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.
Its 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.
Change. How often have we heard that word… sometimes embracing it, or ignoring it, or having no control of the change wrought in our lives. How I have envied some friends whose lives seem devoid of change and looks so nice, on an even keel. There are not many who blithely go through life unaffected by change whilst many of us are bashed around by the suddenness, and sometimes cruelness of change.
I have screamed at the universe that I would like my life to just be, for a while. Calm and quiet, moving sedately along as the seasons change. But I think I was born under a restless star that delighted in throwing me into a universe of chaos and an emotional quagmire of constant change.
Today is a typical example. Woke sad and restless knowing that as the sun rose, I’d have to rise and tackle the emotions that were sure to burst over me. Milestones that persist each year such as birthdays, weddings, a funeral, Xmas and NY will always be celebrations of life, and what has been, but are also reminders of what is lost. Just as I was about to set out to have coffee on the hill with Aidan and celebrate his birthday, Aleisha alerted me to the problem that Aidan’s Facebook page is missing! Not how I envisaged the start of my day to have lost A again.
I try so hard to keep whatever I can of Aidan. But I keep losing bits of him which is a horrible feeling. He used to be on my private health card, and then they removed him. The bank told me they will be removing A off my internet banking which was like a kick in the guts. I’m still hanging onto my Medicare card as he is no 2. Every time it gets renewed, I hold my breath to see if they ‘forget’ and leave him with me. I love looking at my cards and internet banking and see A is still with me. Now FB has decided to deactivate him. What next!
Desperation set in and my stomach churned as to how to get him back. How to stop more change when my day had barely begun. Fighting with a huge beast that has almost no contact with a human but sucks in all our info, and memories, and controls them. It made me mad and sad, and I decided to leave it till later as there was no fight in me.
Aidan’s spot was cool as the sun hadn’t climbed the hill, but the wind was still and the winter chill lifting. Fresh coffee, beautiful views and Aidan’s tree warmed me. A bleeding-heart bush with its burst of red leaves, which is growing in front of our tree, weeps for us all. And so, another year is passing, and my wonderful boy is growing older, although in our minds he will forever be the young A we loved.
Spending time at Sirromet was good for me. A few good changes have taken place there since we held Aidan’s wake on the terrace, and being outdoors with memories of the good times, we have all had there, was soothing for my soul, as well as being with friends and family who loved him.
Change can be swift, as it was with Aidan, and pushed us off course onto a path none of us wanted. But its what it is, and I am so grateful that my journey, that has been riddled with change, put Aidan in my life and let me be his mother and love him.
I am so sad, and I miss him every day, but I wouldn’t change what I had. It was a beautiful journey.
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.
