My dream to take my youngest three to the USA so they can get to know their big sister
Minnie’s first week at school has left mum-of-10 Dawn Millward’s house feeling exceptionally quiet
IT has been an odd week. A week of beginnings, endings, change and the continuation of the circle of life.
Tony Millward – brother of Pete, Rose Harrison and Andy Millward – died after living with cancer for over a year.
Tony was in the superb care of the Okeover Ward of St Oswald’s Hospital.
I often notice the thank you statements from families who have lost someone. I know our family, alongside countless other families, will thank the staff for their care.
All of the staff deserve recognition for their care given to both the patient and to immediate family and friends.
The staff showed empathy, understanding, compassion and kindness to Tony. Thank you to each and every one.
Minnie is sitting beside me as I try to pin the words together this evening. She is looking through her pile of “new books” from Revival, based in Mayfield Road. Customers are able to take three free books, and are encouraged to donate books to their extensive library.
Dolly is gaining confidence in her reading skills. She is desperate to read Harry Potter. At the moment Dolly is reading an old copy of My Naughty Little Sister.
Dolly has a hand-me-down copy of an audio book of My Naughty Little Sister. This CD somehow found its way into Minnie’s selection of random items in her hand luggage for last year’s holiday. The holiday apartment had a CD player. We had only one CD – meaning both little girls are fluent in My Naughty Little Sister. As are we all.
A week of beginnings. Like thousands of children around the globe, Minnie has made a start at school. For Minnie this is Ashbourne Primary School.
The silence echoes around the house during school time. Empty of children, guitar music, voices. Until everyone returns at the end of school.
I hold Minnie’s hand as she quietens. The sky a pink glow of early evening. Minnie will judge daytime and night-time according to the light levels. The days are drawing in. Autumn is suddenly here. Lower temperatures and mud-coloured leaves.
Tilly, in Georgia USA, continues with temperatures in the 30s and a hurricane warning. Hurricane Florence is forecast for Thursday. A blue dot on a satellite locates Tilly. A different world. A different life.
I constantly try to save money for air fares for a trip to stay with Tilly. The money tin would currently fund a family zigzag ticket for Trent Barton.
We need to see the everyday detail of Tilly’s life. The house she lives in. The place Tilly works. To be able to relate to places Tilly will see on a dayto-day basis. I feel
(strongly) if there comes a time when the money tin has several thousand tucked inside, I would stay with Tilly for a few months. The youngest three children would stay with me on an extended visit. We could stay for 90 days on a tourist visa. We would get a £60 fine per child per parent. What price is a memory? What price is being able to know their sister and their sister to know her siblings?
Why is the Government allowed to slip into our lives and to control our time, then be able to fine a family for wanting to be a family?
As I discussed my ideas, a relative overheard. The relative couldn’t understand why I would want to stay with my own daughter nor could they comprehend why my own daughter would want her family to stay for 90 days.
And said relative repeatedly questioned why I would want to be with my daughter.
Pete and myself, like everyone, get things right, get things wrong. This is life. This is family life. We have made mistakes. And had some difficult lessons. Despite everything, even in the hardest times, our children are our world, our lives. We share our lives. Together.
We have not had help, nor have been offered help when help was in desperate need. We had to carry on with life.
As a result, our children have seen the reality of family life with ten children.
They have been taught to adapt to situations. They are flexible with life and its challenges. They have an ability to understand both people and situations others have not witnessed. This is a result of having multiple siblings and sharing life, its ups and downs, together. As one unit. One family.
Through all of this, the children have learnt how to be with each other. To have frank and open conversations both with their siblings and with myself and Pete. In fairness, the frank conversations are generally my area.
So, in answer to said relative’s weighted comments concerning the prospective though elusive concept of 90 days of real Georgian life.
I have been a full-time mum for over 30 continuous years. I have not left my children except for odd occasions if Pete and myself go for a meal. I have been there day in, day out. Each day, except for the times I have been an in-patient in hospital.
On Friday I will have 173 collective parent years, 173 years of love, being loved, closeness, laughter, good times, not-so-good times. One hundred and seventy-three years of being a family, 173 individual birthdays, Christmas times. Of countless times when life overwhelms both myself and the child in crisis. I have been there multiple times, like most parents would be.
In short, the answer to said relative: We don’t play the game of happy families. We don’t get everything right.
We do, however, have a bond, an invisible yet tangible bond that keeps each of us connected to each other. That bond is called love and evolves and grows as each of us grows older and as our children create their own path in life.
And we like being together. We like each other.
Our world is exactly as it says. Hence the reason why I would stay with Tilly for 90 days with our youngest three children. We enjoy the time we have together.
We have a bond, an invisible yet tangible bond that keeps each of us connected to each other.