My First, Last, and Everything

By Michael Hart

This book describes the authors personal journey. Over the course of the year prior to writing this book, he discovered what being in love truly means but questions why he had to do so after losing his wife, Lorna, the love of his life. Lorna took him on at his worst, brought out the best in him, and saved him from the pain of his traumatic childhood. And yet, just when they had discovered each others true purpose, she was taken away by a tiny mole on her leg.
The discoveries the author made have occurred quickly, overwhelming him at times and consuming him with grief and despair as happens to most of us when we lose the one we love.
Turning to the church for help only complicated things for the author.
Is there no help for me now in this world, or in the next where is she now? he wondered time and time again.
Having learnt so much about himself and realising that he was wrong in so many ways is bittersweet, as he cannot tell her or hear her response. True love, indeed, only comes once.

Although this book reflects many complex, disturbing, and truly embarrassing moments, the author nonetheless remains undaunted in providing a tribute to his one-and-only love. Most of all, he wishes to make sure Lorna did not die in vain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781467882460

Book preview

© 2012 by Michael Hart. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 01/03/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4678-8245-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-8246-0 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

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

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

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.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About Me

In loving memory of

Lorna, my cherished wife.

(24 December 1964-4 September 2010)

Her unswerving love and devotion, far more than I deserved, truly inspired me.

This book is my tribute.

Thank you, Lorna, my darling.

A thousand kisses.

Acknowledgements

Again, first and always, I would like to thank Lorna, my wife and one true love. I will never forget her smile, her hilarious laughs, all her cars, and all her surprises—no one could pull off a surprise quite like she could. Her trademark bat symbolises that she was very batty.

Nor will I forget flying back and forth to Australia, Lorna’s paradise lost, where her spirit will reside forever on her special beach, and where my own spirit will eventually join her.

No one ever knew what Lorna was going to get up to next—the unpredictable outings on the spur of the moment.

I miss her sweet perfume and her driving skills, but most of all I miss her cuddles—the best anyone could ever wish for.

I would also like to thank my daughter, Cara, for not giving up on me.

I must also thank the two Julies, even the one who has struck me when I was nasty and snappy.

I will always be grateful to Bob and Aneka for forcing me to get out the house and taking me up to our old stomping ground in London.

Many thanks to all the hospital staffs for having done their jobs, even though I had to come back with Lorna on more than one occasion.

My special thanks to Nancy, Lorna’s mother, for helping me financially through the tough times; I would not have managed without her. Nancy misses Lorna’s support, management skills, and surprises that left us speechless on so many occasions.

I thank many others as well. My sisters, Jaclyn and Elaina; Lorna’s brother, Len; Buzz, Lorna’s cat, for keeping me company, along with Chilli, our wheezing Chihuahua. To my neighbours, thanks for the chats over the fence and the vegetables left in our porch. To Lorna’s sister, Lin, in Australia, many thanks for keeping my wife’s ashes safe for me.

And of course as I thanked her first and always, now I will thank her last as well. Lorna, for your support throughout our marriage, I thank you. Just as we were getting closer than ever, you were taken away. But you live on in my heart forever—my first, last, and everything.

Introduction

Friends and many of the people who have heard a little of my story have prompted to put pen to paper, so to speak, as the events of my life have unfolded. This has been very difficult, to say the least. I have dedicated this book to my loving wife, Lorna. Sadly, I lost her to cancer when she was just forty-five years of age.

I have entitled this book My First, Last, and Everything because that is exactly what Lorna was to me. She still is, and always will be, my everything. She was a remarkable woman who profoundly influenced my life, and losing her has left me heartbroken.

As I do not wish bad-mouth either the perished or the living, I have played down many details (and omitted many others). This book is predominantly about a story of love that needs to be told, but the main emphasis is Lorna herself. It may seem to you, my readers, that the book is about me, but that is only in order to allow you to best understand Lorna’s and my story—to place yourselves in our shoes so you can feel the emotions that we went through.

I will show Lorna’s plight with cancer, as well as my own battles with loss throughout my traumatic upbringing and its echoes into our romantic relationship. It was important for me to describe my childhood, including many key points that remain close to my heart, but none of that was the reason for my writing this book. Lorna was, and is, the only reason: this book is both my legacy and tribute to her, to the remarkable woman and loving wife that she was. Nevertheless, without having some idea where I came from and how Lorna entered and left my life, you will not understand the book at all.

Also, I have written everything merely as my own representations of events as I have perceived them, from a very young age right through to the present. You will encounter some disturbing things in this book, regarding animals, people, sexual problems, phobias, and so on. I recount things that you might find absurd, as well as events that remain prominent within my memory to this very day. Again, it is all to provide a frame of reference as to who I was—and more importantly, who I became and who I am now, all because of Lorna and her love for me.

I acknowledge that my perceptions of these events may differ from the perceptions of my family. I have changed the names of my relatives in order to protect their identities and privacy.

Suffice it to say that this writing was a very hard and emotional battle with my own conscience; it was very draining psychologically, emotionally, and physically. Trying to relay the events in some sort of order was nearly impossible, as my memories are fragmented. I must recall difficult events that are painful, shameful, unpleasant, and embarrassing. I doubt I will ever be able to recount every last one.

One of my friends said, Mike, why do this? Why go through this pain? It’s all in the past.

Well, the events may very well be in the past, but the pain is very much in the present. It will not go away until I tell the story. And that is what I choose to do—what I must do. Going over old ground and punishing myself is nothing compared to the sacrifices Lorna made for me. One event in particular stands out in my mind; I have punished myself ever since it happened.

I tried turning to the church, but this just made matters worse for me. I tried alcohol, drugs (marijuana), suicide (two attempts on my life), but in the end I came to see that all I did was damage Lorna’s good name and what she stood for. This was a wake-up call for me, and it made me want to ensure that Lorna had not died in vain. Most importantly, I had to tell her side of the story because she no longer has a voice. As we were inseparable for more than twenty-five years, I know her well—and even more so, Lorna knew me better than I know myself.

Thus, I have realised that the only thing I can do is honestly tell our story.

I think that people today need to talk about their problems and express themselves in order to best understand that they are not alone. We each are lucky in so many ways. I know I was, and yet I did not realise it till it was too late—perhaps you will be stronger and wiser because of reading this book. Life has truly been hard for me, and trying to make sense of it all is not easy. Metaphorically speaking, it is rather like standing naked in front of a crowd of people; it creates that same vulnerable feeling, disconcerting and embarrassing in many ways. Plus going into oneself often takes the person near to the point of destruction—the mind is fragile, after all—and this is an unproductive and negative experience. Introspection is essential, but self-punishment is not, and I myself need to address this. Writing this book has helped me do this, and I hope reading it will do the same for you.

Going within and writing about the experience has helped me clear out my mind, teaching me how to select the best bits and put to bed the old and irrelevant memories that destroy my positive thinking and my quality of life. My memories are what I have left. I need to do something constructive with the nicer memories of my beloved, who is now in a better place.

Many autobiographies and memoirs might have left you thinking, Wow! That person had a hard life. Of course, this is true of many people’s lives; many people might have been through far worse than what I endured—and than others have written about—and yet, no one has told their stories, nor have they told their own stories. By writing this book, I have sought to achieve two goals: (1) help myself release the negative thoughts consuming my mind and deal with all the emotions attached to that; (2) help others who may relate to the experiences that I share in this book. I especially hope to reach out to others who might be too embarrassed or ashamed to acknowledge or come to terms with what they feel, but who might feel better about doing so after reading this book, as they will realise that they are not alone. If this resonates with you as you read this, please read on—you are not alone!

Writing this book has been a great challenge, as I’ve said. Apart from the emotional aspect, I am dyslexic and missed certain years of schooling (you’ll read about this later), so grammar and spelling do not come easily to me. But again, I sought to create a fitting tribute for Lorna, and writing a book was the best I could come up with. As you read, you will come to see that existence was the best that I was able to achieve at various points in my life. Even when that was so, Lorna was always there for me, her love and devotion never wavering.

I have endeavoured to write in some semblance of order, but as I mentioned, this was difficult for me. It is hard to recall things when traumatic events have blocked your memory, and that is what happened to me. I also took care to consider other people’s feelings. Life is so complicated, and living each day is hard for all of us, not just for me. I have had to stop and think as I wrote down what I recollected, not just about myself but about those around me and my effect on them—my daughter, Cara, especially, and good friends as well.

Always I reminded myself that this book is my tribute to Lorna. If not for her strength and her faith in me I would not be where I am today. Nevertheless, this has left me with tremendous guilt, sadness, and loneliness, as the year immediately following her passing has required me to look inside myself. I have discovered that, in fact, I have many faults. As the saying goes, You do not know what you have until you lose it. This is all too true. Hindsight is clear and a wonderful thing, but sadly so when you cannot share your hard-won wisdom with the one you love.

If only I could go back in time with the wisdom that I now have now! And if these all are questions that you have asked yourself, please consider my experiences. Do not take those you love for granted! Remind yourself that sometimes you are wrong! I have recently considered the following saying: It’s not what happens in life; it is how you chose to respond. This is true, as your actions are your own, and what you do has an effect on others. I have learnt the hard way, and now I have to accept this and move on. I hope that you will learn from what I share here with you, and that it will make your path a bit easier to travel.

In truth, I am more compassionate and empathetic to events happening globally; for myself, I have to take stock of my situation and select from the past the good bits, holding on to these memories dearly and never letting go.

To put things into perspective, I look at those less fortunate than we are—to those who live without clean water, without food to eat, without a home to live in! This is where I give thanks for all the time that I have spent with good people, especially my wife, Lorna, who was and still is my rock.

I also have had time to sift through my thoughts of my parents, realising that they, too, are people who had their fair share of problems. Because of this I cast no blame, nor do I judge them, because life’s events make us all do silly things. We all react spontaneously at times without thinking about the consequences of our actions or our words.

The human mind is a powerful tool. You only have to take a look at programmes on hypnosis and neuron linguistic programming (NLP) to understand what I mean. NLP is a clinical term that means the brain functions in a set way that allows it to be programmed.

Before you put the book down wondering what this has to do with what I’ve written, the simple answer is: a lot. I will give you a quick idea so you can understand some of the problems that I have, why they have occurred, and why they are not easily corrected. It’s a bit like phytogenetic problems with a plant that has grown with a kink in it. You can straighten the kink, but it will leave a scar. This scar can provide strength in some cases, not be noticeable in others, and in a select few can grow in a different tangent without intervention.

With this last option, many effects will become harder to correct the longer it goes without intervention. Still, it is always possible to correct, so don’t give up if you have found a fault that needs attention.

Basically, all this means is that we react to things subconsciously. Let’s use smell as an example. Some people may smell something and react subconsciously by panicking. Something in your past was bad when you first smelt this smell, you have no control over how you feel or react—sometimes you may not even know what has triggered your bad feelings or sheer panic—so is important to know that many such problems do exist. In later years these early memories from when the subconscious mind was still developing can resurrect themselves. It’s a bit like a new computer that needs debugging: it might take in and store some information that is corrupt, but the computer does not realise it is corrupt and stores it as fact. Likewise, even though you may think you have control, your subconscious may take over when you least expect it, such as when a smell reminds you of a past experience or situation, and it brings you back to the past full force, and you feel helpless. In my case, it is not smell but loss and stress. I have much missing information, and that has made it difficult to function on a normal level. Even though the things that I experience are not rational, my mind makes them so real that I have to try to reprogramme my older thoughts and put in place a new, stronger, better, and nicer belief system. Positive thinking, that is.

You need to understand the foregoing before reading this book so that you can also understand the coping mechanisms that I used, like so many other people in today’s harsh environment and stressful life—all forms of self-harm, from nail-biting to recreational drugs. People cope and express themselves in strange ways, often lashing out defensively. Some, in fact, have coping mechanisms that are so absurd that they need help integrating with normal society. I don’t know how I have remained semi-sane. I am a deep thinker, and to this day I need help with medication for stress and anxiety. I suffer from bruxism (grinding the teeth), which occurs most often in sleep and can cause facial pain and headaches. It is commonly caused by anxiety. Left untreated, it often gives rise to poor quality of sleep and damaged teeth.

This is just one effect imprinted on me by my childhood, and I struggled to deal with it whilst writing this book. I simultaneously dealt with bereavement, extreme stress, CFS/ME, (chronic fatigue syndrome/myalgic encephalomyelitis) and a back injury that left me weak and with unpredictable legs. Thus, I was only able to write for small amounts of time before needing a rest.

I have explained all these facts to give you a clearer picture of myself. Now that I have done so, I ask you to please read on.

Chapter 1

Where to start? This is my first book, so I wonder if this is always the hardest part. I am going to start right here, right now: it is early November 2011. I have just returned home from my lonely walk around the block with Chilli, the old overweight Chihuahua that has no teeth, wheezes continually, and is on heart and water tablets, sniffing and peeing up every post.

My mind has begun to drift. I cannot stop thinking about the fast-approaching day when I will get on a plane destined for Perth, Western Australia, where I will scatter my wife’s ashes, setting her spirit free on her special beach.

The air was misty and damp while I walked Chilli. The leaves had just started falling, and firework night had passed. Tonight the air had just started to grow cool, and I could see my breath coming out of my mouth like steam from a kettle. I walked across a green, and on the far side was a house that had a Christmas sign above a doorway; its red lights beamed: 46 Days till Christmas. That was a time I always used to look forward to with great fondness, but now it held only sorrow and pain.

The beautiful tree that Lorna took so much pride in still waited for me to bring it down from the loft. Alone. The home that once buzzed with life, laughter, fun, love, and people enjoying one another’s company was now silent and empty like a church on a weekday. All because Lorna was no longer there. She was all those things and more. Her absence has left me desolate, struggling to try to make some sort of life from these shattered remains.

Her life cut so short, so needlessly, by a small mole on her inner thigh. The mole seemed so insignificant. I still cannot believe that she has gone—it’s too soon—we were supposed to grow old together. Lorna said those very words to me, stroking my face while the tears rolled down her soft cheeks and her beautiful blue eyes gazed at me. More tears pooled, waiting to flow. She so wanted one last trip to Australia that fate denied her. Now she was there, in her longed-for place, in a small wicker basket beside her sister’s bed, in a place south of Perth, Western Australia—waiting for me to come set her spirit free.

Meanwhile, my father lay in a hospital bed, with a terminal malignant brain tumour. I have had news of another family member with cancer, but I was not yet strong enough to see either of them.

Our daughter, Cara, was no longer at home. Her boyfriend’s mother had just passed away—also of cancer. My next-door neighbour, who lost her husband just before I lost my beloved Lorna, has also just lost her mother. To cancer, of course. It was everywhere; I could not get away from it.

Lorna’s cat, Buzz, would walk around the house every day, lost and sorrowful. The cat’s mournful wail reminded of my own—the one I refuse to utter—but I knew the poor creature could not understand why Lorna was nowhere to be found. I could not understand it, either—even though I knew the reason why.

Cara’s birthday was fast approaching (1 December), as was Lorna’s: Christmas Eve.

As I walked Chilli, I went past people’s homes, which sparked some jealousy and also some fond feelings. I imagined them all watched television together on their big LED TVs, while I was alone. As I came round the corner, our home popped into view. I felt so alone in this sleepy remote village. The tears welled up inside me. I felt desperate to cry, but I held back the tears. I have promised myself and Lorna that I will