It was time to sort through boxes in the attic and without thinking too much about the process I tackled the first one. I knew that it was likely that I would come across stuff in the boxes that would upset me but to what depth, I hadn’t really given much thought to.
Pulling the cardboard apart I found myself staring down at a manila folder marked Aidan Cale. Putting this aside for later I rummaged through and questioned myself about what to keep and what to throw away. All parents go through the same dilemma of what value, will what’s in storage boxes have for others, who have to sift through your things.
Every piece of paper in that box is a memory. Having to tear up memories, cast them aside and throw them into the bin is painful. And as each piece of torn paper flutters into the bin that returned memory hurts. For me especially as these memories were all of Aidan’s illness. His medical bills, CT scans, feedback on how the tumour was behaving, emails to Dr Teo, payments, parking slips, his will, his funeral costs and details, and copies of the service booklet and chef’s hats.
I still haven’t been through the manilla folder because the box next to it has been home to Laila’s doll these past years. The doll with no clothes on was loved and held throughout her numerous hospital stays and throughout her illness, was now staring at me.
I felt myself unravelling fast and I walked away to the safety and quiet of the lounge, and just sobbed. When Gerard came to find me I tried to articulate how I was feeling. That although I have spent these past 27 years working on myself, seeking and getting help, the anger, frustration, pain and sadness just flooded back. It’s been 27 years since Laila died and 14 years since Aidan followed her.
In the seconds it took to cut through the tape on the box so did it undo all those years of self help – professional help and all the exploration I undertook to try and make sense of, and understand, why I lost my children.
When Laila died having Aidan to care for and love helped me enormously. We shared a grief but he needed his mother and I needed to step-up and keep focused and loving. Alongside I explored alternate beliefs, painted, played music, worked hard and played hard. Aidan helped me keep my balance and loving each other we were moving forward, a future unfolding and I was dealing with my grief.
But, losing Aidan left me looking into the abyss. I understand why parents who lose a child have another, to love, to hold, for life to have meaning whilst carrying the memory and pain. This time I had to deal with the combined loss on my own.
People say time heals, get over it, move on, and quote the text book stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. And I say that’s just rubbish! It’s like telling 8.2 billion people that there are 12 star-signs and that you are the same in behaviour and temperament as 68.5 million people. One size doesn’t fit all and we individually have different circumstances, beliefs, backgrounds and the cruel tragedy that befell us.
Aleisha and I went to the hill to sit with A this morning to find that someone has chopped down his beautiful tree planted 14 years ago. We both were devastated but his plant is still there under which we placed his ashes so many years ago. While we sat there the sun shone on our backs and the day was quiet which gave us time to reflect, cry, share and remember.
We have made it through another year, another day, and a new day awaits us. So to must I try and put aside the anger, pain and depression, and greet tomorrow with a smile to embrace a new memory, keeping those beautiful souls I birthed alive in my heart, my mind and all around me. Celebrating them and all those who loved them.
I sat on my bench in my garden in the quiet of the morning and let my tears flow. Sitting there made me acknowledge that I don’t allow myself the space to grieve or cry. And that when you’re not feeling good you need to let others know. For me that’s particularly difficult.
As I’m getting older and perhaps a little wiser, I’m learning to cry in front of others, to be vulnerable and speak my truth without shame or fear. And also recognising that I am strong and in control and know that I know myself and am fully aware of my pain, strength and vulnerability.
My thoughts this morning that awakened me were of Aidan and Laila, and how proud he was being a brother. He used to sit and watch her when she was a baby, making her laugh and changing her nappies, dressing up together, playing, watching Disney movies and singing along, making me breakfast in bed, chopping wood and sitting under the Christmas tree opening presents, and just loving each other.
Waking A in the middle of the night to take Lails to the hospital and letting him sleep on hospital chairs was part of our rhythm but he never complained, he was never grumpy, he just loved.
His gift to our life was his sheer joy in giving, with warmth and humour, and some mischievousness. Aidan warmed others to him and made life a little easier.
Watching someone you love hurting cuts deeply but they endure and fight to live. How often have I wanted to give up but remember that Aidan fought to live, even when he knew it was just for Aleisha and me, his mother. That the sick fight to live and that life is worth fighting for.
That is something I have had to learn to accept.
To love and give without expectation is another lesson I have had to learn. Its something I have always done but have been deeply hurt when turned against. This past year has been a time of reflection, of acceptance that trusting, loving and caring is not always reciprocated, appreciated or returned and that giving is a greater gift than receiving.
Aidan taught me that so much – he just loved me, he love Aleisha, he loved life but his fight for life, although immense and with such strength and conviction was not to be.
It doesn’t matter how many days pass – my sadness and pain will not diminish. Children do not understand the depth of love a parent has for a child – by birth or by association or by marriage.
But I do sit on my bench and listen to the birds, watch the kangaroos, the clouds racing by, or sit at the ocean and remember the days of fish and chips of the rocks, and cricket on the beach, playground and ice-creams, laughter and tears and an outpouring of love and warmth. And remember my children and the children I’ve loved in my life and on my journey, and smile at the memories and let the tears flow.
I love you my beautiful son Aidan Cale and wish I understood this life and the pain I bear. But I am so happy and grateful to have walked our short journey together and that you left me a beautiful legacy to embrace, love and cherish, who share our love.
My home has always been where my children are. It’s a place where we as a family made memories, where we loved each other, and tears and laughter were shared.
It’s where the magic happened.
Christmas has always been a time when I have felt the magic of home. Where giving is a pleasure without expectation of receiving, and sitting around the table with family and friends sharing a meal and stories is heart-warming. Aidan loved the festive season and his love for cooking meant we had fun baking and creating a feast to be enjoyed.
It didn’t matter where the three of us lived, it was home.
Due to circumstances, we moved a few times, but we always settled, unpacked and made the best of it. A few add-ons helped such as a white rat, and a cat or two!
Laila was such a delight in the home, she bought the sunshine in and brightened our days. She and Aidan were always up to something, conspiring, dressing up, chopping wood and lighting fires both in and out, watching Disney videos and singing along together, decorating the Xmas tree and unwrapping gifts together…
It was just not enough time. We crammed so much into those three short years, and its all I have to remember.
After Laila died our home had an empty space. Everywhere we went made us sad as her memory was all around. Life keeps moving on and so did we. But when Aidan asked if I would consider moving to Australia it was an idea I could consider.
Leaving Laila behind was not going to be easy, and my heart just kept breaking. Aidan, and I plus Debbie, Renee, Vaun and Karen decided we needed to have a farewell wake for Lails and our friends (who we loved as family), and let her rest in our beautiful botanic garden, Kirstenbosch.
Her illness dictated where we could spend time, which was mostly outdoors away from germs, so Kirstenbosch became a haven for us all. We would picnic on the lawns and the kids would play, run around and have fun (whilst some alcohol was consumed). It was the obvious place to say adieu.
Aidan played his saxophone which made us all teary and me very proud, friends spoke, poems were read and petals sent downstream. Laila’s ashes are at C-19 next to a beautiful tree at our favourite spot.
Our ‘family’ of friends gave Laila a beautiful send off and a lasting memory. It helped Aidan and I leave knowing we were surrounded by the love and friendship of our chosen family who we were sad to leave behind.
It was time for the two of us to step into the light and find a new home, far far away. It wasn’t to forget but to carry Laila in our hearts and to make new memories, and new beginnings.
Laila was an unexpected gift to Aidan and I, and one that I am so grateful to have had.
I am soo sad, and miss my beautiful girl. I will soon raise a glass to celebrate Laila’s life, and to remember the day we said goodbye. Forever your mom. XOX 09.01.1995 – 31.12.1997
A few days before he passed, we wheeled his bed out into the sunshine onto a balcony overlooking the hospital grounds. Aidan wearing his Elvis sunglasses and posing for photos with us. The sun was shining, and it was a special time for us all. We knew time was short and even though it wasn’t how a honeymoon should have been spent we were grateful for every moment spent with A. My heart hurt for the two of them, for me, whilst feeling so happy that they had found something many spend their lifetime searching for. There was laughter, smiles and a sense of happiness that Sunday. A few days later Aidan would depart leaving a gaping hole in our lives.
Aidan’s illness didn’t wither him away, he remained larger than life with the drugs enlarging his body, but his humour and gentle spirit always shone through so that you never thought about the physical changes happening to him.
I have spilt many tears lately reading the news. The WhatsApp group of women sharing their strength and concern for each other and their families, the tragedy of so many children and babies slaughtered, the terror of many women about to give birth with bombs raining down, not having anywhere to go, children bewildered and frightened – the future an uncertainty for many.
There is so much sadness and pain in the world and yet there is so much happiness and hope as well.
Enjoy the small things in life and don’t be so focused on the negative. Don’t forget to smell the flowers, take off your shoes and feel the land. Look up and see the wonder of the universe and remember those that fly high. Talk to those around you, and just love them as our lives can change in an instant.
I was told that I should ‘just move on’ and what’s funny is that I naturally move on and realign my life to the circumstances around me. But with heart, soul and memory I have no control over moving on. Grief sits like an uninvited visitor, lurking in the shadows, showing itself and standing in the light at unplanned moments. Moments when a familiar song plays, a smell passes me by, a colour attracts my attention, a meaningful date shows on the calendar, a moment or a memory flits past. It trips me up just as I feel I’m moving on, just to remind me that when it comes to grief there is no moving on.
I just have to accept, cope and include it into my ‘moving on’ mantra.
When you stop fighting and accept, and allow it to happen, embracing the moment, let the tears fall and feel the grief, then I believe you’ve moved on.
The years keep passing but my missing Aidan every day never changes. I’m so terribly sad that he is not close to hug and to hold, and I wish I understood life better. So, I’ll take off my shoes and walk through my garden, see the new flowers on my jacaranda tree, the new protea blooms, the budding avo tree, smell the jasmine, and sit on our bench and raise a glass to the sunset and to my beautiful Aidan.
I said to Aleisha, ‘I will not believe my life has been a lie’.
There will always be fingers pointed, usually only as murmurings from afar, often from those that are envious or jealous, but when it is from those that you think are close to you, or whom you love, who do it unexpectedly then the punch is hard, yet questionable.
At high school it was not my peers who struck but my teachers, because I stood up and stood out.
My life stripped bare when I was 16 and the bottom fell out over the next few years. The resilience of youth is amazing and perhaps that I also didn’t give in, or up, and just kept looking forward and pushing upwards.
I’ve always had my twin brothers who have held out their hands from close or afar in comfort and support. And luckily my small group of friends have carried and dragged me through many of my stumbles and heartaches, and still do. My journey has been fraught with sadness so being a part of it for these amazing people cannot have been easy.
But those closest who turn and point and cause irreparable harm are often entitled, having had a safety net through life, and have no reason to blame and denounce the past as a sham, pointing fingers and preferring not to take accountability for their part or actions, with lack of understanding.
I’m often amazed at how many choose which memories of the past to remember, or just rewrite those memories to back up their story or to complete their picture – whether truthful or pure fantasy, or just wrong. How sad is that, because it will always hurt someone, perhaps unknowingly or on purpose.
There is so much of our journey that most people whom we meet, or who pass though are blissfully unaware of. If we scratched the surface or spent time really getting to know each other we would be amazed at how arduous some have been, and if we took time to really know and understand before throwing stones, pointing fingers and just being awful, then perhaps life would be a little kinder for all.
My therapist has said I should write a book, take my blog and publish it and share with others. I started writing about Laila’s journey which abruptly stopped when I moved 8 years ago, and my life was packed in boxes. Maybe one day when I unpack and find my old journal, I’ll complete it but if you’d like a glimpse the beginning is here https://thepiratechef.au/laila/
My story continues, happily. My life has not been a lie.
I’ve lived it and taken responsibility for my role in it. I’ve survived losing both my parents young, raising my own two children who loved me unconditionally and I them. I’ve had to endure both my beautiful children being given life’s ‘odds’ and succumbing to those illnesses. I’ve embraced my life through the good the bad and the ugly, loving those around me and tripping along my various paths. Taking on a family and learning to love someone else’s children whilst mine was enduring his own.
Many of those around me couldn’t understand the grief of a 16-year-old whose father went away for a weekend and never came home. Many would only understand years later, or maybe not at all.
Many wouldn’t understand how finding out that you were lied to and found your mother dead when you were 23 was numbing and would affect you for years after.
Many will never understand that being told your daughter of 2 who you were raising as a single mom, had a 50/50 chance of survival, was your worst nightmare and that losing your baby shy of her 3rd birthday at 39 was unthinkable, and having to break that news to your darling son who was 11 was tragic.
Many can never understand immigrating with a son of 15 nor that settling in a new country was traumatic.
Many will never understand accepting a relationship with a man single handedly bringing up 5 children in a strange country and embracing them as your own.
Many will never understand when your son of 22 stands in front of you and apologises for putting you through another diagnosis after being told he has an inoperable tumour.
Many will never understand how beautiful it is to see your brave son marry the girl he loves.
Many will never understand when your son tells you he feels like he is waiting to die and how selfish you feel for enjoying every moment with him and willing him to live.
Many will never understand how broken you feel to have to say goodbye to your boy of 24, and the heartache that lasts forever.
Many will never know how much I have loved and lost and still love, nor will they ever understand.
Some will continue to throw accusations, stones, punches or whatever because it serves their story – their purpose. I say throw as much as you like and believe whatever lie your story lets you tell to comfort yourself or to make yourself better in your story, but I don’t care.
Its your lie and your life.
I live mine, surrounded by the family and friends who love, care and want me with them. Giving of myself fully to them in every way I can because I am grateful that they walk with me, that they have taken the time to see me, and bits of my journey and have chosen to hold my shattered heart with love and care.
I thank you for your help… to ground me, to find peace and happiness in each day and to love you all.
Today I celebrate my beautiful boy Aidan on his 37th birthday. He made my life whole, and he filled my heart with love, happiness, laughter and joy. I miss him every day.
Take each day as it dawns
Enjoy and love those around you
Smile and live life.
A misty morning with light rain greeted me when I woke…. I felt broken. Twelve years today since I hugged my boy and heard him laugh and saw his smile. The story books just don’t tell the truth, death is confronting, and grief continues.
Coffee on the hill this morning in the swirling clouds, and gentle rain, was a quiet relief and a good place to let tears fall in silence.
Loud music in my car dumbed down my grief and my memories on repeat.
As I made my way to Brisbane, I drove past the hospital to see it encircled in purple. The Jacaranda trees in full bloom were a beautiful sight but made me cry. When we lived in Cape Town, we had beautiful Jacarandas in our street that created a radiant purple carpet.
Twelve years ago, when we eventually said our goodbyes and left the hospital, I never noticed the sea of purple surrounding us. So deep was my despair and trying to navigate my way out of the carpark for the Mountain took all my strength and focus. Today was different.
I looked and saw and cried.
Twelve years ago, I sat on Aidan’s hospital bed and talked, made plans and said I love you. It wasn’t supposed to be a goodbye. Later he closed his eyes, and our hearts broke.
I know he was tired, many months (years) of chemo and radiation, injections and scans, bloods and consultations, and in-between fun and laughter, baking and good food, vows and weddings and plans for the future.
I should have been able to watch him grow and be happy but how fortunate was I that I did watch him, grieve, grow and be happy. That was Aidan. My son who loved and was loved, and who made the most of each day as best he could… always making future plans… with a smile and a hug.
To say I miss Aidan is an understatement. When Laila died, we knew each other’s grief, he helped distract me, loved me and showed me how to laugh again. We painted, played music, baked and cooked, walked in forests and hugged trees, and lived life with sadness and grief.
This time its different and I feel broken in parts, such utter sadness that just overflows as it finds its way to the surface when I’m not taking notice. It just is and has to be accepted.
The morning birds and wallabies, coffee, cat and cows make me smile, and give me a reason to start my day. The beautiful gardens I’m surrounded by, bring me joy as do my family.
Aleisha said, “kiss our boy on the wind, I have hugs for you”.
I did that this morning. Held his tree and sent my love on its way and then went to receive my hugs. It was a special day filled with wonderful family and friends.
Change. How often have we heard that word… sometimes embracing it, or ignoring it, or having no control of the change wrought in our lives. How I have envied some friends whose lives seem devoid of change and looks so nice, on an even keel. There are not many who blithely go through life unaffected by change whilst many of us are bashed around by the suddenness, and sometimes cruelness of change.
I have screamed at the universe that I would like my life to just be, for a while. Calm and quiet, moving sedately along as the seasons change. But I think I was born under a restless star that delighted in throwing me into a universe of chaos and an emotional quagmire of constant change.
Today is a typical example. Woke sad and restless knowing that as the sun rose, I’d have to rise and tackle the emotions that were sure to burst over me. Milestones that persist each year such as birthdays, weddings, a funeral, Xmas and NY will always be celebrations of life, and what has been, but are also reminders of what is lost. Just as I was about to set out to have coffee on the hill with Aidan and celebrate his birthday, Aleisha alerted me to the problem that Aidan’s Facebook page is missing! Not how I envisaged the start of my day to have lost A again.
I try so hard to keep whatever I can of Aidan. But I keep losing bits of him which is a horrible feeling. He used to be on my private health card, and then they removed him. The bank told me they will be removing A off my internet banking which was like a kick in the guts. I’m still hanging onto my Medicare card as he is no 2. Every time it gets renewed, I hold my breath to see if they ‘forget’ and leave him with me. I love looking at my cards and internet banking and see A is still with me. Now FB has decided to deactivate him. What next!
Desperation set in and my stomach churned as to how to get him back. How to stop more change when my day had barely begun. Fighting with a huge beast that has almost no contact with a human but sucks in all our info, and memories, and controls them. It made me mad and sad, and I decided to leave it till later as there was no fight in me.
Aidan’s spot was cool as the sun hadn’t climbed the hill, but the wind was still and the winter chill lifting. Fresh coffee, beautiful views and Aidan’s tree warmed me. A bleeding-heart bush with its burst of red leaves, which is growing in front of our tree, weeps for us all. And so, another year is passing, and my wonderful boy is growing older, although in our minds he will forever be the young A we loved.
Spending time at Sirromet was good for me. A few good changes have taken place there since we held Aidan’s wake on the terrace, and being outdoors with memories of the good times, we have all had there, was soothing for my soul, as well as being with friends and family who loved him.
Change can be swift, as it was with Aidan, and pushed us off course onto a path none of us wanted. But its what it is, and I am so grateful that my journey, that has been riddled with change, put Aidan in my life and let me be his mother and love him.
I am so sad, and I miss him every day, but I wouldn’t change what I had. It was a beautiful journey.
Searching for the truth, we send astronauts to the moon, shoot rockets to space to explore the unknown, look for answers in the abyss, so thirsty for knowledge and understanding.
Yet generally assumptive, easily swayed to believe someone else’s truth if its plausible and from a trusted sourced (although these days a trusted source is no longer an expert but google or social media), and often have biased opinions which are shared without fact checking. A strange time bending to the will of the minority, allowing the woke mentality to rise and spew forth and create disruption. But the silent majority usually flex their will when its time.
Amongst all this upheaval of life, when we address death so many have a blind belief in faith, in religions, believing that mankind will be saved, or reincarnated, or released to heaven.
People don’t usually discuss death, perhaps as there is some fear attached to it, or just because we don’t understand it, it’s a huge unknown, a little frightening, a shadow that hangs over us. We all know that to live, our lives will end. But more than that we do not know.
No-one can say ‘I’m not ready to die because no one has proven what happens after’ or that ‘I will not die until I know for sure’. When its time, its out of our control, and it just happens.
Life is such a mystery, it just unfolds, a roller coaster ride of happiness and heartache, success and defeat, unbridled joy and immense sadness. The one thing we humans do know is that we grow old (hopefully) and then leave this world, and beyond that we have absolutely no idea. This is why some seek answers, and others have faith.
After reading the Sunday paper an article gave me strange comfort and started a conversation that was deeply personal and emotional – because we had to say goodbye and watch our dearest depart.
After Laila died, I searched for answers, for an understanding of why, and where to. I read books, meditated, went to church, joined circles, attended healings, and painted my heartache onto canvas. There were no answers or revelations, but I met some wonderful, amazing people along the way.
So, when Aidan was diagnosed, I just took each moment of every day and loved him, and time. We three made plans, we talked about the future, we ate wonderful food, we laughed, cried, hung onto hope, hugged each other through disappointments but never gave up. The end came swiftly and still we made every moment count. We celebrated love with weddings and celebrations, and then we had to let go.
That morning sitting on Aidan’s bed laughing and talking I think I knew in my heart that the end was near. I’m sad that I was not with him, Aleisha was, which is what I believe my boy wanted. I wasn’t far away and was there within minutes to share that heart splintering moment with her. Raw pain is a so sad to see. There are no words or explanation – it’s a time to hug and hold – to just be.
So many questions unanswered – where is he, how is he, how does he feel, is the cycle of life just that, are we just dust to dust and ashes to ashes, is he singing in the breeze, or laughing in a storm, or just waiting at the end of my rainbow. We just don’t know. Life is a journey and after …a mystery.
I always look for my boy, and often I find him. It makes me sad; it makes me smile, it makes me cry and it makes me a little happier.
Our human journey is strewn with unknowns, so to read someone’s experience at their time of death gave me that strange sense of comfort. We all want our loved ones to be peaceful, to feel safe and loved, and to cross over easily. Losing those who are attached to your heart is heart breaking but the not knowing where… is tough. So, to catch someone else’s glimpse and to stitch that into our own tapestry of belief or understanding is a comforting thing.
There was an article in the Courier Mail about a chap who has an extremely unusual and frightening case of vasovagal syncope, known as the fainters’ condition, he flatlines and then spontaneously comes back to life
He said:
One of the most memorable attacks was when I was in The Tweed Hospital, and I heard the heart monitor making the flatline noise. I understood that I was gone. I heard my family being herded out of the ward and a doctor was pushing open my eyelids and telling me to stay with him. I felt my arms and legs go really heavy, but it felt like my soul or my thoughts were light. I felt a wave of content and I was not scared. There was no tunnel, no bright light but it wasn’t darkness. It felt comfortable. I don’t know how long that feeling lasted but as I was coming back, that is when there was a whirling, swirling feeling and flashes of the faces of my family appeared.
Last night as the wind changed, I wrote but my writing was very dark and lost which is not where I want to be. So, I waited till this morning. After wandering through the garden admiring king proteas, feeding fish and breathing in the fresh air after the rain, the words flowed easier and lighter.
I never wanted Aidan to die.
Aleisha and I fought so hard beside him, willing a miracle or for the drugs to work, because he so deserved to live. After having travelled the journey with Laila I wanted to grow old with Aidan.
He was so much more to me than just A. After having lost both my parents, with little family close by, Aidan just filled my heart with valve bursting joy. I loved him and Laila completely. He just loved us and brought so much joy into many lives. His kindness was huge. A was never ashamed to hold my hand no matter how old he was, to share his thoughts and emotions, to just talk and tease, to hug and to just love me.
I believed that he would always be here, and never gave a thought that he would leave so soon.
It’s that unchallenged belief that I’d share all those life events that other parents experience with their children. For support, for celebrations, to hold a hand over the bumps, for their grandchildren, to just grow old and to share the bonds of age. It is very hard to witness these and know they will never truly be mine.
Watching A’s love for Aleisha, his love for cooking, for life, for trying new things, his desire to travel and new ventures – was so special.
Grief is not worn externally but sits under your skin and travels with you till the end of time. In a blink of an eye, it rises above to spark a memory, to cause pain, to make you cry, to jolt you back to sadness and then it subsides and lulls you into a stillness…. For a while.
Life is not all about grief – there is so much more to life, but the trick is how to accept that, and to learn to live comfortably with grief, accepting its presence, knowing its always there and allowing it too just be.
Eleven years ago, we shared A’s birthday with him. It was a memorable evening, and it was to be the last birthday we blew out candles together. But I celebrate every birthday with A.
I share every day with my boy. He Is never far from me as my body holds all the memories, and love.
Today I cry, and so many days I still cry but in-between I remember my darling Aidan with a smile, with laughter and with those around me. This is what sustains me.
I look up often, and the rainbows, the clouds, storms, sunsets and sunrises carry A in them and bring to me. I will always weep and miss my boy as this grief of mine is for life.
For now, I will climb into my transformer that Aidan would have loved, and reminds me of days gone by, and go and sip coffee on the hill with him and sit quietly with my thoughts. Tears will drop and friends will connect. Tonight, surrounded by the love of friends I will sip a wine, and toast my boy and absent friends, and take a deep breath.
The New Year has arrived around the globe bringing – hopefully – a more gentle, and peaceful year than the last one.
I went to sit on the hill after work last night to be with A but it was crowded and I was too emotional to sit amongst many. So I headed home and crushed a few biscuits, shed a few tears into the bowl, and made rum balls, which were shared with friends while seeing in 2021.
Last year was a good year in so many ways for me, but not emotionally. Ten years without Aidan, and twenty three without Laila should not create such a numbing sadness. But as each year passes the depth of despair just gets deeper. Grief is a strange and unwelcome guest.
Life, and time, keeps moving and pulling us along, sometimes in control, other times lulling us into believing we are in control, but all the time changing. These constant changes keep highlighting my loss, on many levels. So many milestones not to be shared or experienced. Life for me often feels as though its standing still, marking time, without the experiences that so many around me are enjoying.
I watch from the sidelines, often feeling like a spectator, sometimes lucky enough to be beckoned to join in, and always grateful for the encouragement and extended hand clasping me at that moment, a moment shared and enjoyed.
The cat sits next to me purring contentedly, the rain patters down while the skies show distant patches of blue. Everywhere I look the grass is greening and the air smells clean.
I hope this marks the beginning to a year of good health, of hope and peace. One which will herald in a baby in May, a celebration and wedding later in the year, and some joy and upliftment to us all.
01.01.2021
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and old lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
And surely you’ll buy your pint cup! and surely I’ll buy mine! And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine; But we’ve wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne.
We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun till dine; But seas between us broad have roared since auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand my trusty friend! And give me a hand o’ thine! And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne.
The ache and contraction of my body reminds me what day it is. It just happens with no prompting from me. The tension and aching builds over a few days, just recognisable, the pain wells up, and this day dawns.
I’ve read the books, and talked at length, but the reality is, that this is a long and winding road of grief that some of us walk. It was supposed to be a lifetime full of promise, but an unexpected, unpredictable moment was the starting gun to my encounter with grief, with no end in sight. I believe for each of us its different, and unpredictable.
Recently two young families I know and love experienced miscarriages, the promise of new life was broken, and they were left grief stricken. Its at times like these that I have few words. So much is out of control that we just cling on with bleeding hearts, we stand, and we stumble upon our journey along the winding road of grief.
I have spent time reflecting on how I grieve for Laila compared to Aidan, and I know it’s not comparable. I only had Laila for 3 short years whereas I had A for 24. She filled different spaces and bought us untold joy so her parting shattered us both. Aidan and I shared a common grief which entwined us even more, and cemented that deep attachment we bore for each other, as mother and son. His death broke me.
The books will talk about stages and time and life and emotions and, and, and … but in truth we are not just statistics, nor are we the same. So much influences our daily lives, our abilities, our heartbreak, our coping and our grief.
Some days I walk the long straight of the road and not much disturbs me, thoughts flit past, memories stir up, a reflection makes me smile, and time floats by. Other days I amble along and look up, the sky reflects my mood and I talk to the kids asking and looking for a sign. Some days I fall to my knees and crawl, others I drag myself along, and occasionally I just lie and sob and feel soo sad. And then I’m around the bend and back on my feet heading off again.
Today I stood at Aidan’s tree we planted 10 years ago, looking out over the valley and nothing made sense. It doesn’t matter how much I try to make sense of any of it, I cannot. I just have to accept and be and walk the path.
I wiped my tears and got into my car and headed to work. Regained my balance and focused on my now, then found my footing again on that long straight stretch on my road.
Isn’t it amazing that today is international chef’s day, every year on the 20th October chefs around the world teach kids about healthy eating and letting them be creative with food. I know our Pirate Chef would be chuffed to be sharing this day with so many amazing chefs.
Take care in this crazy world – take time for you – love and care for each other – and light a candle for those who are not with us anymore.
I love this boy with all of me. Aidan Cale fly high.
When I look at the photos taken on your birthday 10 years ago its hard to believe that it was the last birthday we had with you. It was a lovey upbeat night, and you looked so happy.
We were all busy preparing for a wedding – living with hope – when Aleisha and I were called and told to prepare ourselves to say goodbye to you. What followed was a whirlwind of 2 weddings and a funeral.
Knowing we were going to have to say goodbye to you, but not knowing when, or how long we had left, was awful. But we took a day at a time, climbed over each obstacle and made the most of every minute we could. We stayed with you, we laughed together, shared meals, watched you struggle but still with a sense of humour wearing your elvis sunglasses, and just loved you.
When I look back over the past ten years so much has transpired – this hasn’t been the greatest decade for me – and oh my boy I have missed your bear hugs and gentle words.
Not only did I say goodbye to you, my amazing son, but I had to endure many private battles and struggles over these years. I felt like I just kept losing children, friends and myself.
But, as I am reminded it hasn’t all been bad, and that is so true.
Each day brings some magic with it. Sometimes just small stuff like…wow I woke up today… to that wonderful feeling basking in the sun drinking coffee.
Many milestone birthdays have been celebrated, good works have been done, I have welcomed new people into my life, old friends have reconnected, and some moved back into my space… and a baby was born. How lucky am I.
I still struggle with the deep sadness that entwines me. When I try to make sense of some of what has been, and what has been lost, I give myself a headache, cry a little, and sink a bit deeper.
So, every day I look for something to make me smile.
I love looking up as its constantly changing from glorious sunsets, to awesome moons, fluffy clouds, cloudless cold starry skies, fiery sunrises and the birds that break the colour of blue. A great reminder of our wonderful world.
Death strikes a cut so deep and ragged that the wound never heals, it pulses and weeps, and tears and heals, then weeps again, always remaining and reminding.
Loss and rejection are different. That pain is dull, consistent and aches and twists inside. Hard to fathom and understand but trying to accept is my way forward. I cannot change what has been, and what will be, will be. But I can keep my door ajar to let a welcoming light in, but alas it also lets in the darkness. The choice to close the door is a difficult one, and a decision I cannot make, just yet.
A – I sat on the hill with you this morning, with your ashes beneath me. An easy time to reflect and remember. To wish for what should have been, and to feel easy in my sadness.
Your birthday photo made me smile, at you, with cheeks I used to pinch, and eyes that would tease me and sometimes infuriate me. But love you I did.
We will celebrate together and raise a glass to you. We will laugh and cry together and share a few memories, and we will love and cherish our baby who is now a toddler, bringing us all the joy we need.
It’s a beautiful day – not a breath of wind, the sun is warm and kind, and the winter chill has subsided, the views are stunning, and the song of birds is strong. A perfect day to remember you on your 34th birthday.
I’ll sit here a little longer, weep a little and then I will type up my scribble to share.
You are my sweetheart, always resting safely in my heart, remembered daily, bringing me bittersweet joy and sadness.
Love you always Aidan Cale.
the mother
25.06.2010 – your brown eyed girl Aleisha, and beloved granny Rita
Recently experiencing a near-miss car accident and how the world slowed in that moment is what I experienced when Laila was born. Time slowed, my heart expanded, and this tiny beautiful human lay in my arms, energies expanding and intertwining, love just flowing.
It had been a roller coaster 9 months. An unexpected pregnancy, then tossed aside and abandoned, surrounded by shame and guilt which eventually, thankfully ignited my indignation and determination.
I don’t believe anyone at the time understood what I was going through, bits and bobs but not a clear view.
To have those you called family reject you, and turn their backs closing rank on you – the outsider – was awful and demoralising. My resolve deepened in the face of rejection, and the lack of morality bit deep. Many late-night calls to brothers on different continents, to my close friends debating the best way forward… the decision then made to keep this gift and go it alone.
I’m always fascinated, and often surprised at how much good comes out of adversity. Friendships strengthened, colleagues accepted and supported, others encouraged, and life opened up many opportunities for us.
Aidan was the most delighted as his wish list had come true, and not at all concerned about our changing circumstances. He was so proud, delighted and full of concern. My sweet eight-year-old.
A and I visited Australia 3 months pregnant for the first time. The change of scenery gave me room to breathe, to see new beginnings and to face up to, and accept, that no-one would break me. So determined and happy we returned home.
There were two people who mattered to me and I was unsure how accepting of the situation they would be. I sat down and wrote my story in a letter and asked if they were willing to put the past behind us and how wonderful it would be to have them in our lives. I was overwhelmed with the response and it was a good lesson.
Our brains have a way of fabricating stories, blowing situations out of proportion when in fact the truth is much simpler. We are so complicated – often acting first, thinking later, living with regret, or relief. We try to force relationships to work because we think we might be worse off without it, or not cope.
We are so desperate to fit some bizarre mould our parents thrust upon us. We bow to public pressure, try not to stand out in a crowd. We let others tell us how to live or think. They badger us and try emotional blackmail until we believe what they are saying about us. They try to break our self esteem and independence. They want us to think like them… to be like them, to rely on them.
I have been abandoned, bullied, belittled, cast aside and desperately tread water trying to keep the balance as I knew it. Life has a way of smacking us around and I got a huge sideways one.
I threw off the negativity and the bullshit and stood proud. Pulled at all my inner resources and found the strength to be proud of me. Looked and saw my own goodness and capabilities which enabled me to move forward and deal with everything that was thrown at me. I forgave myself and over the next few years forgave those who had hurt me.
Laila’s life was short but the impact of her life on many was huge.
Regret is a terrible word and can eat into your soul. If you have regret deal with it and let it go before it causes more harm. Acknowledge it and then decide on a course of action. Write a letter the old-fashioned way, a card or email to the person/persons whom you have wounded or hurt, or who hurt you.
If they have passed find a quiet space and talk to them, let the winds carry your words. Or light a candle and sit with your thoughts or write them down and then burn the paper.
The unburdening of a story is very cathartic.
I know I did the right thing for both Aidan and myself in bringing our darling girl into this world. Having Laila in our lives for those 3 years was a glorious, wonderous experience. It was also one of the hardest journeys of my life.
But without pain we are not living. Nor are we forgiving and growing.
Out of the ashes grows beautiful things, colourful and bright, and full of hope and life. Grow out of your ashes – give it a try, its worth it. And always walk with hope in your heart.
Miss you my beautiful daughter.
Wishing you a happy 25th birthday on Thursday – 9th January 2020
Aidan’s 0-7 years was not the calm, uncomplicated beginning I wished for my son, neither was it for Laila but I was determined to love them, provide for them, talk to them and have fun along the way.
Looking back on my life I know its been very different to yours. We all have a story or stories to tell on what has been, and whether we allowed it to define us or if we have grown, changed or just decided that was not the story we wanted, and moved into a new story.
My friends, and siblings/family have been such an integral part of my story.
My 0-7years were happy years, surrounded by parents, siblings and all the grandparents.
8-16 was odd at times, full of change, moving and unknowns. Back then I did not really understand all that was happening, and I don’t think my parents did either as heart disease and stress, smoking and diet was not understood as it is today.
Then 16 happened and death stood at the foot of my bed for the first time. My father went away for a weekend and never came home. The mother I had known, changed into someone I didn’t relate to. Love her I did, understand her I did not.
Having suffered I can now understand some of her grief and change, but not all of it. She didn’t see my pain, my disbelief, shock and hurt. But my friends did. They walked with me, held my hand, talked for hours and days, and stood by me.
It was the beginning of another story, and a long and arduous journey of pain, and immense suffering.
Losing so much family so fast was numbing. Within ten years my parents and four grandparents were gone. I felt so adrift and alone with what should have been an easy story turning into chapters of an ever-evolving book.
Marriage and Aidan, single parenthood then Laila, and the turbulence of life just kept coming at me full tilt. And so, another chapter got added to my book, and then another when Laila was diagnosed, and then another when she took her last breath.
Aidan and I decided to write a new story and moved to a new land that is home. But soon the story book was opened again but this time it was Aidan who wrote the first line… I’m sorry mom that you have to go through this again… However, this story crammed a lifetime into it with all its ups and downs. But so many magical moments happened, so many memories. Full of love and laughter amongst the agony, illness and suffering.
So many of us shared in that story which in part ended the day that A took his last breath.
But I carry their story in my story which I remind myself of so often. And I know you carry them in your story too.
My friends old and new, my family old and new, have walked with me, some have walked every step with me and held my hand, and my children’s who have passed. Some are no longer with us; some have moved on. But those who still walk with me, near or far… I hope you know how grateful I am that you have been part of my journey and the paragraphs in my story book.
I couldn’t have survived this far without you. Those impromptu visits that I do, the sleep overs, lounging on a couch with a brandy or red wine, the doctor visits, the calls from my car, the vet visits, the dawn visits to the hospital , coffee baskets, treatment rosters, beach walks, shooters, late nights dancing, the relocations, the arrangements, our coffee meets, the friendships, the tears and laughter, copious cups of tea, balancing work and life…basically just coping with me.
You have helped ground me where I am today. The glue that binds me has been stretched to breaking point so many times and putting myself back together has not just been my effort, it’s also been that one of you heard me, and answered. Its not always easy being here but here I remain.
From my heart – Thank You for being part of my story.
Aidan was not prepared to settle for where his story was, but was determined to keep editing it and growing it for himself. He loved Laila from the depths of his soul and always mourned her passing but he saw more for himself, and so he pushed for our journey to change course.
Sitting here today I understand why A did, and I am grateful, for he has left me where I should be. What a wonderful parting gift he gave me. I still howl at the moon, and agonise at dawn, and cry into the wind as nothing really makes sense although I try to just accept and be.
Aidan’s light shone so bright and enveloped us all in his love for life and for all of us.
How many children do I have – I’m often asked – well I gave birth to two and they are still with me every day. Just today we remember A, as he was and how much he gave us.
Last night I sat and listened to the rain pummel the roof while my tears dripped to the floor. I so wish that change stopped happening and that life could maintain the ebb and flow that I get accustomed to. But here I sit wishing my boy a happy birthday on my lounge chair in the dark of night accompanied by raindrops and feeling disappointed in myself that I’m so time poor and didn’t find the time to create a post for Aidan.
My scrambled thoughts trying to unravel my day and give me a semblance of order to the words I want to write. I know I’m my own worst enemy as I keep myself busy, drowned in work and committees, not giving myself time to breath and smell the roses. I do however always remember to look up and appreciate at least a moment in each day.
I opened A’s website and flicked through his photos. Each one brought back a memory and a recognition of time and place. The promise of life, of a future, of something new or just to be. Well that just made be sob as each thought just hurt.
The constant chatter in my head, the work and the meetings are actually what keeps driving me and getting me out of bed. Without them all those unanswered questions, thoughts and doubts would just keep resurfacing, incessantly spinning and turning like being caught in a hamster wheel. They don’t do me any good and pull me to low ebbs.
A friend asked after her 4-year loss if it gets better. Never. Loss just hovers under the surface just waiting to overflow at any opportunity.
Sometimes I can exert control and keep life bumbling along with little outward sign of this ‘under the surface turbulence’. But sometimes it just bubbles out like an inner volcano that just erupts when it needs to. Often taking me by surprise but most of the time I know the triggers.
It’s the bitter sweetness of life that I often struggle with and try to accept. Knowing there is much that I will never experience, that I have to witness others doing. These are often the most difficult moments to bear.
Many cannot understand my need to keep busy, to work, to be involved and to tease my head but I know if I stop and be still for too long it’s possible the stillness will overtake me and paralyze me, forcing me to peer into that dark hole that beckons and I fight to stay out off.
Everyday is a tussle of mind, will, memories and living.
A few hours yesterday I spent with little miss Ruby and her wonderful mother, Aleisha. I know how lucky I am to have a daughter in law who still wants me as part of her life and shares her bundle of joy with me, filling some of those holes in my heart. I kissed those adorable cheeks and remembered how I loved kissing Aidan’s.
He was such a wonderful, loving, caring child who just shared his open heart with me so easily. The rumble of laughter, the easy jokes, the big hugs and the ease of his nature and kindness combined with his openness to talk and share made him easy to love and enjoy.
As many of us who have lost do, we persecute ourselves with doubt, and question if we did enough and loved enough. Did we pass on bad genes and cause this or was it just life and chance? I try hard to not keep going to those thoughts knowing if I continue on that path I might have to find a cliff to jump from.
So, I climbed into bed with the rain still thundering down and put my feet onto my hot-water bottle for comfort and sobbed into my pillow until darkness and sleep enveloped me, unsure if the dawn would greet me.
I woke and it was today, and I survived another birthday.
Aidan, I loved you before you were born, I loved you while you lived, and I will love you till I am no longer breathing. Happy birthday my darling boy, for yesterday! XOX
I decided to look up Aplastic Anemia and see if any progress had been made in their success rate. To many this condition is unknown as the incidence of aplastic anaemia is 0.7 – 4.1 cases per million people worldwide.
21 years ago, I lost my beautiful daughter to this rare disorder. I was told that she was a 1 in a million as at that time they had only seen it once before in a child of her age. The odds …50-50
It is not cancer, but serious, as the bone marrow is severely affected and there are very few blood cells left in circulation. Without adequate numbers of blood cells people with aplastic anaemia can become anaemic (low red blood cells) and more susceptible to infections (low white blood cells), and to bleeding and bruising more easily (low platelets).
Needless to say, it was like a fast rewind, as words of immunosuppressant drugs, immune systems, platelets conjured up memories of anxiety, disbelief, hope, happiness, sadness and grief. And of the beautiful baby girl who entered the world and filled our lives with unmeasurable love and joy.
21 years ago, I made the decision to take Laila off the ventilator and let her be. There were some who were angry with me for making that decision, and others accepted more easily. Aidan who was 11 at the time cried as though his heart would break. Mine was breaking but I had to be steadfast.
When Laila was first diagnosed her Doctor said to me that she would do everything in her power to try and make Laila better but if she felt that the time had come to make choices, she would tell me. That morning when I arrived at the hospital and stood next to Laila as she slept, she looked me in the eye and said the time had come. There was nothing more they could do and that it was now unfair to keep putting this child through more pain.
I understood as at Christmas, her presents still at home, I had stood next to her and watched Father Christmas come and wish her. Later she bit me and stared at me, those big eyes bored into my soul with sadness and made my heart ache. I couldn’t hold her just sit next to her and wrap myself around her as best I could.
So, I made my decision and told those close to me and just after 3pm on the 31st December we unhooked the machine and pushed her out of ICU, outside and back into the kid’s cancer ward where she had spent much of those past months. A small oxygen cylinder at her feet with a nose clip which helped her until we got her settled. We took it out and she lay on my lap and just breathed so quietly and slowly until her breath just eased away and all was still. Utter quiet is what I remember surrounded by vases of beautiful flowers, and filtered sunlight pouring through the windows.
Why oh why – I have no idea – and never for one moment did I think I would have to endure something rare and similar again… but I did – and the why oh why just rattles louder in my mind.
It is hard to believe that it is 21 years ago.
I do wonder what my happy child would look like today, as she will be turning 24 on the 9 January. Its all I can do …wonder… and try not to drive myself demented with questions that will never be answered.
I will drive to the hill after work and sit with A, and gaze out beyond and remember.
To the small person who lifted my heart to places I did not believe were possible – who bought joy to her brother and her mother and those that knew her – I give my gratitude.
October is a month I celebrate two weddings, a passing and a funeral. It’s a time I reflect on what is and what has been.
I miss Aidan, and Laila in more ways than I can ever express. A deep-rooted yearning and sense of loss that I experience all the time.
I miss many others too that are absent from my daily life. The ones we don’t always talk about. As a parent, a friend and as a migrant there are many that I love, have loved, that have moved away or been left behind.
The cliché of someone being in your life for a season is a nice explanation of trying to understand why this happens. We love people and its painful to say goodbye. Sometimes that goodbye is harder if they do a U-turn and just leave.
I struggle to work out how these bonds are so easily broken, or why some die before others. Random or ordained …I carry so many scars, the hurt I bury deep within. To survive I need to stop tearing myself apart with adopted guilt, despair and unanswered questions.
I’ve asked myself so many times why I am still ‘here’.
Why are some oblivious to others, just forget them, or treat them disrespectfully, why do some inflict pain on each other, why do we still love and keep getting hurt, why do some have to die too early. It’s a cruel world but also a miraculous one.
Aleisha is soon to give the breath of life to her bump, and a new life brings renewed hope.
The seasons come and go, nature binds us all together, the storms clear and the sun warms us, the stars envelop us and suck us into their mysterious world.
I sit on our hill and look out over Aidan’s flame tree and see hope. Beyond in the valley the earth is greening up after the rains, the sun is beaming down, and the birds are in full song. Cars swoosh past behind me as they move people to school and to work.
It is fitting that tonight we are holding a fundraising event for breast cancer. It is one of the ways that I can pay it forward.
Life is not for nothing – it’s the time we are given to grow, to nurture and learn that even though we can suffer terrible sadness and heartbreak we can give back, and make a small difference in this world – to a stranger, to a child in hospital fighting cancer, to a survivor of breast cancer, to a homeless person or someone suffering abuse, or saving a koala. Its about becoming more open to the good in each other, to put selfishness aside and to try to not take this life for granted. We only know this moment and the past.
I sit with my memories and celebrate Aidan and thank the universe that I have these to hang onto.
Miss you, your warmth and kindness, your strength and your love my darling son
We all need something to believe in, to make sense of this sad, crazy, happy world we live in.
Last Friday I sat amongst tears at a wake and heard of fairies, hope, life, accomplishments and sadness.
I wish I could see the fairies dancing at the bottom of my garden, and all our lost ones dancing among the stars. I hear them, I feel them over my shoulder and in my space. Be that love, or energy or just belief it doesn’t matter because as I said to my beautiful therapist, it doesn’t get better…
I just hurt, I’m just soo sad, I ache, and I miss my children and I accept that I will till I take my last breath.
When brother Michael was with me and we were walking through the rainforest we talked and agreed that this is an awesome place to live. I have Aidan to thank for that – it was his dream and tenacity that helped me make the choices for us, that brought me to the place where I am today.
His darling Aleisha will soon be a mom and bring a wonderful addition to our family. I know this is not my mine but I have loved so many that are not mine, as I will this one. This much loved baby will add joy to my shattered heart.
I don’t live with regrets. I am sorry for some of the choices I have made in life, and how I handled those choices but good or bad, I’ve lived with those choices and made them work or moved on.
Life is about choices, in seizing the moment and putting yourself in the path of random events and capitalising on them. Its about taking a leadership role in your life. Errors and failure, disappointments and heartache will always happen. Its how we get up and go forward and get stronger that’s important. Recognising the need to get back up gets you stronger, and helps you push forward and upward.
Life keeps me here, anchoring me to my sadness but also giving me time to seize moments and keep getting back up.
Its easy to act in the moment with all our technology, and hurt and wound as we move through our digital world, removed and distant, without a thought of consequence or emotional backlash.
Consider your next choice. We only know this moment and the past, the next moment could be your last, or it could be the start of something new. Embrace life, be aware and care for those around you.
Don’t live selfishly – think of others and pay it forward.
Have you ever needed to be busy, to fill the silence, to fill a void, to maintain a sense of normalcy? It seems to be a difficult concept for some to understand yet I believe there are many of us who do this and many reasons why.
A question I have been asking myself of late is when is old age, how old must one be to be considered in your ‘older years’. With so many people still active in business in their 70’s that I know and admire, then the answer to myself is 80. So then how old should you be to retire… or is that a bygone concept. Do we ever really need to retire?
I’ve been told to not work so much and that I should take more time out. If I should take this advice I wonder if they will be there to scrape me off the floor should I sink that low, or if the emotional darkness should overwhelm me if they will visit and talk to me…
Advice is easy but I often wonder if this advice is coming at me as a means for us all to conform to the concept of retiring… of getting to that age when we should be slowing down…of all being the same. Why?
Why on earth should any of us retire if the drive and energy is there spurring us on. Enjoying the daily challenges, interacting with like minded people, being creative or just keeping busy …reveling in the fact that life is precious and can be fulfilled in so many ways. I think its personal.
For peace of mind I keep busy, the restlessness of my inner self and my emotional turmoil is pacified by busyness. Creating a direction, a reason for waking, and a sense of purpose. That does not mean that I don’t find the time to enjoy a coffee, chat with a friend, sip a wine and celebrate the day, or travel.
Its been about slowly finding my balance. As time becomes my equilibrium, a bit like a metronome that keeps pace of where I am and the changing beat, I can feel that rhythm alter, mirroring my sorrow and the acceptance of time, as well as the joy enjoyed, and the happiness felt. Its complex but it’s my reality.
Work helps set me free so why would I want to slow down, to grow old before my time because someone came up with the concept that work is a drudge and should only be done for a period of time. Someone also said women should be paid less than a man, should not be able to vote, should keep quiet…well… I say it’s time for a different reality.
Lets enjoy each other, only grow old when it suits you, find that peace within that lets you swim upstream and stand tall.
Fact is I’m in pain and will always be in pain. I’m also healthy and happy. Family and friends and work give me a reason to remain and to be me.
I stand tall and embrace each day, tackling each minute head on whether it is in pain or in laughter. I’ll keep fighting until life decides I’m done.
My beautiful daughter slipped out of this life in my arms before we could enjoy a new year together with our beautiful boy at our side. Today I acknowledge my mourning not just for Laila but also for Aidan as I face another year ending without them. However, I will raise my glass and celebrate the first day of a new year. It’s the circle of life, it’s the swing of my metronome, it’s the essence of who we are.
May the force be with you and 2018 be whatever you want it to be, dream big and reach for your star.
A fallen soldier was returned to Miami airport and the picture of his wife lying draped over the casket was a heartbreaking sight.
I have spent the past week visiting Civil war museums and WWII museums seeing rows of crosses and reading sad stories.
It’s not important how we lose, it is important that we never believe we have to stop grieving.
Yes, it is a process but we all grieve in different ways and we are not text book cases. Most of us will grieve forever. Those who have not experienced tragedy are full of words, of comfort, of telling us it is just a matter of time and then you will be better, it just takes time…breathe and get better.
But in the world of grief, time is forever.
I believe that we all need to learn tolerance for those who are bereft. The best way of doing this is to help us by remembering the small things that eat at us, that makes us sad and crumble.
Start with what is important, remember special dates. Such as birthdays, anniversaries, maybe Valentine’s day, even Christmas and Easter when some feel alone or notice the absence more acutely. These are the times when the pain hurts deepest and never abates as each year passes by.
It is these special days that make us sadder and the memories sharper.
Grief is absorbed into daily routines and memories occur at odd times during our days and nights. Sometimes a glimpse at a photo, an action, a deed, or a regular chore conjures up a memory, a face, a moment shared, a pain, a sadness.
We don’t like talking about it, we don’t like having to always say why we are sad, we don’t like having to remind everyone why.
It’s a wonderful feeling to know that others remember too and are celebrating with us, and sharing our journey. Such a relief and so special. It feels so comforting to be reminded that our loved ones touched others and will always be thought of and not forgotten.
Gone but not forgotten – loved eternally.
Aidan left us 20 Oct 2010 – too soon for me, I know I am selfish and would have kept him at any cost but life has a way of deciding for us.
Love cuts us to the core, memories give us joy and moments of sadness. I will take them all – as to remember and rejoice that beautiful soul who was my boy is a blessing, and one I hold dear.
As June creeps closer I feel changes in my body, my sleeping patterns and my emotional stability. My inner time clock is preparing me and reminding me of the time of the year, perfect timekeeping for birthdays, anniversaries and festive occasions.
I’ve recently being sitting in a soggy place of sadness because of what someone has said. Their presumptive attitude of me and my feelings, and their dramatic way of putting that across initially just made me angry. But letting those words sit with me for a while and then looking at them, and talking about them made me realise how easy it is for them to throw words around – to presume and to be dramatic in the process all the while not having a clue what they are talking about.
I understand my grief.
I know where it comes from and why I have it wrapped around me. I get why sometimes it constricts me and other times it just floats around me. Occasionally it tickles my throat and prevents me from getting my words out. Other times it’s on the words I speak or the lines I write. Then again it can rear itself as a cyclone of pain, tearing through my bones, picking up my broken pieces and smashing them about. Or sitting in the calm of the day and seeing a bird fly above or a feather float towards me it can grip at my heart. But there are days when I can walk through the hours and it sits quietly within. I can gaze at the day and feel solace with it.
I don’t need therapy to teach me that.
I go to therapy to deal with the unpleasant stuff that comes my way. To try and make sense of pain caused intentionally, or selfishly, to make sense of the world or why I am still here. Why I should stay here, and why I should not carry guilt that some would like me to carry on their behalf.
I love my therapist who tells me that I’m logical, and caring, and that I would repeat what I’ve done because it is who I am, that I love and care, that I don’t like seeing injustice, that I want to help others and that I am me through all the pain. That some of life feels unfair, and the biggest injustice is that I lost both my kids, that life does feel unkind but that I embrace it, live it, feel it and carry on.
The pain is the memory. The memories involve the pain and the grief, but it also allows the joy of memories to heighten and rise above.
As I write this, the clock has moved past the hour and today is my son’s birthday. My throat is thick and tears have sprung and glisten and blur my vision. I ache. My heart pounds and I just sit in this sadness that is seeping through every pore and spilling onto the keyboard.
Love does make your chest hurt and feel like you’re about to explode… but so does grief.
A distant bird is calling, the night is still yet, and I can hear Aidan say ‘hello mother’ ever so quietly. I often tilt my head because I hear him on the wind, or on my walks. I talk to him, I talk to Laila. I tell him how much I miss him and how much I love him. I tell him how much I miss being hugged. I tell him how much I miss him telling me he loves me. I ask him to stay safe and keep Laila close.
My silent clock will keep reminding me of the seconds, minutes, hours, days, month and years that are passing.
My body will always remind me of my children, my love, my sadness, pain and grief. But it is also the keeper of all the memories, the moments of happiness, of sadness and of my unconditional love for my children.
Later today when the sun has risen I will smile and toast you, my boy, a happy birthday. We will celebrate you, and sit with you on the hill basking in the sunlight…and I will let those memories of your beautiful soul wash over me.
I’m in ‘pause’ mode at present. Time to reflect and give my beautiful Laila my full attention.
19 years ago we wheeled her though the bright sun to her ward in G1, to release her from all pain and suffering and to break my heart, Aidan’s and so many others.
I gaze upon her photo and see those huge blue eyes staring back at me and my throat burns. Time does not take any of that away…
Time does not diminish the burn in the throat, the tears that threaten to fall, the body that aches or the heart that does not heal.
On social media when someone dies some of the messages are annoying, to me. I know they are written out of love and kindness but, speaking to Ren last week I tried to put into words what I was feeling and she summed it up for me – platitudes.
Possibly at a time of loss for many friends and family there is a lack of understanding of death and loss so poems, words of wisdom and thoughts are put out there. Only now it is in a public forum and are read by many.
There are some thoughtful, provoking ones but there are also those that I now refer to as ‘platitudes’
My thoughts are, if you have not experienced death, pain, loss, accident, whatever, rather just speak from your heart.
I believe our initial reactions would be… how tragic, that’s awful, OMG I’m sorry to hear, how dreadful, anything I can do, please call if you want to talk, or need any help, I have no idea what to say…write how you feel as we can all identify with that, the words are real and speak to our hearts.
To write that time will heal all, is poppycock / twaddle / rubbish
Time is what we learn to live with, how to change ourselves to accommodate that, and accept that that is the way it is, and always will be.
This morning when I woke I stared out the window at a blustery start to my day, and let the sounds of the dawn pacify me.
I talk to Laila and Aidan, sometimes on the wind, sometimes in my car, sometimes just in my head as I did this morning staring out the window. I tell them I miss them, I ask them to look after each other and I tell them I love them.
Then I got up and started my day.
Now I sit and reflect as the time of Laila’s passing draws near and remember just holding her quietly and willing her to breathe. Hoping.
Hope is a glorious thing and without it I could not live, none of us could. We all live in hope and belief that miracles happen and life goes on. For me when life ends hope is never diminished. It just reshapes itself and that gives me hope.
I hope that you are having a good day. I hope that your universe is being kind to you. I hope that if you are not well that at this moment you are coping and not in any pain. I hope that for many as the clock ticks over that you have a happy start to your new year. I hope that the year ahead brings you much joy and happiness. I hope that if you are hurting or not coping that you can find comfort from someone. I hope that if you ever feel alone that you will reach out. I am always here as I am sure are others and that we are never really alone.
For some there is loss today, an illness, a hospital bed. One family lost their house today. Another is waiting a diagnosis. A few are alone, some are sad and others are working. Spare a thought to those less fortunate and take care tonight.
At 5pm I will drink a toast to my children and especially to Laila as I sit on the hill and remember my remarkable girl who made my heart swell with a love I never knew possible.
There are many times that I stand in front of you, and you see me, but you only see what you can see.
Often whilst I stand in front of you my body is collapsing. It begins slowly…then splinters… a thousand shards of skin falling, piercing, scratching at flesh as it falls, painful. Until bits of me lie scattered at my feet. Sore and numb I quietly bend over and as I extend my hand to touch my bits they begin to glow softly, life returning.
As I gather them to me, they become soft and pliable, warm and safe and I wrap myself within myself once more.
My skin, myself shatters often, but to you and the world I look like me, the person you see and know. And I hide it so well.
There are other moments that my chest feels like it is about to explode. There is a feeling of expansion, as if every space around my heart has ballooned and is pushing all my breath out making it hard to breathe. It hurts. At other times its a tightness as if everything is constricting, sucking my breath from me.
And all the while you engage with me I am experiencing my grief moments. I swallow with difficulty, smile and reply.
These are events that I cannot blurt out and say ‘”hey I’m having a moment!” It is nothing you can see or touch so it is not easy to understand. I often wish that when you (whomever) are in front of me and I am experiencing this, that you could know so that I do not always have to do it on my own. But in truth, you cannot help me with this, and if you knew it was occurring it would create issues in that moment, you would feel helpless, or the group at a social occasion would feel uncomfortable, or it would disrupt the harmony in the work flow.
It’s my reality and grief that I must carry.
Writing this is not to upset you, it is just what I have to cope with and to learn to accept as part of myself. Not every day, mostly unexpectedly at random moments. As each day passes I learn to wear it more easily. And slipping in and out of these moments is becoming part of my life routine.
Don’t tell me to get better. That will not happen…ever. I work hard to keep my mind busy and I try to enjoy every day. I suffer quietly, in silence. I cry and I write. I remember and I shout, or talk to my children. I feel and I love. And I laugh.
I embrace you and those around me and I thank you for holding my hand, as the friendship, love and support sustains me and helps me feel whole.
Milestone days of remembrance are a reminder of the minutes, hours, days that Aidan (and Laila) are not with me. I sometimes feel that Aidan is following my life in parallel , piloting a boat, and meandering downstream waiting for us to intersect at that final waterfall of life and collide as we fly over, together.
To those who suffer – I wish all good things for you, and moments of great happiness and joy.
October is here again and a time to celebrate two weddings and a funeral.
How glad am I that we did have two weddings, especially the 1st in the hospital as it was a special day for us all. It did not matter than we were in hospital. It had become our second home and the usual flurry of activities that happen in preparation for a wedding certainly took place.
Aidan gave me strict instructions as to what champagne to buy and which wedding cake to buy – for both weddings! His motto was we don’t drink shite…We all had new clothes, beautiful flowers, Chelsea doing hair and the sun shone on our beautiful day.
I believe it’s a joyous occasion when two people who have been committed to each other, through good health and sickness, share their love, not just to each other but also to their family and friends. To celebrate that no matter what life throws at you, or how many obstacles you have to encounter there is still a will – a desire – a love – joy – laughter – hope and sadness to embrace.
Why not shout it out loud and live in the moment, and share it – it’s a wonderful thing. Hope gives us that.
I remember those two lying together in the hospital bed, writing their vows and teasing each other.
I was so proud and bursting with love to see two young people who had endured so much, and crammed a lifetime into their ten years of knowing each other, rejoice in life and love with tears and smiles and beautiful vows to each other. Making new memories that we could carry with us forever. It was an extraordinary moment in my life.
My boy had a huge heart and immense courage as does his bride.
Aleisha walked beside Aidan courageous and determined. She deserves so much more and I hope that as each year passes that life is kind and showers her with all that she desires.
Those of us who hold the hand of an ill partner or child just want them to be ok, we wish for miracles, we deal with each hurdle as it happens, we cope and cope and just want life and goodness to be bestowed upon them. We grasp at hope and we just love them, and we watch.
I am so sad, it fills every space of me but I’m also filled with love and joy. How lucky was I to have such a precious son, and the awesome daughter he gave me, and her fabulous family that I have adopted. As well as the incredible people we met along the way and the family and friends who stuck close.
Thank you A.
To my double A, happy wedding anniversary today and for the 15th.
I was chatting to my therapist about life, death, time and grief. Fortunately she does not refer to the usual published stages as she knows that I am not a ‘one size fits all person’.
I never believed that Aidan would leave me.
I’ve grown up experiencing death and dying. As the years passed, I always half believed that I’d be lucky to reach 50. Having not had the experience of watching my parents grow old I did not expect my kids to watch me wither either!
Even when Laila died it never entered my head that it would happen again, to me.
I just lived life as we all do. It’s interesting how we don’t contemplate life throwing us hurdles to deal with and death.
When I look back over my life, and even now, life just happens. The sun rises and it sets. We are focused on our lives, many make long term plans or set long term goals. We just believe they will happen.
So did I.
How lucky was I to have a boy and a girl. They loved each other and life was good.
And then it changed in a split second. We travelled that road, coped with diagnosis, treatment, sickness, intensive care, operations, more intensive care and making the decision to turn off the ventilator.
Life went on and so did Aidan and I. We grieved together, grew closer, and journeyed a new road together. Then he jolted my journey and we immigrated.
And so a new life and a new journey began with its own ups and downs. But all through this I never once thought that Aidan would not be with me forever… or until it was time for me to go. It never crossed my mind that anything more would happen to me.
Boy was I wrong.
I do thank the universe that we have no idea what lies before us in anything we do. It would take all our joy and excitement away.
After Laila died I changed the way I thought. I lived every moment of every day. Not really fussing too much about tomorrow or the next moment. I just hurtle along and deal with life as it hits me.
Life had got into a rhythm for A and I.
I enjoyed watching him grow into a young man and find his passion in work and in life. We enjoyed each other and I just loved him and was so proud of who he was.
Life was lulling me and I was starting to enjoy that.
But that was not to be and bam, in another split second my world was torn apart. Aidan’s guilt at putting me through this a second time was harder to bear than his diagnosis. I believe our love for each other overcame that.
And so I was plunged into another round of similar, but not the same.
I did not want to think about the possibility that my boy would leave me. I just got on with the day to day routines of life which consumed my days. These were not your average days but seeing my boy every day just made me so happy.
Even when we sat in hospital for hours waiting for tests or chemo or radiation or for bloods, we found something to laugh about, we smiled, we talked, we just lived that moment. We were like the three stooges at times. Aidan could always make us laugh.
And then it was time for Aidan to fly and to leave Aleisha and me behind.
My only regret is that I never had enough time with him.
I miss Aidan every day. I miss him every minute of every day. If I stop and close my eyes I can hear him and feel him. And I talk to him often. And to his sister.
If I could give young people a message it would be to make the most of every day, and do it with understanding, as not everyone around you is sturdy on their feet.
I have been saddened and hurt so much by the ‘youth’ in some. My hope is that as they experience life and mature, they might come to understand and accept, and respect, what us as parents do for them. Youth has a way of throwing stones and causing undue pain. Much of it unwarranted.
I know we travel life with blinkers on, and we are never prepared for the unexpected, and we are not taught how to deal with it, or how to wear our grief, or how to come out the other side scarred and beaten but standing tall.
It takes strength and the ability to see beautiful things in every day. I have taught myself to look up. To admire and see glory in every morning so that I can get out of bed. To find time to laugh, to keep busy so grief does not take over, to enjoy my friends and life as best as I possibly can, and to give it my all.
I will cry and I will remember and I will be sad. But I am grateful that as the years are passing that I am remembering Aidan more and more as he was in his life. Over the past few years the memories have been stuck. Now I’m not only at the end, or only in the last few years but now I’m seeing him as a child, playing rugby in the mud, playing his saxophone, doing his homework in front of the fire or playing with his sister.
They are bittersweet memories but ones I am happy to have.
Happy birthday my darling boy.
I’ll love you forever, I’ll cry tears for you forever, I’ll miss you and my heart will hurt forever, but I am so grateful that I had you, that I held you and that you knew how much I loved you.
We will celebrate your life for you, we will blow out your candles, we will drink a toast to the beautiful, wonderful boy you were and we will share our love and memories.
Laila was a loving child with a delightful attitude and a welcoming embrace. I loved returning home and seeing her with her nose stuck through the security gate, squealing with delight and laughter that I was home. In hospital she would be so happy to see me and would always welcome me. That is how I think of her.
She was an unexpected gift and one I will always treasure.
I have visions of how she looks, and of her and Aidan, together.
I think Aidan wanted a sister from the time he took his first breath. That desire was constantly made known especially to Santa on his present list.
When I told Aidan he was going to have a sister, he beamed with happiness. That delight never abated and it was wonderful to watch the two of them together and the love they had for each other.
My life’s journey has been strewn with difficulties, but one of the most difficult was having to tell Aidan that his sister was sick, and then a few months later that she was going to die.
The Doctor had talked to me when Laila was diagnosed with Aplastic Anaemia. She said Laila had a 50/50 chance of survival and if the time came that we were being unfair to the child and being selfish, she would tell me.
In the early hours of Christmas morning 1997, I was woken by a telephone call, urging me to get to the hospital soonest. When I got to intensive care they had put Laila on a ventilator. Her doctors decided to try a procedure they had not attempted before on a child, as a last hope that her body would allow itself to heal.
I drove to see Aidan and arrived before breakfast. Instead of celebrating Christmas and opening gifts I sat and told Aidan, his father and granny that we had to prepare for the worst and that Laila might die.
It broke my heart to see Aidan weep with such pain and anguish.
We had a week together in intensive care.
I usually arrived at the hospital about 6-ish and would sit next to Laila so that I was there when she woke up. On the 31st of December during ward rounds, her Doctor sat beside me and said it was time.
And so began those dreaded calls that I had to make. Explaining that I had made the decision to take Laila off the ventilator and to let her be.
I invited all those close to me, and to Laila and Aidan, to share the time if they so wished. We arranged to be together at 3pm. The Doctor agreed to have Laila taken back to her ward room that she knew, and which we had made into her own.
Whenever Laila had spent time in hospital, we always put photos on the wall: her own blankets on the bed, her pillowcase, her toys and her favourite doll, plus beautiful fresh flowers.
I was questioned if I was making the right decision, but I knew in my heart that she was tired, as she had bitten me a few nights before, something she would never do. But she was frustrated.
She had tubes everywhere, she could not lie on my lap and I could not lie with her. Everything she wanted was too hard… her eyes would bore into mine and my heart would hurt.
We took her off the ventilator and onto an oxygen tube that sat under her nose, her oxygen bottle on the bed and we wheeled her to her room where those that loved her waited.
The nurses put Laila on my lap and removed the oxygen. I held her quietly and just looked at her, whispered to her and loved her. Aidan sat beside us and the room was full of love, memories and sadness. I will be eternally grateful for the support and love we were shown that day.
Time passed and Laila just breathed softly until she breathed no more.
My beautiful 11 year old boy who held his sister when she was born – who said hello and welcome to the world – was now a witness to her passing.
I put Laila onto Aidan’s lap and let him love and hold her, and to say goodbye.
Laila Vaun Rip – the bestest daughter and sister
Born 9 January 1995 – Died 31 December 1997 – Buried 6 January 1998
Time does not heal, it just helps you to keep breathing…
I was driving through the Hinterland, listening to the radio and enjoying the bright blue sky and warm sun when the music stopped and an interview began.
Obviously not my day as they were interviewing a social worker from a children’s hospital who was discussing how to deal with kids in intensive care. Then in the ad break they were promoting Maccas and their drive to raise funds for sick kids. I sort of slumped a bit in my seat and my body felt heavy and slouchy. The interview picked up from where they had left off, and the interview got more intense about the need for honesty with sick kids and especially their siblings.
That got me started.
Had I said the right things to Laila and Aidan. Had they understood and had they been OK. Did I use the ‘die’ word and not the ‘sleep’ or ‘pass over’ words….
Words were tumbling in my brain as I cross-questioned myself and looked back trying to remember.
I know that my kids were fine and we all knew and understood what was happening and we all loved each other with ease and honesty. There was no need for me to be falling into this space.
I looked at myself in the rear view mirror and wondered why my face is not etched with deep ravines and gorges reflecting my tears and sadness. I feel as though that is how I should look, marked.
My face is not a window to my soul and I don’t think anyone else wants to gaze upon a crater like face, crazed with grief. I know that laughter and a smile makes me feel better and I think it makes those around me feel more comfortable.
But inside I am heavy with a sad heart.
I find it hard to believe that 5 years have passed … already! It is quite unbelievable and difficult to comprehend.
Time keeps passing, new memories keep being made, the sun keeps rising and the moon will set.
I too will keep pace with time until my pace falters and is no more. I will keep count of the years and watch the clouds dance above me and hold my memories close and listen for the laughter in the wind.
I’ll sit on the hill beside my pirate chef and toast my boy, remembering all of him that I love and miss and feel sad for me.
The sun will set, and as the stars rise I’ll head home. The memory of the moment deep within me, saved not to be forgotten.
Stepping out of the shower I stepped between two worlds of time.
The now continued to hum around me but the past stood alongside me and with me.
It felt as though time set its own speed according to the pace of my life and activities. Sometimes languid, at a steady trot or speeding past at an unstoppable pace.
I stood wrapped in my towel with the past whispering in my ear soft and gentle.
The years fell away and five years became a moment. The familiar voice hung in the air. My tears ran unabated and my heart was grateful to hear those tones and the playful humour and affection that sits in the timbre of them.
Swiftly the end days were back and vivid in that step between times.
For the past few months my memories had been that of watching a small boy grow and repetitive. Remembering those baby years, the pre-school and school ones, events, holidays, rugby matches in the rain and the mud, saxophone concerts and the pleasure and delight of passing time.
That beautiful warm smile, the boy with a huge heart and a big soul who held my hand and brought me endless days of warmth and love.
September was childhood cancer awareness month and for some it would be a celebration of life as it is to me.
I celebrate Laila and Aidan’s life every day. Not every minute as daily events keep me focused and on track. But somewhere in my day will be a moment – a reminder.
All it takes is a feather, a book, a photo, a familiar laugh, a song, a gift, a memory recall or a sunset.
The push to remember will never go away as it threads its way into my life, blending itself into the texture of my skin, becoming a willing accessory to my everyday life.
A child’s lifetime of moments and spirit will find a way to nudge my day. Often bringing a smile or a glow to my heart. Other times it will be my undoing as the pain and remembrance create a ‘why’…
I miss you, my throat burns and the despair engulfs me and I’m forced to acknowledge the sadness before I can put it to rest again.
My name is called and I’m jolted. The pain in my heart eases and my mind settles down as time strips back and leaves me aware of where I am standing, in the present.
It’s another new day and I need to step away from the past and back into it the now.
Wiping my face I look forward to another time between worlds and time.
October is full of days to be remembered and celebrated.
Moving is not hard for me as it’s a decision made, a time to go, to start again with new opportunities.
It is the packing that is hard.
The unpacking of memories, opening them up, reliving them and then having to consciously decide which mementos to keep and which memories to keep without the tangible reminders is tough.
So many are childhood memories of mine, of my family, of my children and of my adopted kids or for another word – stepkids.
The honesty of youth is a beautiful thing, which I found in the handmade cards, the artwork, those spontaneous mementos that were left on my pillow, the gifts, and the ‘things’ they left behind.
I miss that honesty and easy love that came with it.
The journey of growing up is often clouded by misguided advice, peer pressure, friends and ego. The path of adulthood is not easy and is strewn with obstacles and hurdles.
Mine was tumultuous! I think I managed because I never blamed anyone for it I just accepted what life threw at me and kept moving forward.
I kept my head high, my focus forward and I loved those who walked beside me, who loved me, cared for me and who shared those teenage years and held my hand into adulthood. We laughed and cried, had wonderful times, down times and a few battles and demons but we kept walking, together.
Looking back I don’t believe any of us had an easy journey. Those that know me have heard me say that I believe we experience hell on earth and by Jove I have enough character!!!
I think it’s important in order to survive to not take on board other people’s issues but to listen, acknowledge and offer support. I cannot be anyone’s champion just as no one can be mine.
My life’s greatest lessons have been:
– Don’t judge (there are always 3 fingers pointing back at you) unless you are perfect
– Be respectful to others, always treat everyone as you want to be treated. Rudeness destroys all your own good
– Don’t run away from situations and life – the situation will always reappear, trip you up again and again until you have dealt with it
– Communication is king
– Don’t hide behind texts and emails – transparency is a wonderful thing and face to face or phone calls prevent misunderstanding. The written word can never be erased.
– Be honest but don’t be mean – those words can come back and bite you
– Be careful what advice you give – you will sleep easy as advice is easy but the advice you have given might cause undue stress and sleepless nights to the recipient
– Be kind – it is not hard to be kind as behind every surface is a story
– Don’t blame your parents for your failings – successful people never do -examine your character and nature and actions.
Our individual journeys are just that. It is irrelevant what background or family circumstances we all come from. It’s a bit like school. Once you have moved on who asks you about school… Parents show children opportunity and give direction and guidance. Don’t bite the hand that has fed you and got you headed towards adulthood.
We need to all find the spirit, the independence, the tenacity, the staying power, the strength and joy of succeeding within ourselves.
We can all go through life blaming everyone around us for our failures and circumstances or we can stand tall and get on with it and say thank you for giving me the tools I needed to begin my journey and venture forth in adulthood.
All parents good and bad I do salute you for persevering as being a parent is a thankless job at times. We do it because we just love them, we watch them grow with delight, the childish honesty is a glorious thing and challenges us, the fun we have with them and to see them grow makes it all worthwhile.
Later the friendship that develops with them as they settle, and start to recognise the journey they are on, is familiar as they have witnessed ours. I wish Aidan had managed to stay awhile longer as we had reached that place.
So, after many smiles, many tears, much sadness in my heart I have packed away the unpacked memories to be stored and reopened another day.
I’m moving towards a new set of memories and will carry the old ones safely with me, close to my heart.
