A Year Later

Dave and I having a conversation in the kitchen this evening, fuelled by wine and beer, about this current moment. A year on... whats happened and what hasn't.

I'm writing again... after a 6 month break. It may not last but I found myself writing this blog in the shower and at the dinner table and on the ride home today...so here it is.

I am a different person. I am stronger and more vulnerable at the same time.
For the first time in my life I am an adult. I mean that in the saddest, least teenage fantasy, beige tax accountant kind of way.
At 35, nearly 36, I have for the first time in my life experienced a year of life, when I alone am responsible for my own happiness without the comforting, soft landing of Mum.

I am not sure I am qualified for this. I am different to who I thought I was. Better? maybe. Worse? sure, sometimes.

I am a fitter, healthier, weirder, sadder, more aware, less oblivious, more honest, less childish, more average, darker person. It has been the hardest year, which has, in turn, made me able to do and with stand harder things.

I dont believe she is with us, or watching over us. I am sorry, I just don't feel it. I wish with all my being that she was an ethereal being following my every move and guiding me from afar, but thats not true. The closest thing I can see is that she is in me, my memories and my actions because she taught me. But if the Disney version of Ghost Mum existed, with her harp and her halo and her wings, sitting on her fluffy cloud watching me and the girls and Dave and Dad, I think she would be proud of the fact that even though it is different and it has sucked and we miss her terribly, we have lived. We have moved forward inch by inch and we will continue to.

Is 2017 that balm that we need to sooth the ragged edges left by 2016? Nah, I doubt it, but if I can write another blog in a years time, it means I have at least got my fingers, my brain and my Mac, so we will be ok....

I thank my lucky stars

Today I was sad. Its ok, it is what it is. It just felt a little like a headache but in my chest.

I was just looking through photos of our 6 month trip.  I know I don't talk about it much. It seems surreal now.

Actually thats not true, I just have trouble conjuring up the feelings from the trip because of what happened after.

We were so lucky, so so lucky to have been able to do what we did. To just "upticks and go" and 6 months and 1 week of adventure, pure freedom and fun.

I am really grateful for all of what we experienced but I am most grateful for WHEN it happened. Consider this, If we had gone when I had proposed we go, January, we wouldn't have been able to go at all. Mum passed on January 21st, just two weeks after we got back.

As it happens our trip went off without a hitch, we escaped not only unscathed but completely ready to do it all over again. It was like we got given the universal green light.

Dont get me wrong it wasn't all sunshine and roses, there was the time that Leah got onto a crowded peak hour Paris subway train and I got caught in the doors, trying desperately to open them before it whisked away my eldest child...on her own. There was the great Blood nose of Milan, when I had to practically bathe Brianna in a public fountain, which then turned a worrying shade of Pink. There was the stroll through the "red light" district in Montmarte, where my children learned that "Pussy" has two meanings, there was the time I got drunk on Baileys and decided I could ride Leahs scooter... I ate gravel, there was the sprained ankle in the Grand canyon which we told Leah to "shake off" (great parenting moment 2015), there was the gastro outbreak in L.A which resulted in spewing out the window of the rental car...semi successfully, there was poisoned snails in Barcelona which along with the gin is a night I would rather forget, there was the Toga party in Las vegas, we didn't attend but it happened around our motorhome for about 5 hours, it feels weirdly exposing when people party right outside where you are sleeping.... Oh and there was "Dick and Balls" in Louisiana. A state park so grungy and dodgy and swamp like, that I was expecting squirrel and moonshine for dinner... It also was shaped like a dick and balls on the map....

It wasn't sunshine and roses but it was perfect and I thank my lucky stars.

DICK AND BALLS, LOUISIANA

Poke... yep still hurts

When you find a bruise on your body, do you poke it? Do you continue to poke it every 10 - 15 minutes throughout the day just to see wether it still hurts?

Yeah, me too. Like some weird sadist and masochist rolled into one.

Carrying the grief over Mums death, like a bruise.

I know its there and every so often it gets poked to see how raw it is.  Poke... yep still hurts.

I found some video of mum dancing on Facebook. My brain wanted to know weather I was strong enough to with stand this punch to the bruise, my heart wanted to hear her laugh. I am strong enough. I will continue to be strong enough.

Poke... yep still hurts.

For all those perhaps going through something similar... its now a bruise... thats progress. Take heart.

The silence is deafening

Since you've been gone, we have had 5 bbq's, 2 birthdays, 3 public holidays and a few dinners.
At each one of these events the absence of you is in every pause, every silence.

I can just about hear you over my shoulder talking. Conversation came so naturally to you that there was almost never a lull. Our times together now as friends and family are comparatively quiet.

As a result, I sometimes find it harder to make conversation because I am conscious of you not being there to say your part.

The silence at these moments screams MUM, MUM, MUM, MUM.

Getting to Know My Dad Again

I have always had my Dad.

My Dad is patient, kind, intelligent and a bit of an Olde World gentleman.

For many years, Mum and I spent a lot of time together. Having fun, raising children, eating, talking, shopping, with Dad in the background. Dad was a steady constant always the supporting act to the colourful, if not crazy, ride that was Mum.

Dad is now very much in the foreground. The texts and conversations that once would have been with Mum, are now with Dad. The many days of babysitting per week and random requests from me for a new mop head, tin of tomatoes and more wool for the blanket, all fall to him now. I don't think we have ever communicated as often as we do now.

Dad has even taken over Mums' role of "Avon Lady" in the retirement village where they live.  A lot of Dads days were spent in caring for Mum, "preserving" her energy for the next adventure she chose to embark on.

Today we met for coffee, went shopping and had lunch together. I think, a first for both of us, alone.

It is a very good kind of different. Next time we will get better sushi though, hey Dad?

I Want To Leave A Pile Of Nothing

We have been back for 2.5 months. I am already searching for the next "thing". The next big adventure or move.
We are in absoloutley no position to do ANYTHING but I look and dream anyway. I am no longer able to just be content with what we had. I am not looking to aquire new things but more new experiences.
I am now an "exciting life" junkie. It is going to be a while down the track, but it will happen again, because so far it has happened anyway, but now I am behind the steering wheel.

Its been 2 months since Mum died, to the day. The "things" she had didn't matter, and amounted to quite a small pile at the end of the day. It didnt bother me though, because what mattered to her was the fact she could see trees and hills from her hospital bed. What mattered to her was the taste of the Orange juice after days of fasting. What mattered to her were her "babies". If Mum could have written a book about her life, it would have been 1000 times more interesting than anything I have written in this blog. I wish now I could have written them for her. Nothing matters more than family and the time we spend together.... at the moment I would like that to be in a range of exotic places. I hope the pile I leave behind one day is tiny.

The weirdest of the weird...

Warning: This is weird and a little black. I apologise if I offend anyone, It's not my intention. It is at the heart of it, really quite funny and one of the many weird things we encounter in life. Its how we cope sometimes with loss of a most cherished love one, like my Mum. I have realised it's only weird and funny because its true xx



Have you ever just stopped and thought to yourself "Never in a million years did I ever think that I would end up doing...This , this is really, really weird".

I have a pretty high tolerance for weird, I do, but when I am sitting at my kitchen table with a spoon, snap lock bags, small boxes and my mums ashes, even I have to stop and wonder a bit.

It all started innocently enough, Mum requested that her ashes be scattered in a rose garden. Right, easy. Well no, firstly, there is heaps, they are really heavy. Secondly, lots of people want to be involved. Its ok. These people are all loved ones and were truly loved by Mum. Its just not what I expected. I had nightmares of a big cloud of dust enveloping picnic goers and romantic couples as they enjoyed a lovely day in the park with the rose garden, while we were saying another goodbye to Mum.

So we came up with the idea of everyone getting a small box to scatter for themselves, in their own time on a rose garden of their choosing. Lovely, in theory. Really weird in reality. Its a big responsibility, what if I spill some? Do I just vacuum it up and say a sorry to Mum? Also would she be pissed off to learn her ashes are in Woolworths brand snap lock bags?? and Reject shop gift boxes? Do I sticky tape them shut? We don't want a random accident involving little dust piles. What do I do with the left overs????

Its just really weird and something I never ever contemplated. Poor dad is with me on this too, we have been putting it off for quite a few weeks now. Mum has had pride of place on the kitchen bench in their home. The cylinder with her ashes even sports a small soup stain on the outside of it, which for Mum, is really, really fitting.

I know with all my heart that Mum wouldn't mind me sharing this story. She is,where ever she is, rolling with laughter. Mum always was the weirdest of us. I guess we are following a grand tradition.

A bit of my history

When I was about One Year old, I suffered burns from a hot cup of coffee. It was one of those unpredictable and unforeseeable accidents in life.

We were visiting friends, The coffee was too hot for the adult to drink, they had carefully placed the cup on the kitchen bench and pushed it back for it to not be in reach. I climbed up the kitchen draws and pulled it down over my head.

In a funny coincidence, my Mum had just read an article in The Readers Digest (As you do) on how to treat burns, so instead of covering me in butter (as was practiced at the time), she rushed me to the shower and peeled off all the clothes and burnt skin. The end result was a skin graft from my thigh to my underarm and my neck. I have no facial scarring and no ill affects thanks to her actions. I don't remember the event or any of the aftermath at all.

As a family, we had recently immigrated from Zimbabwe, and were only just settling into a new life in Perth. I was in Princess Margaret Hospital for months. Everyday, for more than two months, Mum would have to drop my brother to school and then catch two buses from Booragoon (where we rented at the time) to PMH and then back again. Mum didn't speak a lot of English and could't drive and didn't know Perth well at all.

After my Kids were born, I remember asking her about this time. She said it was hard, that she missed me when she couldn't see me, that it made her sad. However she also told me that the hospital offered her counselling to deal with any guilt or depression... "Thank you but no, I'm not depressed and I'm not guilty, I didn't burn my daughter and don't feel like it was my fault. " She told the Nurse at the time. My Mum was so strong and absolutely right. I can imagine, now, as a Mum, dealing with Mothers guilt etc how easy it would have been to fall into the cycle of guilt and depression but Mum didn't even consider it. She did the job that was at hand. Mum didn't often complain about the trials and tribulations that were delt her, she just got on with living.

Put down the Heavy load

Guilt, it's every where. 

Anything can make you feel bad. 

Put down the heavy load. 

The extra 15 minutes sleep in, the cupcake for breakfast, the secret new shoes. 

These are nothing. Don't feel bad. 

The left behind library books, the crappy school lunch with a shriveled carrot and dry sandwich, the third night of noodles in a row, the un-ironed everything.

These are nothing. Don't feel bad.

The forgotten gym membership, the extra wine, the sticky floors and dust bunny pets. 

The late nights, the missed appointment, the not done work. 

These are nothing. Don't feel bad. 

The could I have done more, could I have helped more? Could I be more, should I change? 

This is something but still nothing. Don't feel bad 

Put down the heavy load 

The crazy... It's the best part

We have been back almost 3 months. I have had my world turned upside down.

I am currently watering the roses out the front of my house, no bra, no pants and a nice glass of red in hand.
Every 10 minutes or so the 72 bus goes pass, I toast them with my glass :-).

We try to go to the beach once a week. The kids aren't enrolled into any after school activities. It is so nice to just chill at home, with time to cook, time to do homework and relax. We are eating better as a family and are no where near as rushed.

I am trying to retain the magic. As much as possible, the whimsical, the beautiful. I light the nice smelly candles all the time. I put the fairy lights on in our bedroom, I am writing and creating. I haven't done this for years. The spark inside me for beauty and quirky and thoughtfulness has been ignited.

For the first time , in a long time, I am being led by my heart. Dave will come home and find me baking, sitting out the back watching the sun set, crocheting my blanket or hugging my wookie. I'm crazy and not even trying to hide it.

I now have time to look in op shops, to find something that makes me happy.
I like colour.

For the first time in 5 years we had friends over for a meal. We made the best of our awkward little house and entertained.

If I feel like talking, I talk. Feel like writing, I write. Feel like standing around the front yard in my knickers, I do it. I am drinking more than I used too, but I am allowing myself some grace in this department. Yay ... Wine.

I feel free. Sometimes at a loss, but certainly free. My time is mine, it is rich with opportunity as well as grief. "Cheers people on the bus, I'm in my underwear and I couldn't give a shit!"

I want it to be real, but is it?

Dave related a story to me today, it gave me chills. He was talking with a customer at work. He had spoken with her for about an hour, purely about work related things. The lady stopped talking, looked Dave in the eye and said "Are you ok?". "Yep, all good" was his answer. "No, you have had something big happen in your life recently, are you ok?".
Dave was shocked and had to fight back the emotions, there is no way that this lady could know about Mum, but somehow she sensed it. 

Some how there are people who know these things, people who can sense these things.

This opens a scary door for me.

I want to believe that Mum is watching me, that she can hear me. That I can talk to her and she could give me a sign that she is around. I want to believe that she is contactable. I am vulnerable. If your a telephone psychic... I'm your next mark.

But I just don't feel like that is the case.  

Before Mums death, I believed in the supernatural. I was terrified of opening that door, mainly because I believed that it was possible to contact "the other side". 
I have "angel cards" and guidance cards that are supposed to be messages from the other side, from your angels. I had a reading that I am convinced was the real deal. Ironically, Mum believed in these things and actually bought my first pack of Angel cards.

Since Mums death, I just can't fathom that its true. Do I really think that she could be a ghost?? Do I really think that she could send me a message through a deck of cards? No. I don't. I want believe, I really do. But now, when I want it most, I can only see the ridiculousness of it. Death now seems very final for me.

There are many, many things in this world that I can't explain, I think there is some kind of life after death or at least a continuation of the cycle. 

I sent a message to Mum today, the one month anniversary. No one can see the message, I am the only one who knows what I sent. 

So after saying that I dont believe, the fact that I sent that message means I still hope that maybe Mum knows what I wrote.

Coffee, one of the most important things in life

Every morning, Dave brings me a coffee in bed. I love coffee, I'm as caffeine addicted as the next person. Buts its not that, its that he takes the time in the morning to make me one. It makes me feel loved and thats a great way to start the day.

On reflection, having coffee with people is pretty much my hobby, and if it was possible to major in Caffeine based meetings and then be paid as an expert coffee companion, then I would be home and hosed. 

There has been, on rare occasions, times where I have met with so many people in one day for coffee in addition to the "love coffee" I get in the morning that I actually have the shakes come evening. I can't say no, and I won't. The conversations had over coffee are my favourite. Honest, funny, anecdotal and therapeutic. There have been other days, darker days, where the coffee with a person has been the highlight of my day, rather than a casual morning interlude.

I come from a family where, an offer of a coffee is second only to "Hello". Not being able to meet my Mum for a coffee is the biggest gap I currently feel. Now, I visit Dad, and we are bonding over coffee too.

I know its not really the coffee,  Its the connection, the fact that in that time, all else is not important, I am enthralled in the stories and observations of my friends. I want to share and I want to laugh. Coffee is the glue that connects people to my life. Now I just have to find some kind of coffee sponsor  and perhaps switch to decaf!

Same, same but different.

I have never questioned my decisions and myself more than in the last three weeks.
Everything I do or think of doing is scrutinised tortuously by my brain in an attempt to work out if i'm ok or if i'm, at least, understanding why I may not be ok.

Under normal circumstances the core belief that I subconsciously carry in my gut is i'm ok, things are good and all is ok. It might not be in the moment, but the foundations of my life are good.

Let me just clarify, I have a wonderful Father, who is also dealing with his own grief of losing a wife of 36 years, an amazing Husband, who loved my mother like his own, Two children, who are strong and a joy to be around but are also dealing, in their own way, with the loss of their beloved VoVo and Friends with their own lives, children and challenges who have volunteered their time or their ears to help me. I am not alone, I am not even unusual. Every face that passes through my work or that I see on the bus has been or will be floored by grief at some point in their lives. Do they handle things like I do? Do they want to share their thoughts and memories or do they retreat to deal in complete privacy?

I get sad at night, i'll sneak away from the action of the household and lie down. I have a chewbacca wookie teddy bear, that Dave and the girls gave me for my birthday in December. Mum was already in hospital and really sick. I have been hugging this thing every night, for about two months. This isn't healthy, I don't think, but it helps.

I didn't want to write this blog yesterday or last night, I am struggling a little to do it now. I can't get the flow, I am tired, I don't want to seem like I am trying to make my grief the spotlight. But I think this is good for me. I am a sharer and never have I written like this in my life. I have a slew of journals that have one entry on the shiny first page and were never touched again.

In a conversation with Dad yesterday, I said "The experience of Mum passing and the memories I have are now more like a ball or a sphere, in the first few days, the ball was shoved up right in front of my eyes, it was the colour red and it was all I could see, so the ball seemed as big as the world, now its a bit further away, I can hold the ball in my hand at arms length and turn it a little, look at different angles, sometimes, without my heart exploding in my chest". 
I think that is a healthy progression, but is it too soon?

But, life goes on, right? The clocks don't stop, the cracks I feel in my own heart aren't showing on the pavement outside. There is nothing new here. 
From now on, its same, same but different. 

Last Words

No, not my last words, you don't get away that easily!

This is something I have wanted to write about for a little while, I think once I do, I will feel better, mainly because I am so scared of forgetting.

I have been looking back through all of my holiday posts on Facebook to get inspiration for writing about the big trip. In doing so I have re read almost all of my Mums comments. Her support, her love, her pride in us and her enthusiasm in our adventure are evident through the whole thing. Mum commented on nearly every photo I posted (close to 300) even while really ill in hospital.A few people have asked me if I regret going on our grand trip, now that Mum has passed away, the short answer is "Hell NO!". Mum lived that trip with us. Every post I made was with the knowledge that she was drinking it all in on the other side of the world."Thank God you went, look at how happy you all are!", Mum would say.

When we got back, and I did get to spend some precious time with Mum, she said some thing, that I hope, will stay with me forever. 

Once Mum had decided to stop treatment and have some peace, she was moved from ICU to a quiet room with a view to the Perth hills. You have never seen anyone so happy to finally see the sky and trees. She was settled and content and I was leaving for the evening. I stroked her forehead, gave her kiss and said "Bye Mum", she looked at me and said "I never forgot a moment with those eyes" and that she loved me. I cry now when I think about it, because even though I knew she was dying, it hadn't registered properly yet for me, but it obviously had already for Mum. It wasn't her last words to me but they make my heart sing and swoop all at the same time.
I promise Mum, that I am trying to not forget a moment with you either xx 

2 deaths, 1 illness, 6 months, 7 countries, 2 kids, 1 hubby and a hippo

"Caroline? You had better sit down. Joe* was found dead last night, looks like he took his own life".
He had worked for/with me, a troubled man with a young family. I was a real estate agent and managing a small office, with a smaller team. I can't say I knew him well, but I tried to help him. I tried to see that he got back at least close to the rails if not on them.

I rang Dave and told him. I didn't feel responsible, but I did feel a little neglectful, like I had washed my hands of him, and now  a while down the track, this was the result. This was only a month or so after another man we knew through our work had died in a tragic accident, again leaving a young family behind.

"Wow, thats terrible, I found out today that Matthew* is really sick, he's only in his thirties! Fuck it life is too short for this! I think we should just bloody do it!" shouted Dave.

For about two days we had been talking about IT. You know the dream that you talk about animatedly with your significant other after a couple of glasses. For the first and probably the only time in our lives we had the borrowing capacity to pull IT off. You thought I was going to say, we had the money.... trust me.... we will never have the savings for a huge trip, let alone IT, but we had the potential to pull it off. The incentive? A good deal of "Lets get the fuck out of here" followed with a smidge of "We will probably never be close to being able to do this again".

So we did. 6 months of travel with our kids (two gorgeous girl firecrackers aged 7 and 8) to all the dream destinations we could think of.

Once the decision was made, and the bank paid up, next came the fight. Dave wanted to leave yesterday, now, immediately. I, on the other hand was working through the logistics, we had to clean up our house and find some people to rent it. Organise some sort of schooling for the girls. Give notice to work, pack, put the rest of our stuff in storage... plan, book and pay, break the news to my parents and friends. I thought we needed at least three months to get our selves organised. I put my foot down! 2 weeks later we were on the tarmac and that is how it all started.

Some days are crap, but thats ok

When I woke up this morning, I knew I was in for a rough one. 
I had a little pocket of tears that were going to be shed, and I had no choice in the matter. In the middle of the night, when I couldn't get back to sleep, on the bus to work and a sad song came through my headphones, when I looked at the "wall of Mum" that is the photos on my fridge door. Memories still make my heart drop into my shoes and my chest tight and anyone that asks me to talk about it is still greeted with monosyllabic answers, tight smiles and "yes, we are ok, being strong".

Its been three weeks today since Mum died.

Still gotta catch the bus to work, still gotta pack lunches, still listen to the kids tell me about their day, still smile and laugh, still watch movies and still waste time on Facebook but now... there is a small part of my brain that observes from a distance. Unsure of how to react. Sometimes it wants to scream and rage like a sweaty faced toddler, sometimes it wants a teddy bear to hug or better yet... Mum. 

People are so kind and helpful. "Your Mum is with you, She is in your heart, Live life to the fullest to celebrate her, she was special, one of a kind and you are just like her". It helps, it really does and most of the time those sentiments are exactly true. Until, I wake and I know, I'm in for a rough one.