by Alison | Dec 31, 2024 | .
On Christmas morning I went foraging for my old mince pie baking trays and came across Aidan’s chef apron tucked over a box in the storage area. I picked it up and there was A in the kitchen in Kenmore Hills baking for his markets. As I walked down the stairs clutching it there was A in the kitchen at Alpine terrace cooking delicious food for my 50th birthday. Every where I turned was Aidan and a memory wearing that apron. I decided that the best choice I could make was to wash A’s apron and wear it and the memories.
Some of us are lucky to travel life’s journey without issue whilst some like me deal with the tragedy of life as we go. I read somewhere that life is our living hell, it throws everything it can at us, and we have to navigate our way through it as best we can.
Life’s curved balls keep coming and while we duck or catch or throw back, we never really stop to consider how fragile life is. We blindly carry on thinking eternity is a long way off – even though we see tragedy along the way, happening to others.
We never consider what if…. Which is good because I think that would make life feel horrible, but we should often reflect on our choices and how they affect others.
The choices we make every day are however important. Every morning when you open your eyes you make a choice how you are going to be. Happy or sad, hop out of bed or drag yourself from under the covers. That moment, that choice we make determines how the day starts. Feeling fragile some mornings or weighted down with sadness I listen for the birds to sing, or wait for the sun to shine through, or just the smell of coffee which helps to pick me up and energise me to embrace my day.
The choices we make every day could be basic ones – can I be tolerant today, can I help someone less fortunate, to smile at my partner and show them I’m grateful, teach our children to be respectful, maybe remind ourselves to be more respectful, to be happy with me, to be humble, to not be scared to seek professional help, to light a candle and remember those not with us, to sit in our memories and feel loved, to just be…..
We are such emotional creatures and reactive without thought (sometimes) that I think one of the greatest lessons I have learnt is to better understand myself and the why – and to turn it around to be more understanding, to love more, to care and be kind.
I learnt when Laila got sick that I couldn’t keep doing it on my own but needed my ‘village’ and had to ask for help, and/or a place for refuge when needed. Without my close friends and family, I wouldn’t have coped as I did. I’m so fiercely independent but emotionally it got too tough, and I had to put my pride away, make a choice and just ask.
What this allowed me to do was to share Laila, Aidan and my journey, and to bring all of them into the fold of this precious unfolding end of Laila’s life with us.
When the time came that I had to let her go as all avenues where exhausted I invited them to be part of saying goodbye, so that when we took Lails off the respirator and wheeled her back to her ward – it was filled with all the people who loved her, the sun shone through her window, the room was transformed with the colour of flowers, and love overflowed. It was a very uplifting moment to enter the room pulsating with love and sadness for Laila, and to hold her in my arms whilst she quietly breathed it all in and took her time to find her way free of her sick body.
So many choices are hard, some almost impossible to make and having to make the choice of taking her of the respirator, knowing that I was saying goodbye, and then having to tell her brother of that choice almost broke me.
But here I am 27 years later sitting at my keyboard having endured so much more, still making choices – to live, to write, to share and how best to make through each day ahead of me.
I wish you all strength and wise choices – but as someone said to me today – let us try and be as tolerant as we can be of each other, and love those that love us.
Laila’s birthday is the 9 January and she will be 30. She was a beautiful soul and daughter when she passed on 31.12.1997 around 5pm.
Her darling brother Aidan adored her – he was then 11.
I will always miss her even though her life was short. XOX She was a gift and my angel.
by Alison | Oct 20, 2024 | .
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.
by Alison | Jun 25, 2024 | .
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.
Fly high my angel – the sky tonight was magical
XOX your mother
25.06.2024
by Alison | Dec 31, 2023 | .
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
by Alison | Oct 21, 2023 | .
Friday 20th October
I woke to a vivid picture of Aidan this morning.
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.
XOX 10.10.2010
