Fatal Mistake

To say this is an ironic question is an understatement.

It's because of this question that I've been hiding here in the Poets Pub, following a fatal mistake.

Why am I hiding there you ask? Well I'm glad you did, but you'll think I'm mad, then maybe I am.

Let me tell you a story, it was the same time last year when I found myself faced with a dilemma.

It was New Year's Eve 2017, it was the climax to a very traumatic year, I'd spent the last few months of the year fearing for the life of the woman I love.

I sat at home all alone after managing to get her into an Endangered Women's Respite Centre for a couple of weeks over Christmas and the New Year.

It was sad and lonely, but you can't appreciate the relief that I felt, not feeling like I needed to be by her side for every moment.

When someone you've given your life to, doesn't want to be here anymore, you're in constant fear, that you will miss the moment when in desperation she finds a way to escape.

The mental stress this puts you under, I would not wish on my worst enemy.

However, the opportunity gave me time to think and I began to ponder on when and how it all began to go wrong, what did I, we, or she do to cause this unpleasant sequence of events?

Quite unexpectedly the doorbell rang, to a tune she had chosen, all my family were far away, so who could it be.

Even in these difficult times, there was still some humour left in me, I remember thinking, perhaps it's that tall dark handsome stranger, one of the things we'd often joked about, before beating pot and pans with the neighbours and our kids at the stroke of twelve.

You'll not believe me when first opening the door I thought the local kids were playing a prank as there was no one in view.

I turned to go in but was halted by a rather squeaky voice saying.

"Hey, I'm down here."

I turned and looked down and to my surprise, there was a tiny little pig sitting on the doorstep, smiling at me.

If you think that odd it was also dressed in the kit of my local football (soccer) team, Bristol Rovers or the Pirates as they are known locally.

I must admit it brought a smile to my face, the best thing about them at that time was their kit.

Anyway, let's cut a long story short.

I let the Pirate in, it went straight into my lounge and jumped onto my favourite seat on the sofa, what a cheek.

It wasn't long before we were deep in conversation, I know this sounds insane, but he was easy to talk to and of late, this was something I rarely did.

We got to talking about the problems with my wife and what I thought had brought this problem on.

This gave me the chance to elaborate on the most likely events, I guess he was very perceptive and suggested that maybe it was the loss of our unborn daughter that began her long slide into depression.

He then asked me if given the chance would I like to change this by getting her to the hospital before her waters burst prematurely.

Without giving it a second thought, I said yes.

That's why I now sit here alone writing sad stories for the Poets Pub, somehow, he made it happen.

We had a beautiful daughter of whom I'm so proud, but what resulted didn't change me and I still hold all my memories, but my wife never recovered from Post Natal depression and took her life within a year.

If you think that's sad, we did have three wonderful children, who along with their mother, I now grieve, as they were never given the opportunity to be born.

The awful irony is, that I know if the doorbell was to ring (it now has no tunes, chosen by my wife), I would not answer and risk losing my daughter by invoking another disaster.

©2019 NehpetsEnal