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Balboa Press - Roma MacKinnon

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44 pages

English

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A propos
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Extrait

Description

Roma MacKinnon was born and raised in Glasgow Scotland. She immigrated to Canada at eighteen years old. She is currently married for a second time to her best friend Ian she has three sons and four grand children.
This book was inspired by personal stories from Roma’s life and her families battle with alcoholism. It is a book of lightness and darkness, truth and inspiration
it is told from the heart. It is a book of help, hope and healing and a true memoir of vulnerability and grace. It is a monumental journey of courage and love, shared with family and dear friends.
It has been a pleasure and a privilege to undertake this endeavor . To remember the fun and fragile memories has been both bitter and sweet. Here’s hoping you get lost in the characters and their triumphs.

Sujets

Spirituality

Informations

Publié par	Balboa Press
Date de parution	19 décembre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9798765237427
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

GUIDED BY GRACE
Roma MacKinnon

Copyright © 2023 Roma MacKinnon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press
A Division of Hay House
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.balboapress.com
844-682-1282

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3715-1 (sc)
ISBN: 979-8-7652-3742-7 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/19/2022
CONTENTS
Like crayons love coloring books
The Cold Truth
The Bolero
The Bright Sun of Summer
A Day By The Sea
Seba Beach
Rothesay
The Lismore Trip
Heal The Hidden Scars
The Safe House
Friday Night
Sisterhood
We Are Foreigners
Daddy’s Little Girl
Mum’s Medicine
My worst nightmare
Broken in two
My Beautiful Boys
Special Bond
Four decades of friendship
In Our Darkest Hour
Kindness
Georgie
One True Love
Purple Heather
The Best Gifts Ever
Friendship
Rosemary’s Granddaughter’s
Daughter in law
Heart and Soul
Grand children
We Are The Lucky Ones
Guided by Grace
Help Hope & Healing
LIKE CRAYONS LOVE COLORING BOOKS
T he day is bright, the sun is awake in the sky, it’s warm on my skin. I can hear the birds singing their beautiful songs, cheering each other on, backing each other up. The grass is ever so green and lush, the rain that pelts down so often helps the grass become so green. I am with my granny and my aunt Molly it’s my happy place, I feel safe and loved and nurtured here.
We are going to the shops to buy a few things that we need. I’m touching the leafy bushes as we walk past them. I pick some off, swish them with my thumb and my finger and break right through them. I like how it feels. Soft and velvety, moist and dewy I’m happy. I begin to skip as I hold my granny’s hand I hum a song, content in my space and place in this world.
We arrive at the shops and my granny picks out the things she needs. I’m allowed a comic a coloring book and crayons. Im in heaven. I choose what I like and we pay and walk home. It’s a big walk, far for my granny and me, but we manage. I want to get back real quick. I want to do my coloring in and read my comic. But I still skip and sing and talk to my granny. She looks beautiful with her red lipstick and her hat. I love her like peanut butter loves jam, like oreas love cream, like popcorn loves butter.
When we get home I settle down with my coloring in and my granny gets busy making our tea with aunt Molly, we have our tea and relax for the night. My granny knits, I color in, aunt Molly reads the newspaper.
I’m scared to go to bed on my own, so I get to stay up. I go up to bed with aunt Molly and we get tucked in, aunt Molly hides candies under her pillow and I tell her she’s going to get in trouble, we disagree, but then she offers me some, and I take them. We lie in bed talking and laughing and eating candy and I love my aunt Molly like the earth loves the rain, like a dog love a walk, like a bird loves to fly, like crayons love coloring books
I fall asleep, content, safe, peaceful, wanted, loved, safe, did I say safe. It’s so safe in this house. These people love me.
THE COLD TRUTH
I t’s a grey morning, it’s autumn and I have just been dropped of at my Granny’s house. The room is very still, it contains a couch and chairs, a bed in the recess, a sink, a yellow kitchen cabinet, where dishes and food are stored, a side board with a grandmother clock sitting on it. A table and chairs that gleam to a shine.
My granny lies in bed, sleeping, the fire is not lit, and I’m too young to start a fire so I sit in the chair facing the bed in the recess desperately wanting to climb in that bed with my granny. I’m freezing cold, teeth chattering. How can I find the courage to ask? She won’t allow it, I won’t be allowed in her bed. I’ve never been allowed in her bed.
I sit there in almost complete silence, listening to the grandmother clock ticking. It’s the only sound in the room. I look around me at the two seater couch, but I dare not lie down there, it would be frowned upon and I would be chastised, so I continue to sit in the chair shivering, aching to be warm.
I can’t speak, I’ll be in big trouble if I speak, especially if I say what I want to say, which is actually a question. I feel scared, troubled, confused, sad, upset. I want to cry, but I’m not permitted to do that either, there will be trouble if I cry. So I don’t I just shiver some more.
I finally find some courage, and I ask my granny “are you going to get up” she says “no” I feel panicked, terrified, what should I do now? I look at the fireplace willing it to light itself. I sit on my hands to try to warm them, I breath heavy, my anxiety is big, I’m so so scared.
It’s been a long time. I know my cousin is allowed to sleep in my granny’s bed, but why not me I wonder. Why does she get to climb in that bed and snuggle in and be warm and I can’t. I want to ask but I can’t. She’ll get angry with me, she’s always angry with me. So I continue to sit there on my hands as they go numb.
I’m going to cry soon I can feel it, she won’t like my tears, she’ll be angry at my tears so I better not cry. I bite my cheek stoping myself from wailing. I don’t dare drop one tear, I have to hold my sadness, my fear, my shivering cold in. It won’t go well for me if I don’t.
Eventually I cannot stand the damp cold anymore, it travels through my bones, its painful. My chest hurts, my fingers and toes are numb I find the courage, with my heart beating loudly, I was sure she could hear it. I stutter the name “gr gr gra granny can I please climb into bed with you” the answer comes swiftly, angrily, venomously, “NO you are not clean enough to be in my bed” there it is the cold truth, in that moment I know I don’t matter to this woman, I am only a pest, a nuisance, a pain and an inconvenience to be dealt with.
I shut down, I learn to endure pain, physical and emotional, to lock it all away, I do it to protect me and to protect the adults in my life. I learn to do it young, and I don’t unlearn it until I’m a mature women.
I also learn that the pain my granny holds in her body is deep and wide and all consuming. I don’t understand that at this young age, I don’t understand it for a few decades, but when I do understand it, it has a profound impact on my life and it’s quite shocking how it parallels with my own adulthood.
THE BOLERO
W hen I was seven I made my holy communion with my entire class. We all wore white dresses and white veils, and royal blue cloaks, white shoes, white socks, and carried white prayer books. We all looked like angels, we were beautiful, treasured, loved little girls. Our people all showed up to the chapel to see us, and wish us well, among my people were my Mum, and my auntie Delia, some of my big cousins, and my granny M.
My auntie Delia knitted me a white angora bolero with a satin ribbon. I was the only girl in my class to have one. I felt so special, so loved, so treasured. My auntie Delia was my godmother and I adored her. All her children were teenagers and older, she had raised them well. She looked after me often and took great care of me.
I had a lazy eye and had to wear a patch on my good eye, auntie Delia would look out for me because I was blind as a bat with my good eye patched. I almost got knocked over by a car on her street wearing my patch, so she knew she had to watch me like a hawk.
Auntie Delia lived in a lovely home, with a great big room, that’s what we called it, the big room, it was only used when we had a party at her house. There was a piano in that room. It was so exciting to us, to sit there and play on that piano. She also had a balcony, we could climb out the window and be on the balcony. It was like magic.
I loved being at auntie Delia’s house. I loved my big cousins. Bobby, Mattie, Georgie and Nettie. They all treated me like gold, like a wee treasure. It was the nicest thing to have big older cousins.
So going back to my bolero you can see how much I loved my auntie Delia. I wore my bolero with pride, showing it off, touching its softness, admiring its prettiness, appreciating its warmth. I still have a picture of my first communion and my bolero with the biggest smile on my face. What a day for a little girl to feel like a process or a bride, what an a godmother to make her godchild feel and look a little different than everyone else on that