For many years I served my time keeping kids, families and communities safe, Firstly as a youth worker in Stockport then Manchester, and finishing my career with decades of social work, residential then as a senior practitioner and team manager in child protrction teams. I still can call myself a social worker, despite being medically retired from statutory services.
I grew up in a house where my own parents fostered children, kids that had survived interfamilial abuse, often at the hands of their own parents.
Even in the worst of instances, where the horrifying past of these children was solely due to the cruelty, and predatory actions of their dad or sadly at times mum,where the other parent turned a blind eye, to protect or gratify themselves, the children had love for them. They despite all, could forgive these people, even in later years, once they were old enough to make their own decisions rebuild relationships.
I however, can state now I never abused my children, I never treated them with malice or anything but the love and respect a parent should, yet, my children will not forgive me. They saw me broken through the pain and liss of losing my brother. They saw me losing my self respect and pride in myself due to multiple chronic illnesses.
Yes I was angry at the world, but not with them. Yes I lost my career and income, so couldn’t afford to spend hundreds of pounds upon them. But I was not as far as I can recollect cruel to them. I did not assault them, nor act inappropriately.
I would pick them up whenever they wanted. I couldn’t afford to take them abroad but spent most of the holidays with them and most weekends in Wales or other resorts in the UK.
I would get them what I could afford. I would buy them clothes, feed them, drive 50 miles to drop an inhaler off because their other parent forgot to order it.
They are convinced I kidnapped them, which if had been remotely true may, have caused a few issues with my career path?
I have been accused of over reacting, getting my daughter to hospital, in an ambulance, at the advice of the paramedics, where they kept her in for several days due a severe asthma attack, which almost led to her being placed upon a resporator to aid her to breathe, when their other parent refused to attend because she was at a party.
I agree after Rob died in 2019 at 35, it all was too much. I never knew grief could hurt so much, and yes for a while, change our nature’s. But it can.
Since my own near death experiences due to my heart and other issues. I have kinda come through it. I do still find tears welling when I see a pic or even realise his ashes are still sat upon his sideboard in my home. But now I am more me.
I will never be the active man I was, because now can I all too often barely move, camping is a lost art to me, as is walking or cycling. My badminton skills are only a distant memory, and hiking something I yearn for daily. But I am still their dad, I am still the man that loves them, was so proud of them, and now is beyond sad that they refuse to have any part in my life.
I am no perfect parent, but I always prioritised them when no one else would.
Even when I was lay in hospital not knowing if I would pull through, neither of them made any enquiry after me, never mind tried to contact me.
This is why I no longer see family as anything beyond related due to circumstance.
I still do grieve for my brother, but that now is compounded at the grief of losing being a dad.
So no fan of Christmas.
Jonesy, simply a human 