I think I may be heading on back in...

Hello! How are you? Remember me? I used to be that woman who blogged and blabbed and babbled frequently. And I think... maybe I'm coming back.

Just recently I have begun to miss having my safe place, my haven of words. When I lost my mother three years ago (hell - is it really THREE years?) I also lost a lot of my voice. Words that flowed easily seemed clogged behind the huge lump of unspoken grief. My blog became somewhere the memories of Wise Woman jumped out at me, confronting and brash, a place where pain awaited whenever I ventured in. And so I rarely did. I have posted blog entries THREE times prior to this one in 2013. THREE. And this from a woman who wrote almost daily for years.

A lot has happened. I turned 50 last week. My sons are young adults, my husband is slowing down, the wheels of the world continue to grind on, turning, churning constantly.

Facebook has been an outlet to some degree. Sometimes I write pieces more suited to here and yet post them there. It is not faceless, and I must admit the need to be politically correct and play nice has me grinding my teeth at times. And the unspoken words I bite back almost choke me. The double standards and the two-faced nature of some make me want to scream "Charlatan! Do you not think I remember the heinous words you spewed forth about him/her/them and now you are kissing his/her/their feet with your false traitorous lips?"

Yeah, I really need to come back. Before my black and white stark sense of honour gets me in real trouble.

So, how are you all?

Hello?

Anybody out there?

How Do You Say Goodbye?

 My mobile rang this morning. Not that early, but still earlyish for Boxing Day. Undecided whether to answer it I glanced at the name and pushed the answer button with a "Helloooo gorgeous!"

I expected it to be my friend of twenty-three years, instead it was her husband. "I'm sorry mate, I have some bad news. She's gone."

She's gone.

My friend, my mate, my loyal, wonderful, kind, generous, loving friend. Gone.

Now I need to sit and write once more for her. Not the speech for her wedding, not the one for her first divorce. The one for her funeral. The last of 1001 nights tales is going to be one of truth and love. I am going to bring her into our hearts, not that she ever left. And I will try not to cry. For her. I will laugh and rejoice in her life, and keep my sadness far away.

Lisa 1996

Because there will be two little girls sitting in that church, watching, trusting, hurting. Needing to see and feel their Mum through my words.

I love you Lise, I will miss you every day of my life.

I don't cry pretty...

I am not one of those women who look charmingly disarrayed when upset. I cry ugly, my face goes all blotchy and red, my nose runs, my eyes puff up into little lizard-like slits.

I don't cry quietly... I sob and gasp for breath, I am loud and intrusive, I am not private in my grief.

I don't cry publicly...

I have a toughened facade that no-one sees through. I keep it all held tightly together, wound brittle, hard, impenetratable.

And underneath seethes this raw, open scream wanting to break out. It has stolen my words, this silence, it has taken my voice. I begin to write, words tumbling, stumbling to flow onto this blog but as my fingers touch the keyboard...

They vanish.

And the scream continues to writhe, scrambling with sharpened claws of pain, aching to be freed.

If I let it out will my words come back, or will I vanish into the shrill?

The Rose and the End of The Year of Firsts.

This time a year ago I was sitting in a hospital next to the body of my mother. This time a year ago I was trying to say my final farewell to the woman who made me all I am.

I was wrong. She is not gone, she surrounds me every day.

Today is the end of the year of firsts.

Today I walked outside to see this:

Three months ago I bought this rose, two months ago we planted it. Today it bloomed in perfection.

She is around me and mine... this is merely one of her more blatant reminders to never forget.

I love you Mum.

Farewell to a Very Special Lady.

My Aunt passed away last night. Again my cousin had the job of ringing me distraught, her words "Well it's official, I am an orphan" were not necessary as the sound of her sobbing made the reason for the call very clear.

May 2010 - Uncle Darleigh's Funeral

My Aunt and Uncle had played a very strong role in my life. In the past I wrote of my Uncle's fight with cancer, and then our loss of this wonderful man. But I do not think I have written of them. i can only do so briefly now, for the pain is fresh and raw.

I was Dad's Boy. The tomboy substitute for a son. As such I accompanied Dad on lots of blokey adventures, a lot of them at my Aunt and Uncle's farm. I grew up spending many days rambling and running around like a wild child over fields and in forests at their place. Wise Woman had dragged my Grumblebum Dad off the land into town when they married, and my Aunty Nancy and Uncle Darleigh took over the huge acreage atop the brother in the middle mountain. A dairy farmer's life was not easy, and whilst my Uncle worked the incredibly long hours, my Aunt taught at the local primary school. It was my Aunt's job which paid for so much over the years; the new irrigation system, the automation of the dairy, the enclosed tractor to help my cousin with his allergies.

She was the strength behind the man. She was an intelligent, articulate, straight-talking woman. When my sister died she refused to let us have Christmas alone and every year for quite a few she organised a wonderful extended family day.
She danced at my wedding, cried at my father's funeral, rejoiced in the birth of my boys.When my oldest was diagnosed on the spectrum she was there supporting us with every ounce of her teacher and loving aunt self.
 So big-hearted was this wonderful lady, not only did she raise my two adopted cousins, but she also took on my other Aunt's two boys when their mother passed away from cancer. Family. It was always all about family. Be it by blood or marriage or love, we were all so very important to her and she to us.


Now I wait for my cousin to ring me with details so I can once again organise to go home for a farewell. Aunty Nancy, I will miss you more than words can say.

Another Wise Woman has left this realm, she will be sorely missed by all who knew her.

Wordless Wednesday - One Year On.

T'keyah Dawson

26/11/03 - 06/07/10



Another Piece of The End.

 I am sitting staring at the Google search box. The curser is flashing angrily, annoyed at my ineptitude.  Just do it, just do it... it seems to signal impatiently. I am frozen.

It will be another brick in the wall of goodbye. It will be another sign of the end. It is another finality. I am sitting about to google local stonemasons for my mother's grave. My mother's bed in death. My mother's monument.

I have to think of wording, but how do I put in to a few short words the woman who helped me live? The woman who helped me breath?  The woman who was my mother, my best friend, my teacher, my inspiration. My Wise Woman.

It is another goodbye, another confirmation that this is not a bad dream, she is truly gone.

I can never forget the cries of my second son as he came into the hospital to farewell the woman who had been there for him his whole life, "Why? why is she dying? What is killing her? Nanna can't die, Nanna ALWAYS bounces back."

I know son, I know. I cannot accept she is not coming back either, for whilst you had her for your eleven short years, I had her for nearly forty seven of mine.

Once more, the screen has blurred. And because you never believed in tissues, my mother, I now have retrieved one of your soft, delicate hankies. It smells of you. And my tears flow harder.

Goodbye is just too hard.

Streets Lined With Blue

Yesterday was the funeral of Damian Leeding. I do not think there would be a soul in Australia who does not know of this fallen hero. Policeman, father, husband, son, sibling, friend. Damo, as he was affectionately known.

Yesterday my route home from work was that of the final road Damo was to travel. Yesterday my route home was just as that procession began. Yesterday I drove 100 metres ahead of a cavalcade of honour.

Yesterday I watched in awe as thousands lined the streets to honour a hero of our hearts. I cried a little too as I drove by the police cars, the people, the mothers, fathers, strangers, children, elderly. All lining the paths to say one final farewell to Damo.

Yesterday, I sat with friends and talked about this outpouring of grief and support for one slain man. They asked "Why? Why him and not the endless others who have fallen before?"

I answered, "I do not know. Maybe the people are sick of the violence, the endless escalating danger. Maybe it was the people who cared about Damian, who brought him vividly to life with their words. Maybe it was that he was young, a father, a good guy. I just don't know."

Yesterday the Coast of Gold turned dark, and it's shimmery tawdriness was draped in a solemn blue. Yesterday a city cried and mourned the loss of one lone man. A hero.

It Hits at the Most Strangest of Times.

I am running, sprinting through my life doing much, achieving little. Ever have so very much on your plate that anything you attempt to complete seems to fall to dust? That's me at the moment.

Ineffective insanity.

Juggling a combination of marbles and beach balls - seriously nearly impossible to do, let me tell you.

Then in the midst of the manic madness some stupid little thing will trigger it.

The other day it was the re-run of the grand final in My Kitchen Rules. The bit where Bella sits on the floor and cries. Her family calling words of encouragement, begging her to get up, to complete what she started.

BOOM! Up it comes and hits me with a force that takes my breath away.

Grief. My dark demon I keep hidden in the depths of my psyche. Locked away. It sits festering, plotting revenge, planning to break free and catch me unaware. Succeeding multiple times in a brief black exodus, only to be ensnared and seized, thrown bound by self-control into the deep recesses of my emotions. To sit and wait, until another moment, another trigger causes my frenzied grip to slip.

And each time the demon gains strength, and is harder to subdue, with each breach its power grows and I know one day it will break free and swallow me whole. I will no longer exist as its power wipes all I am and all I was, away. Leaving a broken shell in my place. A motherless daughter.

I am Not Asleep...

I wish I was. I have had a little wine (just a couple of glasses with Big Boy), and I have watched TV. But I am wide awake. I need to sleep, we have both Boy 1 and 2 friends coming over tomorrow, and then I am going to derby training in the evening. I NEED sleep.

I know why I am awake. The fear and heartache is beginning to break through the ice encasing my grief. And I am scared. Because if the ice cracks and the grief is freed, I am broken. For she is so much of who I am. Was. I want her to be proud, but I just wish someone would let me cry on their shoulder, let me release this insistant pressure of pain. I wish someone could see I am broken. I want someone to see the shattered soul inside my outer shell. I want to feel safe to fall apart, if only for a bit. And the only one who ever saw that, and felt it, and let me be weak, was her. I want my mum. Please. Just for a little while.

Laugh at me if you must -  I just hope you do not ever feel like this because it fucking hurts. Sorry Mum, I know you hate that sort of language. I just can't be strong tonight. I miss you so much.

Sleepless in... well it sure ain't Seattle!

It is 4.44am here. I have had about a combined hour of dozing if I am lucky. Yay me! Well, actually this one can be chalked down to Boy 1. He was having one of our rare sleep n the big bed with Mum nights. Except he did not sleep. Finally, at 3.30am I kicked him off to his own bed, but I am now past any hope of getting to sleep. And my own sleep issues have meant this is the last thing I needed in my exhausted state.

My mind is ticking over events of the last few months. Today I sat on the floor of our bedroom and sobbed my heart out. I cried for Lori and Lulu, for the horrific disaster unfolding along the East coast of our beautiful country, and for me. I have not really cried since Mum died, it is like I am frozen in coping land and the tears are locked deep within my icy heart. This is not good, I know this is not healthy but it seems to be the way I am made.

My tears were released because I lost my engagement ring. My fingers have swollen in the humidity and for the first time ever I had great trouble getting the ring off my finger (I don't sleep in it). So last week I had to use loads of hand cream to get it off and I wrapped it in some tissue to clean. And then was distracted and forgot about it. Stupid, eh?

And of course, the tissue was thrown away. And the rubbish had been collected. Now I know, as Big Boy repeated time and time again as he held me sobbing, enclosed tightly in his loving arms, it is only an object.

But to me it is a solid reminder of so much. Of the love I have for my husband. Of the joy of our wedding. Of Wise Woman who was with us when it was being designed, and without whom it would not be at all (yes, I threw a litle tanty at a shopping centre - think this will have to be my Memoir Monday this week).

It triggered thoughts of Lori, burying her soul mate she was meant to grow old with, of my sister who only ever wanted to get married and have kids and wasn't given the time to, and of course of Lulu, saying farewell to her sibling and the bewilderment of loss.

And so I sat on the carpet and let the pain consume me. I am still raw. And tired. Really could have used some healing sleep to allow me to escape reality for a little. Obviously not in the plans of the higher gods tonight, or should I say today as the sun rises.

We found it. The ring. In the wastepaper basket beside my desk - the one bin I had not emptied before the rubbish was collected. Sitting on the bottom underneath the tissue. But by then, although relieved, it was no longer the issue and the pain had been allowed to escape my iron-clad stronghold and it may never be locked away again. I do not know right now if that is a good or bad thing, but time will tell. And to be honest I feel it is a little self-indulgent to even be posting about it when others are facing such immense loss.

A sombre, tired, emotionally drained,

Sunshine Through the Clouds

The blog world is shadowed in pain at the moment. We are all vigilantly waiting, praying, hoping, caring, supporting Lori as best we can. Here, a never-ending parachute waiting to be released.

And then there is Lulu. Oh, my darling Lulu. She has always made me laugh, spread light into dark days. It was with a hand on my heart I read of her sudden, unexpected loss of her sister Amy. Oh God, words fail me. Because I have lived it. Different time, different lives, but the searing disbelief and pain are the same. Oh hell, the pain. And again, all we can do is be here on the end of the interweb, waiting, wanting to help in any way we can.

The hard bit. The waiting.

*Deep breath*

And so I have decided today to do a post about light breaking through the gloom. We all go on, as incredible and unlikely it seems at the time we are immersed neck deep in agony, we do. I did not think I could survive the loss of the last of my family, Wise Woman, my Mum. But I have. And am slowly crawling out of the hole of grief helped by my family and so many dear friends, irl and online.

I guess what I am trying to portray in this post is hope. Hope for the future whatever it may bring, faith that life will go on, conviction that no matter what, you will get through it.

We are amazing beings, us humans.

Madmother? Wasn't she...

That woman who had a blog? Oh, hang on, didn't she have more than one? Wonder whatever happened to her?

Yeah - that's the one. Cheeky devil, but I think that photo is from quite a few years back when she still had her spunk and spark. Wonder where she is now, she just seemed to vanish into the ether...

Oh well, I'll just move on to the next blog that tickles my fancy.

Ever wonder if this is what will happen to you? So many bloggers seem to come and go, the blog muse is a fickle creature who abandons even the most prolific of us. Remember Kellyansapansa? Kellywhat I hear some newer folk asking? Kellyansapansa was a shining beacon in blogworld until moving onto other lives. Melissa at Things I'd Tell You is another popular blogger who has hit the real life sucks wall. And as for me, well I didn't even have the energy to go to most of my writing course let alone blog. *Sigh*.

Destined to become a mere passing comment in years to come... "Madmother? Oh, yeah, I remember her..."

People Disappoint.

You know what? I am having quite possibly, the most stressful, horrendous time of my life. Let's just summarise events of the last few months:

• After months of travelling up and down to hospital, my beautiful mother, Wise Woman, chose to leave this life on her terms. Best way to go ever, but I still lost the only person who completely understood, supported and could kick my arse into line with a look.
• Boy 2 is dissolving emotionally. He is grieving and being socially ostracised by so-called peers, we have now pulled him out of school as it failed miserably in its duty of care and put him at risk.
• I had to evict a psychotic tenant from my holiday houses, all whilst enduring threats, abuse, and slander. Yes, she had done a runner when I arrived, but she had trashed my cottage and stolen property. It also meant I had to fly down there and leave my baby at the worst possible time.
• I have been ill. So ill I could not leave my bed for three days - something my children have not seen in their lifetime - and even now, over a week later, I am still ill.

You'd think people would realise no matter how strong you are there is only so much a person can take before breaking, wouldn't ya? Nope.

It is at times like this you soon find out who your real friends are. And it seems to be true, old friends are the best friends. Even though they are miles away some of the most caring support I have had is from the friends of MY childhood.  E-mails, phone calls, love.

And then there are my internet friends, some of whom have crossed over into reality. Again, support, contact, and caring. Just a few words or lines sent at unexpected times can mean so much. It is when we feel truly alone that the demons surface, and the pain can overcome the joy of being. You let the dark thoughts dominate, but then a message or e-mail saying "hey, thinking of you" sheds light into those black crevices and gives you a way to start to climb back up.

Then there are those conspicuous by their silence. Always the ones you do not expect. Sadly, after listening to years of judgement on how other people have let her down I now am going to direct her to a mirror. For someone who has such high friendship standards she has no idea how to be a friend. And I no longer have the energy to waste on someone who does not realise friendship is about cycles - sometimes it will not be all about you.

I have come back in to elaborate as I have had two friends contact me thinking it was them. I am not talking about a short silence, I am referring to a silence from the point of my mother's death. I am talking about a quick, "oh, I'm sorry. But she was old," upon my announcement. Then it was back to her. Then... nothing. No quick "you okay" calls, or how ya doing. Some would say, well how would she know? She knows, believe me. Through facebook and mutual city friends. She does not read this, she does not know of this blog (thank God), and I guess normally I would just write her off without a backward glance. But I am not the everyday me, I am hurting and this adds to my hurt. We do not see each other often even though we only live an hour apart, but when we did it was nice. Fun. I guess I feel betrayed - a decade of friendship down the tubes. Sadly I think I should have seen it coming a while ago and it would not have hit when everything else is.

Thank God for the people I do have around me, for they are gold.

Today the Angels Cry - Happy Birthday Tookie...

Happy 7th Birthday T'Keyah!

Not because they are sad, oh no. They are celebrating the heavenly birthday of the glorious T'Keyah, one of the brightest angels in their midst. No, today the angels cry for the veil of sadness that enshrouds Tookie's family. It is okay for the angels, they have the joy of being with her, but for her parents and siblings, whilst they feel the warmth of her love showering down upon them, well, it is just not the same as having the warmth of her little body to hold, her smile to light up their days, or her wonderful laughter to bring happiness into their lives.

And so the angels cry, and yearn to comfort T's family. They long to say: "It is okay, she is happy, healthy and free of sadness and pain. She watches over you and still lives deep within your heart and mind, and wants you all to know she is still with you."

But they know right now they will not be heard, that tears and pain stop T's family from being able to hear the tiny angelic whispers of comfort. So today, they too cry. They weep for the grief they witness, for the agony they watch from above. And they wait for the day their tiny voices will be heard, when they will allow one small voice to join them to tell the family:

"Wub you to the moon and back..."

You are sorely missed Miss T.

It's The Little Things

The twenty times a day "I'll just ring Mum" flashes through my brain. The numerous times "Oh, Mum'll know..." comes to the forefront of my mind. The inability to sort anything of hers out, and her voice in my head lecturing me on procrastination.

It is the fear I am doing the wrong thing in my attempts to help Boy 2 and my need to ask her advice as she was always my voice of reason and calm. It is my desire for reassurance that the action we are about to undertake on his behalf is the right one, and knowing she would be the only one I would trust to ask.

It is the large, dark bird of grief that hovers in a corner of my brain until I shove it away, unable to face the magnitude of my loss.

It is the thought that I may let her down if I make the wrong decisions, or am unable to make any at all.

I miss her with every fibre of my being, but am trying to be strong for it is what she would wish.

I am sick and even when I was in the midst of Prague I had the security of Mum calls to get me through illness. It is part of the year of firsts. My first virus without my Mum.

Recent events have been hell, and I am holding it together but cannot mourn. Not yet, not now. And so the black bird swoops into vision at the times I let my guard down - and it is driven back again and again.