Is there a happy ever after story? Does this journey have to have so many tears? So far in over one year I have had six women die of BC on my FB page that I am aware of. I would of spoke to them said hello or put a post on their FB page. But recently at some point I actually stopped typing. I was afraid if I started to get involved to much then I would see another smiley face disappear. I have the select few BC girls that I hound on FB and chat to, but the fear had set in. Slowly I am chatting more again and joining in conversations others have, but I am still scared. As I write tears are welling up in my eyes because it is hard to swallow, but this is the reality of BC. That the community you participate in has casualties of this dreadful disease. As selfish as it may seem you pray strong and hard that you will not join that list that is ever increasing.
Then I read a FB post today of I so wish I was a child again. And in some way I can relate to that post. I never wanted to grow up as a child. The thought of makeup and drinking was not on my agenda of important things to do in life. Whilst my friends were propped up at a bar drinking and flirting. I was under a pool table tying boot laces together of some burly biker. I was a mischievous young women not at all mature, but I still am. Maybe that is why I say I am an odd jigsaw piece that does not fit the typical picture.
I want to be a child again, but society forbids it because on the outside I am an adult, but I ask. Is this the reason some of us adults dress up in a tutu and a pink wig? Is this the real reason for all the pink fluffy regalia we see? Does this give the adults an excuse to be a child for just one day? Surely the rebel of an inner child that is bubbling to the surface finally has permission to emerge from its dark hole once again.
I am trying to understand the fascination of pink and the link with BC. And maybe this is it as annoying and preposterous as the pink symbol has become. Maybe we are aching to be children inside to hide our fear/upset towards this disease. The journey of BC strips all sense of worth or value away. Leaving this empty shell of existence that engulfs your very self of well being.
As a young person I was bullied into believing I was not normal. That my way or idealisms were just immature fantasies. That one day I would have to grow up and realise climbing a tree did not put food on a table.
Why can’t we be children and have fun?
The park I go to in Queensway has the perfect excuse to be a child once again. You have no choice in the matter. It has been designed to be both adult and child friendly. I decided the other week to climb the pirates ship mast to the nest at the top. My daughter thought it was brilliant guiding my every footing to the top. Then to hear the glee of excitement from her voice when I was at the top. This is my mummy she said to other children that tried to climb past me on the way up. When I am with my youngest daughter I am not going to stop being a child because she has no brother or sister. It is the perfect excuse to let the inner child out or at least have fun.
The Princess Diana memorial park in all sense of the word is Neverland. You just have to imagine you are Peter Pan or Tinkerbell.