Part 1 can be found, here. Living in Filth Due to the filth, I got so sick, my whole mouth and throat were
I remember my first miscarriage like it was yesterday. I was working whilst studying at Queen’s. I was at work when it happened, the cramping, the most intense pain I’ve ever felt in my life. I remember thinking, “What the fuck? What is this?” I hadn’t had any strange food, I hadn’t been out the night before, I didn’t get hangovers anyway as I didn’t get drunk. I ended up feeling so unwell I took myself to the toilet, my colleague who was a mother herself, had taken one look at me and followed me to the bathroom.
I entered the room and approached my mother just thinking she was drunk as usual and getting emotional. I asked her what was wrong, she just kept screaming, “he’s gone, he’s gone!” Panic ran through me, who was gone? Was my daddy, okay? Was it my grandpapi? It couldn’t be my Uncle A because he was there. Uncle S was fine, he wasn’t on tour anywhere with the army. Who was gone and why was she so upset? Then mother interrupted my little 9-year-old brain to say one name, S.