs, frantically trying to grab at the bannister to stop my fall but there was nothing I could do.
Sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs, every bone in my body aches with the fall, my husband does not move, he simply silently watches from the top of the stairs as I flinch in pain, waves agony washes over me but the only thought that ran through my brain was, I need to get to the hospital "my precious baby".
I crawl to the front door, well aware at any moment he could bound down the stairs and finish me off but he doesn't. I drag my body up and unlock the door constantly listening out for him- but still he doesn't come. Before I walk out, I look back to make sure he's not snuck down the stairs ready to drag me back, but he's still standing there, frozen to the spot, eyes bulging, his face white as if he seen a ghost. I follow his hypnotised gaze down to my white night gown and then I see it - crimson red blood.
I lift up my nightgown and I see the blood trickle down my legs and I know I've lost my dream, my baby. The world starts to swirl around me as everything distorts and I drop to the ground hoping the earth will open and swallow me up.
I awake to a humming noise and a bright oppressive white light that is shining above my head and blurs my vision, for a second I think "am I dead, if I am at least I'll be reunited with my baby" but then I hear his voice and I'm instantly thrown out of heaven with a heavy bump as I realise I'm in hospital. My body starts to throb like a pulse as the pain starts to wash over me but this is nothing compared to the pain in my heart at knowing of my empty hollow womb that once held my beautiful baby.
Nurses bustle around me but I don't acknowledge any of them, I hear them fussing and expressing their sorrow to him, that he's lost his baby and how it was a tragedy that I'd fallen down the stairs when I was going to get a drink, he plays the victim, thanking them for their kind words and in that moment I wish I had the strength to rip his lying tongue from his mouth.
When they are done and dusted, they leave and pull the curtain around my bed and it's just me and him, I pull myself up so I can look him in the eyes.
"I'm sorry...."
"Stop" I whisper
"I was drunk"
"Stop" I snarl
"We can try again and have another baby"
I lunge at him like a caged beast, scratching at his face, trying to take the deceitful eyes from his head that watched me bleed out our child.
Nurses run in desperately trying to hold me back as I howl and thrash, trying to get my pound of flesh from the beast of a man who had robbed me of my dream. He cowers backwards for the first time, fear imprinted on his face.
"Get your fucking hands of my granddaughter" the room falls silent as my grandmother walks in.
"She was attacking her husband" one of the nurses shouts back.
"If she was, you best bloody believe she had a damn good reason to" she glared at Harry as if she was looking right into his soul "now all of you piss off out of here and take him with you".
They slink out the room like naughty school children that have been scolded by the Head mistress under her watchful eye, once they are all gone, she scoops me up in her arms, finally safe in her embrace, I cry until there are no tears left and I fall into a dark broken sleep, I hope I never wake from.
But I do.
When I wake she still there, sat there in that chair watching over me like a guarding angel. But my grandmother is no angel, she's a swearing, strong woman, who loves a Guinness and never attends church. From as long as I can remember she had a pack of tarot cards always on her person, never would cross paths with a black cat or see one magpie without spitting. My mother told me she was eccentric, my father called her the witch.
Either way, she loved me and that's all that mattered.
She hobbles out the chair and perches on my bed "my darling I'm so sorry for your loss, there isn't words strong enough to express how sorry I am".
"I feel like a mother without a baby, what did I do to deserve this, why is god punishing me?"
She strokes the hair out of my face "This is the actions of a monster not god, I may not go to church every Sunday but don't think I don't know god, we have our own relationship".
"I just thought I was finally going to get to be a mother.... that's all I've ever wanted, it's always felt like that was my purpose, my reason to be here".
Her eyes glisten with the threat of tears "and you will be, I see that for you. You will be a mother one day to hundreds of girls, they will never replace the child you have lost but they will help you heal and you them".
"I don't understand what you mean - how do you know that".
She chuckles "you know I can't tell you that, your not ready yet but when you are I will explain everything, all you need to know is that I've never lied to you, so why would I now".
I nod knowing my grandmother was many things but not a liar.
"I have to go now my darling but your mother is on her way, now before I leave I want to give you this".
She hands me her old solid wooden walking stick, that taps with every step she takes, she's used this for as long as I can remember, it's almost like part of her body constantly attached to her arthritic hand.
"This was my mothers and her mother's and now it's yours" she sees my puzzled expression at the strange gift "It'll lead you in the right direction kid, trust me" with that she kisses me gently on the forehead, tells me she loves me then she hobbles out through the curtains to shout at the nurses one more time before she goes home.