Symbols, Strength, Support and Magic

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In the dim and distant past, when I was fruitlessly trying to warn non- compliant adolescents of the danger of their ways,  I often wished that, instead of lecturing, I could just lay down the cards. A bog standard teacher has little credibility.  (As one pupil in a truly dreadful school acidly commented,  “If you know so much about everything, Miss, what are you doing working here?)

A Tarot reader, on the other hand, is a keeper of the mysteries, a seer, a purveyor of ancient wisdom. 

In the 60s, when such things were terribly hip, I had learnt to read the cards.  I gave it up, because it became a bit alarming how readily and unquestioningly people welcomed their interpretation.

Had I laid out a tarot spread for my sullen teenager and revealed the Tower, one glance would have had more effect than preaching.

The image is worryingly uncomfortable.

But the cards could be comforting too. They could convey the joy of fellowship, the presence of supportive figures and the reassurance that you could survive difficult times to win through.

Sometimes people just needed a symbol. One that said “You may not recognise it, but you have the ability get through this.”

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We all need comfort, support, affirmation and reassurance when faced with cruel blows in life. 

Sadly, the bereaved families facing a battle for accountability and transparency over the deaths of their children are having to find almost superhuman strength when they are at their lowest ebb.  No wonder despair is hard to overcome and the struggle for justice is so hard.

Yet one of the most valuable aspects of #107days and #107 days of action is the bringing together of all kinds of people with a variety of knowledge and practical experience to share their individual insight and counsel, thus building a common resource of support and information.

This is the real life magic, the impetus and the strength that is going to carry us through.

Though an image to help remind us wouldn’t hurt!

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Love Has Brought Me Around

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It’s a sad day and a low time of year.  When living and working in towns and cities, we don’t have much time or opportunity to study the skies. We forget how the seasons lift us up and pull us down.

Yet surprising things can help us through the lows.

For me a new love came into my life quite unasked and undeserved.

It was my granddoggie.  I never did anything to merit his adoration. I didn’t feed him, except on the odd mercy mission when his family were held up in traffic. I didn’t keep the roof over his head or take him for walks in wintry weather.

Yet he just loved me. When I came to the door he would rush from wherever he was comfortably snoozing and go into an ecstasy of tail wagging and welcome whimpers. When I finally sat down he would leap onto my knee. It was a source of huge entertainment and amazement to the family.

Of course I loved him in return.

He’s old now and he was never particularly clever, but he was long-suffering and forgiving. He put up with all the silly costumes the grandchildren made him wear, the endless idiotic tricks they taught him.

Even now in his more tetchy, less energetic old age, he welcomes every day in the world with cheerful anticipation.

Here he is, forever puzzled but patiently accepting of the strange things life throws at him, trying to lick up a frozen puddle in the park.

Yes, in unexpected ways, in life’s bad places, love has brought me around.

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The Bonny Blair Award for Cupidity, Spin and Evasion

The Clear Winner by a Country Mile.

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Since first getting involved in the campaign to win Justice for LB, I have tried to believe that no hospital trust could be entirely without principled leadership. I kept hoping that somewhere in the management and governance of the organisation, there had to be somebody who was prepared to ask awkward questions and not be satisfied by generalities, corporate spin or glossy awards.

I admit defeat.

I’ve seen a lot of burying bad news and economy with the truth in my time, even been party to it on occasion. I’m no saint.

But even I cannot credit the calculating and bare-faced shamelessness of the treatment that LB’s family have experienced from the Health Trust responsible for the preventable death of their healthy son.

LB’s “mum” – never referred to respectfully by her professional title, Dr Ryan – was an immediate target for undermining and defensive suspicion. She committed the cardinal sin of having an honest, outspoken blog, in which she from time to time used strong language. She was also outspoken about her grief and distress, and refused to see these as unreasonably extreme. She didn’t want to be helped to conveniently “move on”. She howled and stormed online.

No wonder she was identified as a dangerous hazard. She and her sympathisers had to be silenced, obstructed and discredited at all costs. Surveillance called for!

As her spontaneous campaign for justice sprouted and grew, other worrying data and cases came to light. This does not seem to have alerted anybody governing the Health Trust to the likelihood that something, somewhere in their organisation was badly wrong. Rather it gave rise to renewed efforts to fight off any such suspicion, by fair means or foul.

So where does the story end?

There’s still a chance for someone decent at the Health Trust to suggest an alternative approach.  Something other than rendering life so unendurable for grieving families that they give up and go away.

I would love to think it might be so.

Other than that it’s the long slog through all the legal procedures to force the Trust, kicking and screaming every step of the way, to face the fact that the award they most richly deserve is the one in the title here above.

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