Huge Can of Worms...

Would you?

If you were diagnosed with cancer?

Would you opt for traditional treatment?

Chemo?

Radiation?

Because I don't know that I would.

I have seen too much pain.

Watched the total loss of quality of life.

And then...


Watched them die anyway.

I think I would choose to have the time left be of some quality, not to endure incredible pain and suffering so much earlier. Not to be in a morphine fog for the remainder of my life. Not to be removed from my family by a haze of vicious poisons that remove your very essence leaving a hollow shell.

For this is what I have seen, this is what those I loved lived and then died. This is what I feel. Me. My personal choice.

You?

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.

R.I.P. Tony Dwyer

My sincere condolences to Lori and their two children. I have no words.

A tragic, terrible loss.

If you wish to light a candle for Tony, please follow this link. There are two groups running atm:

rrsah
and
rrshm

There is another small group under Tony, but I do not know if it is for Lori's Tony so I will not link it.

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.

Tonight Things are Bleak

They operated last night. Put a huge screw through the top of Wise Woman's left femur to piece it back together. She was in ICU last night and most of today, but they have put her back in the ward late this afternoon.

Five minutes ago they rang. The specialist. Wanted to have the talk. The we don't think it is likely but just in case do you want a do not resuscitate order on? The you know how frail she is at the moment and anything could happen and we don't want to call you in the midst of the night, do we... conversation.

I love her. I love her so much, she is my mum. And I love her enough to let her go if that is the way it has to be, to give her permission to lay down her gauntlet and leave the battle.

But fuck it hurts.

And I am scared.

What do I do when the only person who can make me better is the one I need to let go?

Today's Post

Today's entry for Throbbing Thursday is postponed due to events over the last few days. It is not appropriate when the world has lost one little angel's light. Apologies for those who are waiting to read the conclusion, I will publish it for next week's entry. But for today...

Today, hug your children and tell them how they fill your heart to the brim.

Today, stop rushing and take time to play. 

Today, let the sun shine on your face even in the rain.

Today, even as your heart cries for the loss of such a beautiful little girl, smile in her memory. T'keyah would insist.

Sometimes...

words are not enough to express the magnitude of what we are feeling.

Sometimes, although we fight hard, it is not enough.

Sometimes we cannot explain why life is so unfair.

Sometimes life is a tragedy unfolding before our eyes.

Sometimes a soul is so beautiful and pure, the love surrounding it is not enough to keep it on this earth.

Sometimes sorry is so truly inadequate.

Sometimes we are frail and will fall. Sometimes all you can do is sit and cry. Sometimes it is so damn hard to be human.

Sometimes, one little angel you meet on the internet highway can impact you for life in ways you never knew possible.

Farewell T'keyah. For one so small you fought so hard in your time on earth. And have left such huge impressions on those your wonderful family shared you with.

RIP

26/11/03 - 06/07/10

A truly sad

Blurgh...

Am here. Pulling myself slowly upwards towards the light. Clawing my way out of the darkness. It was wonderful to have time with family on Monday, but so sad it was to say farewell to someone so beloved. On our return we attended another funeral, one of my best friend's fathers passed on Saturday. A sad week, all in all.

And as for DERBY training last night? Pfft. You can read of my piss-weak effort on the hellion blog. Just follow the link.

I still have not been into the school, am hoping to make myself go in next week. Just pray I have the strength and can avoid any small talk. Really do not want to see any of the toxic teamsters. Wish they had a mark to show if they have been tainted. I also want to thank you all for being so supportive over the last few weeks, it does mean a lot and I am sorry if I did not acknowledge that, I was finding it hard to keep breathing let alone interact.

I also have realised I have some beautiful irl friends too, two in particular who I know read this. Thank you. In some small part of my scorched heart you gave me hope.

And now, I am hoping this is the last I need to talk about any of this for quite a while. Cannot promise, but I can only try to get this blog back to what it was about.

Lost 1 follower this week, probably bored them to death with my whining, self-focused dribble. And on that note, a question? Are there any Muse Wars running at the moment? I know Melissa had a flash, but it seemed all the regular rascals were awol. Are we up for it again? Ladies? Kakka, it was your turn to post a pic, wasn't it? Would welcome the distraction at the moment. Might just kick start me back into blogdom.

The Unresolved.

This is where it gets hard. I know I have a massive amount of unresolved issues with grief. When my sister died my parents lost themselves in their bereavement, and in my almost fifteen year old eyes I had to hold it all together for them. The sight of my six foot tall Dad sobbing in his five foot nothing sister's arms on Christmas morning destroyed my belief in the solid foundations of my life. Somewhere deep inside I feel I did not do enough, I should have made it easier for them. I should have been able to lessen the pain and devastation. Logically, I know I needed help, but I was left to cope. Probably because I appeared to do it so well, a trait I still have today. Reading some of my teenage poetry from back then is quite confronting. How very close to the precipice I was. I do not know why some of the other adults in my life could not see it, the scars are burned in my soul, deep and charred even today. When I fell into the black hole of depression at the time Wise Woman 1 was so very ill, I finally requested the help of a professional. A psychologist.

Well, what a major cock up, to say the least. Sad when you realise you are smarter than the therapist you are looking to for help. She kept focusing on so-called unresolved issues with Boy 1's ASD - something I had dealt with and resolved many years ago - and not my problems with grief. I was honest and quite blunt in my appointments, and yet she still did not seem to understand the situation. If I had been in a better place I would have sort out someone else, but did not have the emotional energy at that time to do so. Though it did scare the shit out of her when she gave in to my requests to screen me for depression. She had NO idea how severe it was until she reviewed that little piece of paper. And then her bandaid solution was to get me onto anti-depressives, not to delve into the underlying catalystic emotions. Nothing resolved here I sit today: same issues, same problems.

Loss is not something I cope with. Upon hearing of a death I am thrown head first into the feelings of old, that terrible feeling of helplessness, the despair, the frustration even anger. And the pain, the unrelenting pain... I think it is why I want to help so desperately, yet in most cases am unable due to distance, other circumstances or even the fact that it really would be intrusive at such a terrible time. It is why, when people in my real life are the victims of tragedy, I always step up and ask: "How can I help?" or if I know them well I do whatever I can without asking them to think. I am not trying to big note myself, it is a selfish reaction not altruistic at all. I do it because in some strange way it helps me cope with MY grief. I am doing something, and even though I cannot change circumstances and fix what is wrong, I can sometimes assist in some small way. I am no longer the powerless child frantically trying to hold her shattered family together.

Sorry for the me post, I just needed to get it out.