by Alison | Jun 25, 2026 | .
Driving in my car listening to a song I’m sure many of you are familiar with – Pearl Jam’s Last Kiss – hot tears just swelled and I was overcome with such sadness. The lyrics just made me think, if only…
The words , so I can see my baby when I leave this world, made me wish I could believe that Aidan and Laila are waiting for me. As the tears ran, my heart cried out if only!
Is life that simple that we will all be together again? That’s a question that gnaws at me. Its the dream of hope, of desperation, of belief that I desperately wish was true. My heart longs for it but my mind is at loggerheads knowing that life is not that simple and the science doesn’t match up.
How I envy those who have it all mapped out, with the unwavering belief of what is, and what is ahead.
Today I just miss my boy as I celebrate his 40th.
I still question why me, why us, why again, and what’s the meaning of life.
I wistfully watch the ‘kids’ around me turning 40, celebrating life and the promise of tomorrow genuinely happy for them. The path they are traveling on is precious and precarious yet joyous, and one that deserves to be lived fully. I celebrate their happiness whilst dealing with my bittersweet mix of emotions.
Tonight I paged through a photo album of Aidan, a quick snapshot from birth to death. It carries the essence of A, his curiousness, humour, zest for life, playfulness and laughter, the beautiful caring boy he was. I was so eager to have him join my life, so delighted to share it with him and then completely decimated when he had to leave.
I cannot shake the grief, it remains as a shadow that I witness at various times depending on the sun or moon, what is happening around me, or in quiet times or even when asleep. When my grief surfaces so do all the emotions attached to it. The tears, pain in the gut, a twist in the heart, the burn behind the eyes, limbs that grow tired and the sob from my inner self, but at the same time I welcome the grief as it is my constant reminder that my children walk with me through my life.
I carry them with me – they are the children I have, not had. Never to be forgotten
I love the song, I sing it in my car, and then one day quite unexpectedly it reduces me to tears and makes me question my faith, beliefs.
Oh Aidan, I wish you were never taken from me. You were the sunshine in my days. Your calls, your hugs, your chats and laughs, your sense of humour and bravery just lit up my life and made me proud. I never imagined that one day you’d be gone and I would have to wrap my arms around you and say goodbye. Just so unfair.
Now I find you in the glorious sunrises, beautiful sunsets, in rainbows and twinkling stars, kookaburras, in songs, when I bake, light a BBQ and when I sit next to the fire, How I long to hug you and tell you how much I love you.
Today when Ren and I were pushing the trolley and it almost tipped over we laughed so hard and said how much you would have enjoyed that moment. You witnessed a similar event when we tipped a trolley over in Kenmore and Ren and I roared with laughter.
Today we – your friends and family, will celebrate you on your 40th birthday. We will sit on the hill with you and raise a glass, share stories and remember the awesome, kind, honest, incredible boy, son and friend you are to each of us.
I’ll hold onto the dream that I will find you at the end of the bridge I asked you to build the day you left, filled with all you cherished, the memories and everything you held dear, so that I can find my way, and find you on the other side.
The years creep past and grow in number as we age watching the years fly by. But we will always make time to come together, to sit on the hill and in my garden, to just pause and reflect on the light you shone, and hold onto the memories of you.
Fly high, fly safe and be my shadow.
Your mother always. XOX
Alison
by Alison | Jun 25, 2025 | .
Today I’m just sad. My heart hurts and my eyes are burning. My grief was a raw wound – too raw to cover up and it had to just sit for a while. To breathe, exposed to all, to be painful, to leak and ooze. As time passed and life moved on a protective layer could be applied, a type of bandage. No longer obvious and not as painful as the rawness eased, never quite healing with the wound remaining. Grief is a wound that is unfixable – never healing properly often with bumps or creases – reminding us of where the wounds are, where the skin didn’t attach or adhere back as smooth as before. Almost as if the wound refuses to repair itself as it should, a constant reminder of past memories. When the weather is cold scars ache, but these old, scarred wounds ache irrespective of the weather but at erratic times when least expected, or at other times right on cue. The rawness of my grief has subsided as life has carried me along. But the bandage remains fitting softly over me, flapping gently against me on the breeze, falling tightly around me in a storm and occasionally lifting off in tempestuous moments exposing the wound beneath. Today is one of those tempestuous days. In truth there are many days that this bandage lifts and almost leaves. Most days I reach out quickly and smooth it down before exposing myself too easily. As Aidan’s birthday approached my insides hurt, a nausea settled in and my scars ached. Today I will just sit and gently touch my wounds, and feel the scars, letting memories settle around me, surrounded by those that love me and who loved Aidan, and I will just hurt. Tomorrow, I will hide them again. Happy 39th birthday my amazing boy XOX Love the mother.
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
