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
by Alison | Jun 26, 2019 | .
Last night I sat and listened to the rain pummel the roof while my tears dripped to the floor. I so wish that change stopped happening and that life could maintain the ebb and flow that I get accustomed to. But here I sit wishing my boy a happy birthday on my lounge chair in the dark of night accompanied by raindrops and feeling disappointed in myself that I’m so time poor and didn’t find the time to create a post for Aidan.
My scrambled thoughts trying to unravel my day and give me a semblance of order to the words I want to write. I know I’m my own worst enemy as I keep myself busy, drowned in work and committees, not giving myself time to breath and smell the roses. I do however always remember to look up and appreciate at least a moment in each day.
I opened A’s website and flicked through his photos. Each one brought back a memory and a recognition of time and place. The promise of life, of a future, of something new or just to be. Well that just made be sob as each thought just hurt.
The constant chatter in my head, the work and the meetings are actually what keeps driving me and getting me out of bed. Without them all those unanswered questions, thoughts and doubts would just keep resurfacing, incessantly spinning and turning like being caught in a hamster wheel. They don’t do me any good and pull me to low ebbs.
A friend asked after her 4-year loss if it gets better. Never. Loss just hovers under the surface just waiting to overflow at any opportunity.
Sometimes I can exert control and keep life bumbling along with little outward sign of this ‘under the surface turbulence’. But sometimes it just bubbles out like an inner volcano that just erupts when it needs to. Often taking me by surprise but most of the time I know the triggers.
It’s the bitter sweetness of life that I often struggle with and try to accept. Knowing there is much that I will never experience, that I have to witness others doing. These are often the most difficult moments to bear.
Many cannot understand my need to keep busy, to work, to be involved and to tease my head but I know if I stop and be still for too long it’s possible the stillness will overtake me and paralyze me, forcing me to peer into that dark hole that beckons and I fight to stay out off.
Everyday is a tussle of mind, will, memories and living.
A few hours yesterday I spent with little miss Ruby and her wonderful mother, Aleisha. I know how lucky I am to have a daughter in law who still wants me as part of her life and shares her bundle of joy with me, filling some of those holes in my heart. I kissed those adorable cheeks and remembered how I loved kissing Aidan’s.
He was such a wonderful, loving, caring child who just shared his open heart with me so easily. The rumble of laughter, the easy jokes, the big hugs and the ease of his nature and kindness combined with his openness to talk and share made him easy to love and enjoy.
As many of us who have lost do, we persecute ourselves with doubt, and question if we did enough and loved enough. Did we pass on bad genes and cause this or was it just life and chance? I try hard to not keep going to those thoughts knowing if I continue on that path I might have to find a cliff to jump from.
So, I climbed into bed with the rain still thundering down and put my feet onto my hot-water bottle for comfort and sobbed into my pillow until darkness and sleep enveloped me, unsure if the dawn would greet me.
I woke and it was today, and I survived another birthday.
Aidan, I loved you before you were born, I loved you while you lived, and I will love you till I am no longer breathing. Happy birthday my darling boy, for yesterday! XOX
by Alison | Dec 31, 2018 | .
I decided to look up Aplastic Anemia and see if any progress had been made in their success rate. To many this condition is unknown as the incidence of aplastic anaemia is 0.7 – 4.1 cases per million people worldwide.
21 years ago, I lost my beautiful daughter to this rare disorder. I was told that she was a 1 in a million as at that time they had only seen it once before in a child of her age. The odds …50-50
It is not cancer, but serious, as the bone marrow is severely affected and there are very few blood cells left in circulation. Without adequate numbers of blood cells people with aplastic anaemia can become anaemic (low red blood cells) and more susceptible to infections (low white blood cells), and to bleeding and bruising more easily (low platelets).
Needless to say, it was like a fast rewind, as words of immunosuppressant drugs, immune systems, platelets conjured up memories of anxiety, disbelief, hope, happiness, sadness and grief. And of the beautiful baby girl who entered the world and filled our lives with unmeasurable love and joy.
21 years ago, I made the decision to take Laila off the ventilator and let her be. There were some who were angry with me for making that decision, and others accepted more easily. Aidan who was 11 at the time cried as though his heart would break. Mine was breaking but I had to be steadfast.
When Laila was first diagnosed her Doctor said to me that she would do everything in her power to try and make Laila better but if she felt that the time had come to make choices, she would tell me. That morning when I arrived at the hospital and stood next to Laila as she slept, she looked me in the eye and said the time had come. There was nothing more they could do and that it was now unfair to keep putting this child through more pain.
I understood as at Christmas, her presents still at home, I had stood next to her and watched Father Christmas come and wish her. Later she bit me and stared at me, those big eyes bored into my soul with sadness and made my heart ache. I couldn’t hold her just sit next to her and wrap myself around her as best I could.
So, I made my decision and told those close to me and just after 3pm on the 31st December we unhooked the machine and pushed her out of ICU, outside and back into the kid’s cancer ward where she had spent much of those past months. A small oxygen cylinder at her feet with a nose clip which helped her until we got her settled. We took it out and she lay on my lap and just breathed so quietly and slowly until her breath just eased away and all was still. Utter quiet is what I remember surrounded by vases of beautiful flowers, and filtered sunlight pouring through the windows.
Why oh why – I have no idea – and never for one moment did I think I would have to endure something rare and similar again… but I did – and the why oh why just rattles louder in my mind.
It is hard to believe that it is 21 years ago.
I do wonder what my happy child would look like today, as she will be turning 24 on the 9 January. Its all I can do …wonder… and try not to drive myself demented with questions that will never be answered.
I will drive to the hill after work and sit with A, and gaze out beyond and remember.
To the small person who lifted my heart to places I did not believe were possible – who bought joy to her brother and her mother and those that knew her – I give my gratitude.
Laila Vaun Rip
09.01.1995
31.12.1975
by Alison | Oct 26, 2018 | .
October is a month I celebrate two weddings, a passing and a funeral. It’s a time I reflect on what is and what has been.
I miss Aidan, and Laila in more ways than I can ever express. A deep-rooted yearning and sense of loss that I experience all the time.
I miss many others too that are absent from my daily life. The ones we don’t always talk about. As a parent, a friend and as a migrant there are many that I love, have loved, that have moved away or been left behind.
The cliché of someone being in your life for a season is a nice explanation of trying to understand why this happens. We love people and its painful to say goodbye. Sometimes that goodbye is harder if they do a U-turn and just leave.
I struggle to work out how these bonds are so easily broken, or why some die before others. Random or ordained …I carry so many scars, the hurt I bury deep within. To survive I need to stop tearing myself apart with adopted guilt, despair and unanswered questions.
I’ve asked myself so many times why I am still ‘here’.
Why are some oblivious to others, just forget them, or treat them disrespectfully, why do some inflict pain on each other, why do we still love and keep getting hurt, why do some have to die too early. It’s a cruel world but also a miraculous one.
Aleisha is soon to give the breath of life to her bump, and a new life brings renewed hope.
The seasons come and go, nature binds us all together, the storms clear and the sun warms us, the stars envelop us and suck us into their mysterious world.
I sit on our hill and look out over Aidan’s flame tree and see hope. Beyond in the valley the earth is greening up after the rains, the sun is beaming down, and the birds are in full song. Cars swoosh past behind me as they move people to school and to work.
It is fitting that tonight we are holding a fundraising event for breast cancer. It is one of the ways that I can pay it forward.
Life is not for nothing – it’s the time we are given to grow, to nurture and learn that even though we can suffer terrible sadness and heartbreak we can give back, and make a small difference in this world – to a stranger, to a child in hospital fighting cancer, to a survivor of breast cancer, to a homeless person or someone suffering abuse, or saving a koala. Its about becoming more open to the good in each other, to put selfishness aside and to try to not take this life for granted. We only know this moment and the past.
I sit with my memories and celebrate Aidan and thank the universe that I have these to hang onto.
Miss you, your warmth and kindness, your strength and your love my darling son
