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....

How do you know its true love??

I arrived home from work today and found Dad sad.
He had been reading his old letters to Mum. There was a lovely poem in one.
It was true love between my Mum and Dad, but not because of the poetry.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't sudden. It required a lot, like heaps, of work and compromise.
Mum was a young Portuguese woman, who had been ill, marrying a widowed older man with a son...In a different country. But I know from the stories and I can see in the photos that there was always laughter and friendship. There was also a solid 12 months of serious wooing on my Dads part :)

I am not sure what it felt like from their point of view...but I can give my own perspective, a kids perspective, on why I knew it was love.

Nick names, they had many and varied nick names for each other, a constantly evolving list, some serious and some funny. Like "Nudibranch". It was the nickname Dad used for Mum when she "streaked" to the bathroom. She did this a lot.

Every morning and every evening they greeted each other with a kiss, every morning Dad made mum breakfast or at least coffee.

They laughed at each other. Mum did many funny and crazy things.
Dad also copped his fair share from Mum. When Dad was younger and rocked an awesome moustache, he looked a lot like John Cleese. Mum and Dad went to see "A fish called Wanda" in the cinema. Apparently Mum spent most of the time pointing at Dad and then pointing at the screen and losing it with laughter, so much so that Dad got up and left the cinema. They were real.

They knew each other, faults and all. Dad would never stop Mum, no one could anyway. But right or wrong, Dad would let Mum go and do her own things and was always there to pick up any pieces. Mum, conversely supported Dad and through all the ups and downs they were always, always on the same team.

Compromise. Mum liked to eat chinese take away from the Fremantle markets on the weekend. Dad loved to listen to classical music and read the paper. The result was that every Saturday we would get takeaway and sit in the car at the South Mole in freo, listening to Dads music and watching the ocean, while he read the paper. One of my favourite memories, is sitting in the backseat with the calvin and hobbes comics and a whopper.....

Mum once said that Dad was her "safe". No matter what she had done or how ill she became, she knew that Dad would be there for her and help her. Nobody knew her better.

I didn't realise how lucky I was to have them as my example of marriage.
Now I am sad. This weekend is Mothers Day and also My Mums Birthday. This is for the lady who taught me what love is.

I am not the only one...an insight for the ones left behind.

For those that came before me, I salute you.
For those who are to come after me, this is for you.

Watching a loved one die is very hard. It is, however, easier than watching your loved one suffer or be in a state of being that you know they never ever wanted. By the time we came to the day before and the day of, we were wishing for her to be free and happy and to not have to see her little body fighting anymore.

Mum was in hospital for 5 weeks and twice was on the verge of being well enough to go home and twice was admitted to ICU, she died from complications from Pancreatitis which lead to organ failure. My dad was at the hospital every day of those 5 weeks, me, I got 15 days, for which I am extremely grateful.

You might not be so lucky, you might have a day, an hour or you may not know until after. To those who suffer that fate, I am sorry. I don't have words for that, I am not sure how that works. But I am going to say that somehow we survive, you may not even realise that you are, but you do.

On of the hardest parts for me and I think for Mum too, actually happened a lot earlier. While they were still talking recovery. The Dr visited that morning and explained that Mums donor kidney was shutting down. This kidney was donated by my Uncle, her brother. It was her proudest possession. To hear this news was devastating. Dialysis was a "no go" with Mum. Having endured it for many years she was adamant that she would never have it again. True to her fighting spirit, she said to me "It's ok. stay positive" and went on to have 3-4 days of dialysis because she had to try.

I learnt that while we are going through this, normal life still exists. In my case, there was still humour, like when mum called Dad an "arsehole" and the doctor a "young punk lawyer" because we were all a little slow to recognise that she was in fact dying and had had enough of ICU, dialysis etc, or when she sat in up in bed and said "You can't nibble Dads nuts!", after I had mentioned I had brought a snack of nuts for Dad.

There was also the joke about the pink hammer. Years ago Mum had bought a pink "ladies" tool set. Inside this set was a small pink hammer. As a joke she had made her best friend Liz promise to hit her over the head with the hammer if it looked like she was going loopy or comatose.
Later in the hospital, closer to the last days, we joked that when Liz visited we would have to frisk her and search for the pink hammer. Mum thought it was very funny. Humour is still there, it might be darker, it might lead to tears but it sure is nice to hear them laugh, even for a little while.

There is still boredom, there is tiredness, there is selfishness, there is compassion and love and fear.

Are they really ok when the morphine is making them sleep but they make strange noises? Are you sure that its not hurting? What will happen?  Again I don't have the words, it just happens. I was very worried we hadn't done enough to make her comfortable or that it had taken too long and she had suffered. I don't think this was actually the case, but I felt bad about it for days.

I was very lucky to a have a level headed nurse as a friend. Who, even though I didn't want to know, sat me down and explained that really, this is the end. This was about a day or two before everyone else realised. A little part still flickered with hope, but I was also very grateful for the extra time to steel myself.

At the very least have someone who will let you get quite drunk and cry and ask lots of crazy questions.

Some times the only thing you can do in the face of such crap is to accept just that. This is crap, this is fucked, I am sorry that you are dying, its shit, but I can hold your hand, we can chat, I can get you water, I can paint your nails, I can try to read to you, with a massive lump in my throat. The practical and the normal and the everyday still are there and are a welcome distraction.


DO, help, be and talk. Recount funny stories, allow people to visit if that suits. Even sneak a glass of wine together.. lets face it..it's not going to hurt now.

Every time I said goodbye in the last three days, I said it as if it was the last time. I got about 8 different goodbyes.

I hope this helps anyone who may need it right now.

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.

knock, knock....Who's there? EVERYONE

This morning I received a visit from my local Jehovahs Witness lady. I have spoken with her on quite a few occasions. If it wasn't for the giant gap in our spiritual beliefs, we would be fairly similar people. Mums of primary school age children, living in the same area etc. 

I have no interest in converting, but I do enjoy chatting with her, mainly because we are fairly similar and yet she very seriously holds these interesting and vastly different beliefs.

Today, when we spoke, I told her that my Mum had passed away. Now, an interesting part of this particular religion is the belief that one day all the dead loved ones will be resurrected here on Earth.

...(Blink)...

I know what you're thinking "But, How? How on earth would all the ressurected loved ones of every person fit on this planet??". 

I am not criticising, honestly, I am very curious as how this could possibly be? Where is the cut off? Is it everyone who has ever died? Is it only loved relations? Is it only for believers? or is it the homeless guy that passed away and no one knew??? What age will they be??
Then what happens??? 
Well apparently we all live forever, in perfect health, no sickness and no death. Again... HOW? A never ending, hugely expanding population, here, on Earth?

This information was offered in kindness and I thank her for it. The lady was hoping it would give me solace and hope, that I would certainly see my Mum again, in perfect health, here in this life.

But would I really want that? I have dreamed about it. That all of a sudden Mum comes walking back through the door. 
Honestly, If we are talking impossible and fantastical, then I would rather visit her, where ever and however that may be. I would savour that extra time and be over joyed to see her again, but, this would be because It would end. It has to end. I would love some extra time, I am sure millions of people would.
I am desperately sad that the end of Mums life was now, but I understand that at some point it has to. I couldn't imagine living forever, nothing would be special, life is special because it is fleeting and finite, it ends, at least as we understand it.

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.

Keys... Yes please

We are in the Hippo, our 30ft, 3 bed motorhome, a little dented and war wounded after having carted us from New Jersey to Niagra, through Pennsylvania, Carolina and Greogia  to Florida. We had a slight altercation with a metal safety barrier on a freeway in Jersey and we were all  a little worse for wear. Oh... And if anyone asks, it was a massive grizzly. 

We had been freezing our butts off in wintery Niagra, bored shirtless in the middle of "Camouflage, hunting and people of Walmart" America and we arrive in the Florida keys. It is a breath of salty fresh air and so quiet. There is only one place, one state park, you can stay in with a motor home.  It's in Long Key. It's not Key West, it's not restaurants and hotels, its not key lime pie and drunk girls. It's sandy car parks and beach, a throw back to 1960's motels with shell shaped little villas.  It's heaven. Quiet camp spots, right  on the beach. There is no wifi, no tv. We park up, get out our camp chairs, plonk them in the water and chiiiiiiiiilllllllll. Relax,the closest land mass is Mexico. 
Picture it, 
Warm, quiet beach, with no one really around and only a small threat of being stung and bitten from some small jelly fish. We are from Australia, you've got nothing that can kill us.
We are chilled. For 5 days, we do nothing. 
Wake up, coffee, sit on the beach. In the Hippo for nap when it's hot. After lunch we sit on our chairs in the water and stay there until after sunset. Naked frolicking children and the odd jelly fish and kayaker for entertainment followed by a spectacular sunset. 
The only negative was a thing called a "Noseeum" literally "no see them". A little invisible insect that bites like a Mozzie, But, the bite will keep itching days or weeks after you have been bitten every time you sweat or get hot. Resulting in head to toe redness and itchiness. So. God. Damn. Itchy. There is no repellent or cream that works. But it was worth it. We hadn't planned to visit the Florida keys and we saw nothing of the well known Florida keys, but we had our own private beach and our hippo and our family. Yes, I did sing the Beach Boys song "Kokimo" continuously for 5 days and we got to keep our "Noseeum" souvenirs. 



Oh and seriously, the rented camp chairs where already rusty and covered with seaweed, if anyone asks :)

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.