Decades of dominated nightmares that besieged most of my life’s actions. I was eighteen years old before I received reason to some of my multitudes of nightmares. One being that I envisaged seeing a baby stood in a white metal cot. I never understood it. No one could encounter what this vision was. Until one day, when I visited my aunt, my father’s sister. As she relived the lost seven years she guided me to visit my godmother, who lived nearby her place.
I went and what unfolded was just purely amazing. We spent hours reminiscing over the past. How over the first few years of my life she had fostered me. What was even more surprising was finding out how she had paid to adopt me and yet lost me. As she reminisced over this encounter, tears that welled within her eyes fell down her cheeks. Almost unable to speak of her loss, her husband held her hand and comforted her, she continued and the tale that unfolded was just incredible.
She explained that when she first had met me, it was not due to mutual agreement with herself and my parents but through the social services who had custody of me. I was in custody due to having been battered and having spent time in hospital recovering from near fatal injuries. I listened and translated to my then-boyfriend. Neither of us could grasp as to what she meant.
I had no knowledge of these accounts apart from the recurrent nightmares. It then dawned on me that the dreams were not a figment of my imagination but of events that had taken place. I asked if she had any proof of this as I was led to believe that my infancy was different from that explained by my godmother. She brought out a photo album, sat between me and Darren and began the journey with portrays of this baby in the children’s home.
It turns out that she and her husband came and met me several times before fostering me, yet all that I recall is being fetched by people I didn’t know. Obviously being young your memory plays tricks on you and this tale just broke my heart. When she finished showing me all the photos of myself and them, I asked as to what had actually happened to have been made ward of court and to be put in a children’s home.
She expressed that I was born with club feet and that to rectify the disposition that I had been born with required money for the essential surgery but of course there was more. Once, the insurance was paid to enable me to have the surgical assistance there were other medical problems that my parents just could not cope with or ill afford.
My problems were not solved with one operation and that the extensiveness of it would take around two years to rectify. Also, I had a gag reflex problem, whereby if any lumps were left in my mashed food, I would throw up. My father simply could not cope and what with the unemployment and his alcoholism, he eventually lost it and beat me. I was beaten to a pulp.
What is revealed next was even more startling. She expressed that one of my Belgian aunties had wanted to foster me and when she was refused, she had actually attempted to commit suicide. I didn’t hear any more these encounters until I turned forty. So, with this, my godmother revealed even more.
Having successfully nurtured and loved me during my foster care, they requested if I could be adopted. The courts had accepted the proceedings to begin and with my parent’s agreement the adoption began. My godmother exclaims that they had to put money towards this adoption. I was in shock.
However, on the last day of the court adoption proceedings, my parents pulled out. Not only did the adoption fall through but she was told that I must be fostered by someone else. This shocked my foster parents. I listened as she spilt more and more. She explained that a lady came to fetch me. This lady was accompanied by social services. My godparents chaperoned the social services to the airport and there, I was placed in the care of the stewardesses and taken to England where I was no longer the ward of Belgian courts.
This part of the story I did connect immediately. All through my childhood I was told how I was put on a plane to England, cared for by the hostess and on arrival to England picked up by my aunt Valerie, my mother’s older sister. Suddenly, it all fitted in. Yet, when I asked my own mother if what my godmother had told me was true, she coldly said “What if it was?”, shrugged her shoulders and talked of other everyday stuff.
Two decades later, I meet up with the aunt who had wanted to foster me. She revealed that she was best friends with my mother and yet my mother had never once spoken of her. She divulged that I was a burden to my own mother and so what they did was swap babies. I was cared for by aunt Aemilia and Mark, Aemilia’s son, was cared for by my own mother. All seemed fine until I was severely beaten by my father and rushed into hospital.
She fought high and low to foster me and alas she was not able too. The courts felt that she had too much of a close relationship with my parents and so they needed to take me away from the immediate environment. The rest is all that I have written above. So I thought the story was over. Until two years ago when I visited my aunt Valerie and so there and then, she kindly asked if I could see her as a mother. I was so honoured to be allowed to look up at her as a mother.
As it turns out my aunt also wanted to adopt me. Again this did not work out. In fact, this time she was emotionally blackmailed by my mother, to return me to them. being the kind person that my aunt was, she yielded to my mother and finally returned me after being reassured that I would be cared for the way any loved child would be.
So as you can see, my first two years of life took nearly five decades to unfold the mysteries that were held within my nightmares and odd snippets. They say the truth always prevails and it sure did. I hold dear those two who so much wanted to adopt me, especially my aunt Valerie as she never gave up on me. She loved me no matter what disaster I came across or even caused.
2 thoughts on “Five decades of Research to Unfold The Truth!”
I can’t imagine how hard those experiences and memories must be for you and your aunt. Thanks for having the courage to explore and share them. Hugs, Brad
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Very well written & moving series of events.
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