An unforgettable lesson
I love to learn, At the moment I am doing some free courses on the internet. I have even started learning French again.
Back when I was doing Correspondence School study, my study was going well but I was really struggling with speaking French, I could do the written part ok but my accent was terrible. What I needed was some real life practice. My OT, that useful woman, knew of someone who could help,
Her name was Shirley Anne, I wrote about her a couple of weeks back, She was a young stay at home mum of one when we met. She was married to Peter and were both trained secondary school French teachers. I rang her and she was quite happy to help. It was brilliant. Suzanne would go off to CDU and I would go to Shirley Anne’s place and drink lemon balm tea and speak French. It was an ideal arrangement and we became great friends.
However, on one occasion things went terribly wrong. Shirley-Anne’s car was in the garage and of course back in those days I couldn’t drive. The time slipped away really quickly and I realised that I didn’t have time to walk home. I rang a cab There were none available, they were all doing the school run. I told the taxi company I would walk up to meet the first one available but nothing came, Of course there were no cell phones back then. No way to get in touch with Suzanne’s driver. Once the driver left the centre everyone went home.
I rang Lynne Davies and asked her to go to my house. By the time she got there, the van had been and gone.. I was frantic by this stage, what would happen to Suzanne. Where would they take her. Would they let me have her back. Was this the reason they could use to take her off me.
I finally got home and rang CDU and she was there. Lynne and I went around to pick her up. They were fine about it. These things happen they said.
I felt guilty for weeks afterwards.I had let down my child, to me it was tantamount to abandonment which looking back it certainly wasn’t. I made sure I was home really early every day after that. If anything I became quite paranoid about it.
It never happened again but the memory of the quilt and fear I felt has never faded.
© Barbara Hart 2014