The Stolen Years

By Debbie Paget

This is the story of Debbie, a woman born into a family of fifteen children in Dublin, in the 1960s. Her story takes us through earliest memories: from a very difficult childhood in the family home, amusing tales concerning neighbours and friends, her days in homeless hostels, school days, family tragedies, abuse, neglect and the birth of her children.

Death, life and love are intertwined in this unique story: from the death of Debbie’s brothers to the especially sad and untimely death of her darling daughter and first baby girl, Tina, aged just eight years. Tina’s short life was one of remarkable courage, strength and laughter in the face of tragedy. Mary McAleese, who got to know Tina well during her term as President of Ireland (Uachtarán na hÉireann), recalls that "she had a wisdom born of suffering and a boundless faith in miracles."

Today, Debbie finds great comfort and solace in the spiritual world, where she keeps regular contact with Tina.

This book reveals a fighting spirit and a keen understanding of life in the face of adversity. It is a story that will serve as an inspiration to anyone who faces hardship and death. Strength of character and great wisdom illuminate each page. Debbie is a survivor and her story will amaze, stun, sadden and inspire all who read it.

Although Debbie often had to endure the absence of love at crucial times in her life, she is such a loving person and she understands that love is at the core of life itself. Even through death and sadness, love conquers all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Manuscript Publisher
• Release date: Oct 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005321697

Debbie Paget

Debbie Paget grew up in Cabra, on the northside of Dublin, where she continues to reside today, in the company of her close circle of family and friends.The Stolen Years is her first book and grew out of coping with the grief that she experienced following the death of her eldest daughter, Tina. In the Foreword to this volume, Mary McAleese, who got to know Tina well during her first term as President of Ireland (Uachtarán na hÉireann), recalls that "she had a wisdom born of suffering and a boundless faith in miracles” adding that, “her mother’s book is one of those miracles."

Book preview

Foreword

This book is a long time in the writing. Debbie’s daughter, Tina, who inspired the book was just the most wonderful child. She lived with cystic fibrosis and endured a lot in far from ideal conditions. Though the disease took her life at age eight, it never took her spirit, her laughter or her determination to do all she could before her death, to make sure her family would have a decent home and a happy life when she was gone. She had a wisdom born of suffering and a boundless faith in miracles. Her mother’s book is one of those miracles.

Mary McAleese

August 2020

Preface

The book that you are about to read started to take shape when I first decided to tell the story of what I went through following the death of my daughter, Tina, in 1999. I was 34 at the time and Tina had passed away three years previously.

It is being published now, for the first time, almost 20 years later. Much has happened in the intervening period and I may return to the story someday, as it is a story that is still evolving in many ways. For now, however, I have decided not to alter or re-write this account in any significant way. Rather, it is presented here in much the same vein as when I first started to recount these experiences.

In telling my story, I hope that it may stand as a testament to what I was going through at the time and how I came through it. If reading these pages manages to bring solace and consolation to anyone who is going through the grieving process of losing a loved one, then it will have achieved its main aim.

Of course, the reader should be aware that passages in this book that speak to the present tense and the ‘here and now’, actually relate to the time of writing.

I am particularly grateful to Patricia Langton for the help and encouragement that she gave me at the outset of this project, which made sure that I saw it through.

Debbie Paget

August 2020

Chapter 1

Growing Up

Sometimes life can be hard and other times, it can be easy but for me, I can’t remember, in my whole thirty-four years alive, ever having it a bit easy.

I was born in Cabra, near Dublin City, in 1967. I came from a huge family: there were eight boys and seven girls. We all lived in a two-bedroom house and it was very squashed. We all shared beds, clothes, baths and food. No, it wasn’t easy but we looked after each other. Dad worked all his life so Ma reared us on her own and she hadn’t got it a bit easy but, she did her best. My Ma always had a way with us, especially the babies. She would have every one of them washed and fed and out in the back garden at eight o’clock in the morning and then, get on with her housework. Then, the rest of us would come down for our breakfast. There would be about seven or eight of us, all screaming at the same time but she always got through the lot of us and then, would dress us and let us out to play. God love her! She really did the best she could.

However, as we got older things, started to change; Ma couldn’t cope anymore. Things got in on her very easy and she would lose her temper – and most of the time, she would lash out at us. So, most times we would keep out of her way. I couldn’t believe the change in my Ma: she always kept her cool but now, she was having horrible mood swings. As I got older, things started to get worse. All the family began to drift apart, none of us got on anymore and it was hell.

I remember one night, my Ma left because of a domestic row and didn’t return for weeks. The kids were heartbroken but, when she did come home, things got worse and every few months, she would leave. My whole family suffered horribly during that time. The smaller kids would look for Ma the minute they would come home from school. It would be heart-breaking to see their little faces, not knowing what was going on in their little heads.

As usual, I would be the one to comfort them. I felt so sorry for them: they didn’t do anything wrong and neither did I. Most of the time, at night, I would go to bed and ask God to take me and every morning, I would wake up. Then, I thought that even God didn’t care so, I just went into myself. I hated being alive because a child should be happy, even if the parents aren’t.

I wasn’t a bad child; I couldn’t do any harm or ever hurt anybody in any way, as it wasn’t in my nature. I would be more inclined to help people. Life was so hard at the age of seven, I started to smoke and I would buy a loose cigarette in the shop every day. But one day, the lady in the van shop stopped my Ma and asked her if she was sending me for loose smokes and me Ma said, No.

So that day, when I came home from school, me Ma didn’t say anything and when we were all sitting down watching television, she just said, Does anybody want a smoke? and they all started laughing. Just then, me Dad came in from work and asked what was going on and me Ma said, When I went to the shop today, Rose told me that Deborah was the one buying loose smokes and said they were for me.

Then everything went quiet; you could hear a pin drop and there was about ten of us there.

Come over here, you! he said to me.

By that time I had wet myself already. To my surprise, he didn’t hit me, he just lit up a smoke and said, Here, take a drag and don’t stop till you finish it.

So I did and was as sick as a dog.

Now, the next time it won’t be a drag: I will put the lighting part down your fucking throat. Now get out of my sight!

I didn’t see him for weeks after that because, when he came home from work, I would stay upstairs till he went to work the next day. That was always the way it was at home – not just for me but a few of the others.

I was always close to my brother, Willie. He was funny and always looked out for me. We would always go places together and didn’t care whether we got into trouble with Dad. Me Dad had no time for Willie either. He never treated him like a son and like always, it would be me or Willie who did wrong in the house. No matter what happened, we would get the blame. So most times, we would own up anyway, even if we weren’t there at the time.

Ma would never say anything when Dad was hitting us but, I knew she felt it and would bring us our meals up to the bedroom and not let Dad know. I remember one night, we all had our baths and were going to bed and Dad asked us for a kiss goodnight and when he came to me, I said, No.

Well, he picked me up by the arm and slapped me on the bum and legs till I wet myself, and then threw me up the stairs to bed. My bum and legs were so sore that it took me hours to go asleep. The next day, I was so afraid to come down the stairs. So I waited till Dad went to work and sneaked out of the house, to my granny’s house. I never told Granny what happened but asked if I could come to her house, to stay with her but, at that time, there was no room. So I had to go home and sneak back into the house and, I don’t even think I was missed.

As I got older, I found myself looking after the younger kids. There were nine younger than me and I loved them all. I would bring them to the playground and put them on the swings and in the sandpit and, they would love every minute of it. They were the happy times and then, we would have to go back home. It was so hard walking up the road to that house because I hated that house so much. So I would take my time.

The kids loved when we got home because most times, they would be so tired and only fit for bed. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. My school days were my best days. I would be first out the door and last home because I would go to one of my friend’s houses. Their parents were so kind to each other and to the kids and, I would wonder what it would be like to live with them but, I knew that would never happen. So I just got on with the life I had.

One day, the summer project started so, I decided to join. I would enter the talent section and sing songs and win prizes. When people would stop my Ma and tell her how good I was, she would say Pity she’s not as good at cleaning the house or going to the shops, and the person would just look at her, as if to say, the child has talent but, she never cared. She wouldn’t even come to watch any of the shows. I never said anything but it really hurt me badly so, I never asked her to come anywhere. My friends’ parents would come instead. My Ma wouldn’t even pay the fifty pence to enter the show.

I would go to the shop for the neighbours. They all knew how I was treated so they would bring me into their houses and give me goodies. They always said I was different from the others – that I was well-mannered and didn’t give them cheek and would run anywhere for them. It was people like them that made life a little bit easier. Even my teacher, Mrs Clifford, was so kind to me. She would make sure that I would have something to eat before class started and when the lunch came, she would make sure that I got mine first. I loved her so much; she was lovely. Even after the trouble I caused her in class. When I say trouble, it would be laughing in class and always singing but never being cheeky to her. But most times, I was very good.

I remember one day, Mrs Clifford asked me to stay in at lunchtime to mind a girl. Her name was Elizabeth Kane. We had her in the class since low babies¹ and she couldn’t walk so, her mother would bring her to school in a pram and she couldn’t go out at break time. So, for weeks, I would stay in with her and so did my friends, Kim and Bernie. Then one day, Elizabeth wasn’t in school and Mrs Clifford came in very upset and we knew she had been crying so, of course, I had to be the one to ask what was wrong. She just looked at me and said, Deborah, come up here, I have bad news for you. She looked at the rest of the class. Elizabeth died last night.

I just stood looking at her. Then, I looked around and all the girls in the class were crying but I couldn’t. Now, as an adult, I know it was shock but I have never forgotten Elizabeth Kane and never will. I will never forget her beautiful, dark brown eyes and long curly hair and her purple cheeks. It wasn’t till years later that I found out what had happened to her. She had a hole in her heart and the hospital couldn’t save her. For a long time after Elizabeth’s death, I would stare at her seat and imagine her looking at me and smiling and maybe she was. She was only eight years old.

A lot of other things happened in school. Myself and Bernie Sheridan were always getting into trouble with the teachers for messing so, Mrs Clifford forbid us to be together but it never stopped us. When the teacher would be out of the class, the girls would have me up at the top of the class singing. I was about seven and one day, we decided the class should have a play and, because I was messing around and because I was so skinny, I got the name Twiggy. The name has stuck with me, even till today.

You wouldn’t think that you could be hurt in school but because I was the smallest in the class, the bigger ones would pick on me. I remember one day, when I was out in the playground, a girl pushed me to the ground and I cut my face,