by Alison | Oct 20, 2021 | .
Us humans are an interesting collective.
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.
Love you forever Aidan Cale Needham
20.10.10
by Alison | Jun 25, 2021 | .
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.
How can you mend a broken heart?
Aidan Cale Needham b 25.06.1986
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
