by Alison | Jan 9, 2014 | .
Today Laila Vaun would be turning 19.
A few days ago I was chatting to our 16 year old and we were laughing as I was telling her that as she walks her path there will be times when she remembers the words of her folks, she will silently acknowledge as the truth of life unfolds that we spoke many a true word.
Thankfully our youth shelters us from believing anything untoward in the future. We dream and aspire but refuse to take advice having to trip and fall ourselves before believing.
One of the pitfalls of youth is the selfishness and hurt that is bestowed on the parents as they find themselves and mature into adults. Some of us never do, others do it early and a few are late bloomers.
When I look back on my life I am grateful that I had no idea what lay before me. Turning 16 seemed a natural and obvious occurrence but little did I know that it would be a turning point in a life to follow of much tragedy, sorrow and pain.
Even as the highway of my life unfolded it never entered my realm of thinking that anything more could happen or that I could endure more.
Yet, I kept travelling those miles, at times my vehicle of life was fully laden, at other times empty and parked at the kerbside, sometimes just idling or switched off, or taking off again back on the road following its white line and path with an eye on the horizon.
I’m grateful to the mechanisms of life, that we accept and embrace the abundance and the hope of the day without pondering on what will be, so that when we are struck down it is a surprise and unexpected.
We bleed, we hurt and we bundle our pain up tight and store it in a corner of our heart and then pick ourselves up from where we left off.
Never the same, with a limp, a half smile and we try, we try so hard to make it all right for ourselves and those around us. I’ve lost, and lost again and keep losing but I gain much along the way.
I feel as though my life’s blood seeps slowly out of me, not fast enough to end my days but drip by drip, quietly puddling on the ‘other side’.
How lucky I am to be loved. To have friends and family. Their love and affection offsets the agony and puts a smile on my face, creates a cane for my limp and is a gift I never believed I would receive.
So bless you all, I am extremely grateful and words do not do it justice.
Happy birthday my sweet, sweet Laila
With love as ever from your brother who resides with you and your mother.
I look up and try to reach the sky and my children in the sun.
That same day I heard good ole Rod sing and these lyrics are how I feel about my kids – all of them – You’re in my heart, you’re in my soul… xxx
by Alison | Jan 5, 2014 | .
Driving to Brisbane I saw a sign that said ‘ life promises you a soft landing but not a safe passage .‘
It made me smile and sad simultaneously – the truth of that saying is reflected in my life.
Just as I relax and start to feel secure my life raft is struck by an almighty wave, it lurches wildly, is tossed around like a feather being blown on the wind, then gains speed as it begins its downward journey surfing the wave.
The question becomes, how far am I to fall this time …
Suddenly the wind changes and my raft rocks violently and bounces into the trough. Glancing up I can see clouds racing as does my pulse. The crests of the waves crash over me as I bob along clutching to the sides, knuckles white with desperation, praying for calm.
Suddenly it is eerily quiet and anxiety recedes. My buoyancy returns. Sunshine beams down on me and I can feel that warm glow spread through me and brighten my soul. My splintered heart is bathed in glorious light and all hurt is momentarily pushed aside.
Thank goodness for our human spirit, for the sun that shines and the moon that rises, for the friendships and caring and for our unconscious umbilical cord of hope.
May your pain be momentarily cast aside this Xmas while you are bathed in glorious light, in optimism and hope. Surround yourself with good, with positivity, with joy that binds us, to enable you to find the love and kindness that we seek in others.
Lay down your cross, your hurt and pain for today. Waken with the dawn and rejoice in the birth of a new day for we cannot change the course of the world but we can stand tall in our universe and reach for the stars.
Our absent friends and family reside in peace and harmony and my wish is the same for us left behind.
Love, peace, hope and laughter
X Alison
25/12/13
by Alison | Oct 21, 2013 | .
There are times when I feel like I live in some sort of ‘us and them’ experience – difficult to explain how I feel but let me try.
I was standing in line waiting to order a coffee and noticed that the lady in front of me had a tattoo at the base of her neck.
It was of a small pair of feet, similar to an imprint the soles of your feet leave in wet sand, plus the date of birth and death of her young son with an inscription… a son, a brother, you will never be forgotten.
We all look relatively normal but for those of us who grieve we are not yet, those around us want us to be, and in many ways expect us to be ourselves.
How can you ever be when you lose your child, how can you ever be the same?
I feel that I am a marked person. Outwardly I look normal but inwardly I battle to survive some days and others I do.
How easily those around us assume that we are over the hump, out of mourning, that we are back in the saddle and getting on with it.
Unfortunately we are marked for life, our life will forever be a daily challenge and the angst we feel will always be ours alone.
To be marked or not to be marked – that is my question.
Should we wear an armband, a wristband or a tattoo so that when we pass each other in the street we can stop and give comfort as there is a mutual understanding of the grief. There are too many sad, bereft people in this world who have no one to share their stories with and receive comfort.
I try so hard to hide my grief so that the people around me feel more comfortable. I breathe every second of every day and have no idea why. Why are we left standing over the pile of dirt with its marker and memories in our heart?
Memories, cards, emails, texts and clothes are all the physical parts that tie us to our sadness that keeps our pain anchored.
I miss being hugged by my children, I miss A’s texts, his love and concern for me.
It’s not replaceable
That’s what hurts
It leaves a hole
Too deep
Too dark
Empty
Jump in or stay on the edge?
It takes strength and stubbornness to stay in the light.
So, maybe a tattoo like a name can anchor you to life. Never to be forgotten, always a reminder of what is, what has been and what lives with you forever.
Today marks your passing A, it is a time for reflection and for me to share love with those still around me. I drift towards the written word as the verbal one will trip me up and be my undoing.
I cherish every memory, it sustains me yet saddens me but I soldier on.
I send love to all those who hurt, who have lost, who have suffered or who still suffer. May you find peace in the setting sun, in the rising moon, walking in the autumn leaves or in the chill of the early morn or just sipping a cuppa tea and listening to the daily sounds of life.
Take care and be kind to you.
Alison
My darling son Aidan Cale Needham who was born on the 25/06/86 and left us on the 20/10/10
My beautiful daughter Laila Vaun Rip who was born on the 09/01/95 and left us on the 31/12/97
My wonderful daughter, wife of Aidan, Aleisha, and to my adopted children, my thoughts and love to you.
by Alison | Sep 18, 2013 | .
I wear my sadness like a comfortable old shawl
There are days when it sits loosely draped over my shoulders, barely making contact. Other times it slips off and hangs low down my back, swinging quite freely.
At other times I pull it close and wrap it tightly around me. Feeling the familiarity, the closeness of my sadness as I hold it tightly pressed to me.
Days and nights roll into each other and the memories ebb and flow. Every moment in every day has a memory. Many of them hold a story for me and when I am busy they gently bump into me, hesitate and then tumble away. Other days they ram into me with a jolt, demanding a reflection and then there are times that as the memories appear they are quickly followed by a succession of them telling a story. It is these that cripple me and cause tears and are my undoing.
I hear you in my head, I mutter to you, talk to you in your photos, drive my car and reminisce with you, laugh at odd things that you might cause and just miss you.
October is looming and it will be ‘another year”. The passing years are unstoppable, constant, like waves on a beach, pounding the sand, caressing it, flowing gently at times, calm then strong and powerful, always changing but always flowing.
It is the letting go of the physical that is hard and what we miss soo much because the head and the emotion keeps going, and going and going.
The hug, the smile, the cheek, the humour, the laughter, the shouting, all the stuff we take for granted until it’s gone.
But… what I have left I keep close to me, wrapped tightly around me in a bright, coloured shawl of fragrances, memories and emotions.
x the mother.
Aidan & Laila
‘wish I could hold you one more time to ease the pain’
by Alison | Jul 14, 2013 | .
Granny Rita apologised for asking as she could not remember how old Laila would be.
I realised that in Australia there is Aidan and in South Africa there was Aidan and Laila.
Not many know that Aidan had a sister and that she would be 18years, so, as I sit this crisp wintry morning I think it’s time the Pirate Chef reveals his sister and adds her to his page.
My first introduction to Australia was when Aidan and I visited in July 04 and I was three months pregnant. On our return to SA our lives were tossed around. There was no one to meet us at the airport, on our arrival at home we were greeted with an empty house and boxes packed with our belongings and waiting for us. So began another new beginning for Aidan and I, and now in retrospect one I’m glad that I was forced to take.
Aidan and I found a new home; we lost friends along the way to many judgements but gained new ones, readjusted to life as a single mother.
Vaun and Renee suggested I have a holiday back in Cape Town and decided to birth Laila there. It was such a relief to be ‘home’ surrounded by my best friends.
Laila Vaun was born on the 9th January 1995 and as she lay on my stomach, newly born, I was overcome with an immense joy and wonderment. Aidan fell in love with his sister before she was born. He had always wanted a sister and had put her on his wish lists to Santa.
He was delighted with her and his gentle, humorous ways entertained her over the years. They were joined together through a kindred spirit and my best memories are of the two of them laughing together.
Laila blessed our lives and she and Aidan filled my heart and soul with love, warmth and joy.
Being a single mother is a struggle but it is also fabulous and it gave me quality time with my children when well or sick.
A few months after Laila turned two we noticed bruises over her body and after asking questions and investigating we ended at her paediatrician who sat with sad eyes and told me that she was ill and that we needed to take her to the Red Cross Children’s hospital for further tests.
The waiting is that time when your heart sits in your throat and your chest constricts and burns not knowing what the diagnosis will be, never really believing that it will be ‘bad’. When the results came back that it was not cancer I felt instant relief but there was a but – more tests were needed to find out exactly what was the problem.
Listening to Laila cry during her lumbar puncture seared through me and left me feeling helpless. Her diagnosis left me feeling more helpless – 50-50 chance – a one in a million disease – not prevalent in small children … I felt disbelief and sadness and then looked around at the children waiting, as day patients to be seen to in the cancer ward, and realised that this would start to become part of our existence. Aplastic anaemia is a disease in which the bone marrow, and the blood stem cells that reside there, are damaged. This causes a deficiency of all three blood cell types, red blood cells, white blood cells and platelets. Aplastic refers to inability of the stem cells to generate the mature blood cells.
It occurs most commonly in the teens and twenties, and also among the elderly. It can be caused by exposure to chemicals, drugs, radiation, infection, immune disease, in about half the cases the cause is unknown. Normal bone marrow has 30-70% blood stem cells, but in aplastic anaemia, these cells are mostly gone and replaced by fat.
Aplastic anaemia is treated with immunosuppressive drugs, typically either anti-lymphocyte globulin or anti-thymocyte globulin, combined with corticosteroids and cyclosporine and regular blood transfusions and platelet transfusions.
The next 7 months were spent having regular visits to the hospital, finger pricks, blood transfusions, overnight stays, spending time at home until Laila’s blood counts got too low, waking Aidan in the middle of the night and packing the car and heading for the ward, watching Aidan do his homework in the ward and play with sick children and so and so until we were living at the hospital.
Aidan was always happy to be with Laila and spent hours sitting with her in her hospital room, playing games, dressing Barbie dolls, watching movies, arranging flowers and reading to her.
One of the hardest days of my life was going to see Aidan at his dad’s house on Christmas morning and instead of being the bearer of gifts I had to tell him that his sister was dying and that I did not know how long we had with her. Aidan howled and so did I internally. He was 11.
Aidan and I were given another week with Laila and she died in my arms on the 31 December 1997.
Aidan and I survived and our bond grew even closer.
I missed my baby with every fibre in my body but I had a gorgeous son to care for, who needed me, who was also sad and suffering and life does go on – and so did I.
Aidan wanted to move and live in Australia, it was calling him and he felt he wanted to finish school and settle here. He came to me with a proposal when he was 15 and after much deliberation I decided to take a chance and give it a go. We sold up, packed up and put everything into storage and headed for Oz, another new beginning and Aleisha.
Aidan met Aleisha at school not long after we arrived and for various reasons their relationship grew slowly into a firm friendship. They finally cemented their relationship at schoolies at the end of year 12.
Their relationship grew and matured and they had fun together, getting their careers going, traveling, celebrating 21sts and then there was the day that Aidan had his eyes tested. As Aidan and I sat waiting for the results of his MRI we held hands. Tumour was the last word I expected to hear.
Aidan and I stood in the street afterwards and looked at each other with tears in our eyes, he saying sorry to me for being sick and I was saying sorry because I felt such guilt. We hugged each other and started the next part of our journey.
I have endured much pain losing both my children to illness but I have been enriched knowing them both, birthing them, cherishing them and just loving them as their mother.
Aidan wrote an essay at school in Australia, it is not totally factual but displays his feelings and details part of his journey, which I will publish here for you to read in his own hand. Laila’s story I have been writing and will publish here when ready.
Aidan’s Story (PDF)
To my dearest Aidan and Laila
Fly together
Laugh together
Be together – forever
Aidan Cale Needham (25/06/1986 – 20/10/2010) & Laila Vaun Rip (09/01/1995 – 31/12/1997)
