by Alison | Jan 1, 2021 | .
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.
by Alison | Oct 20, 2020 | .
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.
The mother
XOX
hard to believe its ten years…
by Alison | Jun 25, 2020 | .
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
by Alison | Jan 6, 2020 | .
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
Fly high…
by Alison | Oct 20, 2019 | .
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.
20.10.10
