Raining Pain.

I wanted to come in and do a light post, I hoped to write something to make a few smile albeit briefly. But this post has to be written, this post is itching to flow from my fingers as freely as the tears flow down my face.

Imagine this. You are a thirteen year old boy driving along familiar streets with your mother and annoying younger brother. He is ten. You are bickering, as siblings do. He is bugging you, bloody pain in the butt he is. Your Mum is telling you both to shut up. Everyday stuff, just like the day before and the day before. It has been raining, you are all a little stir crazy with cabin fever from being stuck inside. It's the school holidays for God's sake, and you are sick of the rain and bored senseless. You reach over to give him a thump on the shoulder for his last smartarse crack...

"Oh my God." Your mother's words have you stopping mid shove and you turn to see a wall of water rushing towards your car. What was once the road in front of you is now a raging torrent of brown, a frothing, angry river which engulfs the car in seconds. Your mother screams as the car slides, you hear your brother join her and someone else yells in fear. It is you. You cannot swim, oh shit, "Mum, I can't swim!"

The car bumps and grinds its way in the swollen, strong, unstoppable current. You try to breath, try to steady your pounding heart and just breath. And you are crying, no longer the tough teenager, now a little boy in your terror.

With a slow groan the car lodges on a tree, it's frantic ride stilled momentarily. You can see someone through the fog of the constant rain, you and Mum and your brother scream "Help, please help." You force down the window and carefully climb onto the roof of the car, your brother scrambles out as your mother climbs precariously to the top too.

The vehicle shudders as the force of the deluge tries to shake it free to continue its death dance. You look into the eyes of your terrified brother, all arguments forgotten. He is crying too, it shocks you, he never cries, he is a tough little nut. The shadowed figure becomes a solid form, he is coming to help. He reaches out to grab you as the flood flow tries to pull him away. You reach forward... and glance at the white face of your sibling beside you. "Take him first - he can't swim." You do not add nor can I, and smile in relief as the burly rescuer grabs your brother and drags him away.

You and your mother grasp the tree with all the strength you can.

A grinding moan shakes the car as the tenous anchor gives. The sudden lurch pulls you from your perch into the torrent. Your mother cries out, then dives forward to reach you and you wrap your arms around her as the flood takes you both into its deadly grasp one last time...

RIP Jordan Rice of Toowoomba, 13 years of age.

Rescuers only had time to save one of the three from this car and he insisted they take his brother even though he also could not swim.  What a loving, courageous young man cruelly stolen from this life with his loving mother also losing her life trying to save him. RIP Donna Rice, 43.

To Lose A Child

A parent's worst nightmare. Sadly, this morning I learnt of the death of beautiful Olivia, a little girl full of smiles, sunshine and hope, lost in a tragic car accident. News report is here.  I first learnt of it from Sally, which in turn led me to Kate's blog as I just could not believe it was true. I watched her slideshow of all the kids, and my heart broke. Having lived through the loss of a sibling, my only sister, I cannot even come close to comprehending the pain of such a terrible tragedy. I once asked my Mother (Wise Woman 1) how she survived such a devastating loss and as I did not think I could survive or keep my sanity if I lost one of my children. Her answer was "I had to. For you."

In a perfect world this would never have happened, a family should not have to deal with this ever. But it is the real world, and as much as life and love is a part of our existence so is death and grief.



RIP Olivia. You have touched many hearts in your decade of life.

A very sad 

The Fragile Hold we have on Life

Recently I have been forcibly reminded again of how very fragile life is. A member of a parenting website I have frequented for the last 3 years awoke to find her husband deceased beside her. How on earth can I put into words what a truly devastating, tragic loss this must be? It is not the first. In fact only a week before a young Mum lost her life to an embolism. In the last 12 months two other mums lost their partners under equally as tragic circumstances. One to senseless violence, the other to the farce we call our health system. All gone in the blink of an eye. It could so easily be any of us.

The latest heartbreaking loss was to sleep apnoea, something most treat lightly unaware it can have tragic consequences. One of my close friends in real life suffered an almost identical loss. She awoke to find her otherwise fit 30 something husband lying passed away beside her. Their youngest child was 15 months old, their two daughters were 3 and 4. Sleep apnoea. Snoring. A silent killer, creator of widows and fatherless children.

Today I look at my husband through different eyes. How would I go on without him? He is my rock, my soulmate, the one person I have ever yearned to grow old with. He loves me, flaws and all. And I love him. He is the most incredible father to our 2 boys, and so wonderful with our oldest special child. But like many, I am guilty of taking him for granted. This is not the first time life has booted me up the arse as a wake up call, and yet we seem to drift slowly back into old habits and learn nothing.

Somewhere in Western Australia there is a woman mourning. She will never have the chance to say what was unsaid, to hold her husband close, to laugh and love and live their life. NEVER.

I do not know what my point is here. Maybe it is just hold your loved ones close, tell them all you have been meaning to, stop doing the cleaning/cooking/washing and go sit in the sun and listen to your children's laughter. And when your husband is home, or when you get home, look into his eyes and speak from your heart. Because we are never guaranteed a tomorrow.