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.
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.
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
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.
I said to Aleisha, ‘I will not believe my life has been a lie’.
There will always be fingers pointed, usually only as murmurings from afar, often from those that are envious or jealous, but when it is from those that you think are close to you, or whom you love, who do it unexpectedly then the punch is hard, yet questionable.
At high school it was not my peers who struck but my teachers, because I stood up and stood out.
My life stripped bare when I was 16 and the bottom fell out over the next few years. The resilience of youth is amazing and perhaps that I also didn’t give in, or up, and just kept looking forward and pushing upwards.
I’ve always had my twin brothers who have held out their hands from close or afar in comfort and support. And luckily my small group of friends have carried and dragged me through many of my stumbles and heartaches, and still do. My journey has been fraught with sadness so being a part of it for these amazing people cannot have been easy.
But those closest who turn and point and cause irreparable harm are often entitled, having had a safety net through life, and have no reason to blame and denounce the past as a sham, pointing fingers and preferring not to take accountability for their part or actions, with lack of understanding.
I’m often amazed at how many choose which memories of the past to remember, or just rewrite those memories to back up their story or to complete their picture – whether truthful or pure fantasy, or just wrong. How sad is that, because it will always hurt someone, perhaps unknowingly or on purpose.
There is so much of our journey that most people whom we meet, or who pass though are blissfully unaware of. If we scratched the surface or spent time really getting to know each other we would be amazed at how arduous some have been, and if we took time to really know and understand before throwing stones, pointing fingers and just being awful, then perhaps life would be a little kinder for all.
My therapist has said I should write a book, take my blog and publish it and share with others. I started writing about Laila’s journey which abruptly stopped when I moved 8 years ago, and my life was packed in boxes. Maybe one day when I unpack and find my old journal, I’ll complete it but if you’d like a glimpse the beginning is here https://thepiratechef.au/laila/
My story continues, happily. My life has not been a lie.
I’ve lived it and taken responsibility for my role in it. I’ve survived losing both my parents young, raising my own two children who loved me unconditionally and I them. I’ve had to endure both my beautiful children being given life’s ‘odds’ and succumbing to those illnesses. I’ve embraced my life through the good the bad and the ugly, loving those around me and tripping along my various paths. Taking on a family and learning to love someone else’s children whilst mine was enduring his own.
Many of those around me couldn’t understand the grief of a 16-year-old whose father went away for a weekend and never came home. Many would only understand years later, or maybe not at all.
Many wouldn’t understand how finding out that you were lied to and found your mother dead when you were 23 was numbing and would affect you for years after.
Many will never understand that being told your daughter of 2 who you were raising as a single mom, had a 50/50 chance of survival, was your worst nightmare and that losing your baby shy of her 3rd birthday at 39 was unthinkable, and having to break that news to your darling son who was 11 was tragic.
Many can never understand immigrating with a son of 15 nor that settling in a new country was traumatic.
Many will never understand accepting a relationship with a man single handedly bringing up 5 children in a strange country and embracing them as your own.
Many will never understand when your son of 22 stands in front of you and apologises for putting you through another diagnosis after being told he has an inoperable tumour.
Many will never understand how beautiful it is to see your brave son marry the girl he loves.
Many will never understand when your son tells you he feels like he is waiting to die and how selfish you feel for enjoying every moment with him and willing him to live.
Many will never understand how broken you feel to have to say goodbye to your boy of 24, and the heartache that lasts forever.
Many will never know how much I have loved and lost and still love, nor will they ever understand.
Some will continue to throw accusations, stones, punches or whatever because it serves their story – their purpose. I say throw as much as you like and believe whatever lie your story lets you tell to comfort yourself or to make yourself better in your story, but I don’t care.
Its your lie and your life.
I live mine, surrounded by the family and friends who love, care and want me with them. Giving of myself fully to them in every way I can because I am grateful that they walk with me, that they have taken the time to see me, and bits of my journey and have chosen to hold my shattered heart with love and care.
I thank you for your help… to ground me, to find peace and happiness in each day and to love you all.
Today I celebrate my beautiful boy Aidan on his 37th birthday. He made my life whole, and he filled my heart with love, happiness, laughter and joy. I miss him every day.
Take each day as it dawns
Enjoy and love those around you
Smile and live life.
A misty morning with light rain greeted me when I woke…. I felt broken. Twelve years today since I hugged my boy and heard him laugh and saw his smile. The story books just don’t tell the truth, death is confronting, and grief continues.
Coffee on the hill this morning in the swirling clouds, and gentle rain, was a quiet relief and a good place to let tears fall in silence.
Loud music in my car dumbed down my grief and my memories on repeat.
As I made my way to Brisbane, I drove past the hospital to see it encircled in purple. The Jacaranda trees in full bloom were a beautiful sight but made me cry. When we lived in Cape Town, we had beautiful Jacarandas in our street that created a radiant purple carpet.
Twelve years ago, when we eventually said our goodbyes and left the hospital, I never noticed the sea of purple surrounding us. So deep was my despair and trying to navigate my way out of the carpark for the Mountain took all my strength and focus. Today was different.
I looked and saw and cried.
Twelve years ago, I sat on Aidan’s hospital bed and talked, made plans and said I love you. It wasn’t supposed to be a goodbye. Later he closed his eyes, and our hearts broke.
I know he was tired, many months (years) of chemo and radiation, injections and scans, bloods and consultations, and in-between fun and laughter, baking and good food, vows and weddings and plans for the future.
I should have been able to watch him grow and be happy but how fortunate was I that I did watch him, grieve, grow and be happy. That was Aidan. My son who loved and was loved, and who made the most of each day as best he could… always making future plans… with a smile and a hug.
To say I miss Aidan is an understatement. When Laila died, we knew each other’s grief, he helped distract me, loved me and showed me how to laugh again. We painted, played music, baked and cooked, walked in forests and hugged trees, and lived life with sadness and grief.
This time its different and I feel broken in parts, such utter sadness that just overflows as it finds its way to the surface when I’m not taking notice. It just is and has to be accepted.
The morning birds and wallabies, coffee, cat and cows make me smile, and give me a reason to start my day. The beautiful gardens I’m surrounded by, bring me joy as do my family.
Aleisha said, “kiss our boy on the wind, I have hugs for you”.
I did that this morning. Held his tree and sent my love on its way and then went to receive my hugs. It was a special day filled with wonderful family and friends.
