Dear Unborn Siblings,

Do you know what trigger warnings are? It is usually a statement issued at the outset about potentially disturbing content. Not everyone agrees that trigger warnings are helpful or necessary; especially for you folk that haven’t been born it would probably not affect you, but anyhow, I add it out of respect to any who might be triggered when I talk about trauma such as alcoholism, violence and abuse. Having said that I believe this is a story behind the series of letters to the Unborn Siblings is one of hope and triumph.

It’s interesting to note all the different professions that a family have in their family tree. We have artists, hairdressers, and potato merchants; and those are the respectable professions apart from the reiving which I mentioned last time. I wonder what professions you would have chosen. I was a cartographer by trade, a mother by vocation and a creative-wellness facilitator by mission. Father was a master-marina in the British Marine Navy. The marine navy helped out during the Second World War with their ships as cargo ships, carrying supplies. I found out the last time I visited one of my cousins, who was old enough to remember the family saying, that father was bombed on three different occasions. He really took his work seriously and felt a great responsibility to the crew onboard so the war affected him deeply. He developed some dark tenancies due to depression. After WW 2 he resigned from the British Marine Navy and settled in South Africa. I will tell you more about mother’s profession and how they met next time.

Father loved the wide open space of the sea. I think he felt free. He ran a dry ship (this means no alcohol on board) as he struggled with alcohol abuse. He went into rehabilitation (Alcoholics Anonymous) three times during the seven years that he was married to mother to dry out. He would remain dry for long patches of time but then would succumb again. He desperately wanted to be free from it. I wonder if any of you suffer would from alcoholism: it is totally heartbreaking to watch. I loved him anyway, even if he got angry and violent when he was drunk. I have forgiven him. You know it’s hard to reconcile the good and the bad in a person, especially when you are young. It’s like each side is a different person. It can be confusing. It feels like you are being split into two. Anyway I love the good memories I have; the bad memories inform my own actions and interactions. I have immense sympathy and don’t judge him but I do judge his actions.

1969 was a mega year for me. I think that’s the first time I really missed you siblings. You just weren’t there for me. This was the year I started school. I was six years old and I dearly wished I had an older brother or sister to depend on. I was so excited to learn how to read and write. It was also the year Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. Can you imagine! I had a relative, with the same surname walking on the moon, and he came from America. That year was also mega because we had a major earthquake that ripped through our lives, a geological earthquake that tore houses apart, made things fall off the shelves, sash windows vibrate closed on their own and massive cracks appeared but I also had my own personal earthquake tare through my life. Father died. A massive crack appeared. Life was not ever the same. It went black. I was angry. I wanted him back. I stamped my feet. I cried. I guess you were spared all that. Mixed in with all the anger of loss and the lack of acceptance I was also angry that you were not there. I thought you could have lightened my load. But it wasn’t to be.

Mom said that she couldn’t have anymore children but I wondered if she didn’t want more children because she often said one child was enough. Oh yes, I felt like a burden at times, anyway you weren’t around and that was one thing more I had to learn to accept. Black. Void. Dark chasm. Everyone out there. Me in here. I didn’t want to breathe. I didn’t want to exist. Strangely enough, you see, Mother was the punitive one and Father was the fun one. Now he was gone and I just had more punishment. I couldn’t blame anyone else when I did something wrong, I had none of you around so I became good; I never did anything wrong. After a year’s unhappiness I convinced myself that they had got divorced and they didn’t know how to tell me. I felt hopeful that I would see him again so I searched for him in the crowds, on the beach and anywhere I could for seven more years, not believing that he had died. In some strange way this search lead me to a deep questioning of spiritual things (at the age of six it started). Meditation and contemplation really helped me to become a reflective, intuitive person. I observed and reflected on everything.

I remember the very first time, in high school, our teacher asked us to lie on the floor for deep relaxation and breathing techniques. Lots of girls giggled and made jokes but I found it grounding and helpful as a teenager. Even in later life I used that style of meditation in my art-workshops I use to facilitate to help people relax and get in touch with their deep creative self.

I’m sure it is old hat to many people, since I was taught it in 1978, but just in case you don’t know how to do it: Lie in a comfortable spot (on your bed, on the floor, grass etc ) or sit on a chair; it doesn’t really matter where so long as you are comfortable and won’t be disturbed. Close your eyes. Feel the weight of your body pressing into the layer below you. Take a deep steady breath in, and out. Breath slowly. Feel the breath enter your nostrils, feel it enter your pharynx, and go on down to your lungs, notice your lungs expand as you inhale, notice your belly and your back too. And as you exhale you will deflate, like a balloon. You can go onto noticing your heart and how each of your limbs slowly relaxes. You get the idea. Anyway “it is a good way to try falling a sleep” our teacher told us. And I think it is a very good way to cope with trauma, as mother told me. When father beat her when she was pregnant with me she was so afraid she would loose me so she thought the best thing to do was to go lie down on the bed and to relax. She was probably practicing the same technique without being taught. And she didn’t loose me. And Father went to Rehab.

Let’s not end on a negative note. Let’s sing “When the Dog bites, when the bee stings.” You know the one from Sound of Music, 1965. Well actually what works for me is being honest about the pain yet also looking to the things that I am grateful for. I’m grateful to be alive, and I truly glad that I made it into the world. I am a survivor and I am very happy to be part of this world.

Take care, till next time.
Morag