Eight and something years ago my wife and I found our own piece of heaven in the place that we now live, but it is shortly to end.
Both children had long since moved from our three bedroom semi-detached house in Welling and then unexpectedly our boxer dog Rex died. He had been drinking excessive amounts of water for no apparent reason and as a consequence urinating in places where he would not normally. Having a tiled floor it presented no real threat of damage but obviously needed investigating for both our welfare and his peace of mind. The Veterinary report was confusing. Having spent all night at the surgery, and being extensively examined, he was given an almost clean bill of health with one cautionary note. The surgeons only conclusion was that he was suffering some sort of psychological disorder derived from being deprived of water at some time leaving him feeling the need of storage in case it happened again!
I, like I suspect Rex, was left somewhat confused by this but we accepted the experts opinion and trotted off home for me to serve him the special roast joint of beef I had readied. The following morning he and I set out for the normal constitution and at his first port of call for his good morning salutation he promptly keeled over and died of a massive heart attack. Something then should have registered with me regarding expert prognosis but sadly it never did.
Roughly two years on from that tragic day, and our then subsequent move, I was smashed into whilst at work, driving my London cab, by a van whose driver had other things on his mind other than my safety. I was put out of work for two and half years and even after that, period of time, having to take things easy until fully recovered.
My wife was not at work, having retired two years before on reaching her fifty-fifth birthday, and I could provide no money on which to exist, so with the reassurance from an expert solicitor and equally impressive diploma labeled psychiatrist, appointed by the court, I borrowed money sure in the knowledge that all would be repaid at the outcome of the civil action. A barrister was instructed and his expert insight was sought. His learned advice was that the psychiatrist would not make a reliable witness as he tended to “waffle on a bit” using other examples of post traumatic stress disorder to prove his point. It would be “better” he said to take the “twelve-thousand on the table now” than risk everything at trial.
We are now are eighty-thousand pounds in debt and having only fifteen months to repay that, possessing no means in which to do so. The purpose of this story is not to ask for charity, although if you have that amount of money with nothing to spend it on, and would welcome the chance to give two people back their dream, then neither my wife nor I are too proud to accept your generosity but no that is not the reason. Nor would I be that shallow to counsel that you never take expert guidance.
I have lived an eventful life sometimes tedious and mundane but never dull for long. In the years that we have been married I trust and believe that my wife’s face has shone with a smile more times than it has been shadowed by a frown and, for the time that we both have left to share, that will continue no matter what.
The purpose is this; that whatever path you walk through life be it a stroll or a struggle it is yours to live and deal with as best and as bravely as you can.
Who can you count on when disaster comes crashing through your walls? YOURSELF!