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US Marine (plus Family) Return Home Fund

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Hi


I'm Freya.  Welsh, married, one child and forty-eight.  My husband, Mark, is American. Our daughter isn't really his - not biologically. I was married for over 17 years (yup, I said seventeen!) to a clergyman. Unfortunately he wasn't the Father Brown type but more a, 'you do exactly as I say or I will punish you,' type.  It was always my fault though.  I know.  He told me so.  Every day, and in every way I was left in no doubt whatsoever that I was a burden, an imbecile.  That was my life until I met Mark.

After a few more years of being told what a worthless piece of dross I was I got up the courage to leave him.  It was primarily for my daughter - did I really want her to believe this was a healthy relationship?  At least I cared about her welfare, if not my own.

Mark and I met on-line. Not dating, pen-pal. I was incredibly lonely so joined a pp site and we hit it off as friends. I suspect part of it was his innate desire to protect someone vulnerable. I told him a little of my troubles and he suggested I visit him in the States.  A cooling-off period whilst I worked out what the hell I was going to do. So I did.  Flavia and I escaped. I was so terrified - not of whether I was doing the right thing but if I were caught. Even now (9 years later) I get cold sweats at the thought of what punishment I would have received.

To put a (very) long story as concisely as possible - or as concisely as I can at any rate - a battle royal then ensued with our poor daughter caught in the middle. I'd returned to the UK by this point and, since the Courts were more on his side than mine (dog collar, job in an Independent school, somewhere to live - boring stuff like that) I saw Flavia infrequently and he often 'forgot' meetings. During the whole palaver (it lasted from 2003-2010 and ended up going before the Courts innumerable times because he kept breaking Court Orders) Mark came over from the States in 2004, saw how things were going (ie exactly how vile my ex was being) and he cancelled our wedding plans in the States and instead we married in the UK.  Because of problems with Flavia's father and the Court we weren't allowed to remove Flavia from the UK - even for a day-trip to France.  If we wanted to be together then Mark would have to stay here.  In Britain.  Suddenly his holiday had become much longer than he had planned.

That was almost eight years ago. In that time we've proved ourselves to the Courts and Social Services and it has been decided by all sides that Flavia has her best chance of a happy and stable life with us. It hasn't been easy. Since I came out of my first marriage with no assets whatsoever and Mark, not being permitted to work initially, found the capital from the business he'd had to leave behind was being swallowed up in legal fees and goodness knows what else we were living on a very tight budget.  I was a teacher until 2009 when ill-health meant I had to give it up (Sarcoidosis, if anyone has heard of it - that thing so beloved by House) so money became so scarce we hunted for pennies on the streets (East Sussex isn't so bad; in Cardiff people are tighter with their money!)  Daddy is a deadbeat, I'm afraid. Foreign holidays, hand-made clothes but is too poor to support his own child. I worked out the other day that his contribution has been a princely £1.50/day and decreasing since he hasn't paid in...well, I don't have enough fingers and toes to work out the months.

My family (Mark and Flavia) are wonderful. She's insistent she go without a sixteenth birthday party (ie friends over for a CostCo pizza and ice-cream) due to the expense. We have no social life - all the things I'd dreamt of giving her - pursuing interests and hobbies, showing her the wonders of the world, taking her to the theatre and concerts.....impossible.  She used to be on the tennis team, the swimming team, the netball team.  She used to play the cello, take ballet lessons.  All gone.  It hurts.  She doesn't complain and willingly gets clothes from charity shops but it's not what I wanted for her.  Mind you, what parent does?

Mark is also incredible.  He was a US Marine. Mark has two children who disappeared with his ex-wife many years ago.  After years of trying to find them four years ago his daughter contacted him via email.  Both his children are grown up and he even has two grandchildren.  I feel terribly guilty that he hasn't seen his children in around 20 years and can't because he's here in the UK and they're in the US.  He wonders whether they'd like him and although they communicate electronically it isn't the same.  It's a terrible shame they don't have first-hand knowledge of how special their father is.

Our dream is to move to the US.  The cost of living is so prohibitive in the UK that there is no way Mark can fund the start of a business here and I do worry about Flavia's education and prospects (or lack thereof).  She's interested in going into criminology (odd child) but education is in a sad state right now and we can no longer depend upon my earning skills - in fact I think the words snowball, hell and chance crop up somewhere.

It's difficult to do this - how can I explain my dreams? Our dreams?  I have never owned my own home; we're dependent upon landlords, their capriciousness and their financial bottom lines.  We have no real life and never have - Mark loves fishing but hasn't been since coming over here (he disapproves of the whole idea of throwing the fish back and the whole thing is more expensive here than in the US!) and he's worried that by the time he gets over to the US his opportunities will be over (he's 52).  Certainly his grey hairs are showing (so are mine, but I refuse to admit it although on occasion I'm tempted to say, 'to hell with it,' and dye it silver...white is too aging).

There's so much I wanted to experience: I wanted to see the Aurora Borealis, to see with my own eyes beaver, otters, elk, moose, wolves, hummingbirds, kingfishers, owls and bats.  To look up at the Milky Way and all the other stars one can't see because of light pollution. Mark tells me the thunderstorms we have here are piddling in comparison to those in the US. Once, just once, in my life I've gone dancing and that was with Mark in the magical, time we were in America. I always wished I could repeat the experience.

Our fantasy is for a home in the sticks somewhere; somewhere Mark can grow stuff and I can admire and eat it (I'm a fruitivore.  I'm also a chocoholic and breadivore but try to go without the last two).  He misses sitting on the porch on a Summer's evening (okay, he misses summers) and swapping tall tales with the neighbours.  I desperately want to grow old with him disgracefully and not have all the 'if onlys' I have right now.  He's a good man.  He's a great man. He gave up the country he loves with a passion because of his love for my daughter and I.  Not only that, not once has he even mentioned the sacrifice. If that doesn't tell you what sort of man he is, then nothing can.

If we could only get the money together we could all (Mark, Flavia, two idiot dogs, one cat and a guinea pig with delusions of dictatorship) go to the US. We just need the money to show I wouldn't be a drain on the Government. Mark could get help for a mortgage due to his military service. He likes the idea of offering a gallery/picture framing service (plus the little bits and pieces that go with it) in a little country town where he can finally be warm and, rather like the old Cheers lyrics, everyone knows (his) name and I yearn for stability, security - the old familiar stuff that I suspect everyone of a Certain Age dreams of.

I should point out that Mark has never even contemplated claiming benefits in the UK; he has very strong ideas of what is right and wrong and feels one shouldn't claim unless absolutely necessary (it's been necessary, Mark, trust me!) and one has contributed to the country.  Antiquated views, but what can you do with proud, loyal Alpha males?  Anyway, he's sweet and has the crazy idea that I'm beautiful and sophisticated.  He's also desperately homesick but refuses to admit it (which is alternately also sweet but nonetheless incredibly frustrating especially when he denies it).

I'm not good at asking people for help. I'm more the sort who will do herself permanent and possibly embarrassing injury carrying something far too heavy whilst telling bystanders that I'm fine but this is for my family and my last shot. I've battled Government departments, had to ask for help from Foodbanks and accepted free second-hand clothes. I wouldn't do it for me, but...anyone who is a parent knows where I'm going with this.

We are trying to help ourselves - Mark is in the process of endeavouring to reinvent himself as an artist (I could wish he'd stick to one or two sets of clothes to paint in rather than going through his whole wardrobe, but there we go.  Men.) and I've tried my hand at writing.  Initially I wrote about what I knew - my first marriage and how one gets to be in such a position. My very own misery memoir.  I actually got an agent (shock, awe) but the publishers were a tad scared of something called, 'lawsuits' since it was, in effect, my word against my ex-husband and they thought he had the weight of the Church behind him. Since then I've tried writing novels - henish lit, if you see what I mean. Not brilliant, I admit, but I've read a damn sight worse. Unfortunately whilst it's easy to get things on Amazon it's another thing altogether to get people to actually buy the stuff!  How unfair is that?

So, we come to this post, website, whatever.  If people can ask for help for holidays and honeymoons (note - it's one thing to ask but does help actually materialize?  I'd also like to point out that Mark and I have never experienced either of the aforementioned...isn't that sad?) then I decided why not?  Ask people to help a noble, infuriating, slightly sexist and sweetly charming former Marine (never 'ex' I gather) to go home, meet his children and put down some roots.  And get even more eccentric.  With his go all-around-the-city-a-few-times-rather-than-get-to-the-point Welsh wife. And step-daughter. Plus ridiculous animals.

If you don't ask, you don't get - and I somehow suspect there's a better chance of being successful here than winning the lottery - although by how much I'm not sure.  Statistics and I were never good friends.

Anyway, thanks for reading (if you've managed to get to the end...imagine being married to me!!) and I hope you like the photograph. It was taken at our wedding.  I kid you not.  Ahhh, to be young(ish) again.

All the best

Freya F

Just in case anyone were wondering about my wonderful, witty, insightful books, they're on Amazon both paperback and kindle. For every one sold I get 30c so even if you don't fancy donating as such, if you could buy a book and get everyone you know (especially those you don't like) to buy one too then our dream could still come true! 





 


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Freya Fluharty
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