I’m Mad At God. He Won’t Take My CallsSo I’ll Make My Own Way Home.

I’m not really mad at God, basically because I don’t believe. I am just really, really angry at the moment. Behind that anger is grief, sadness, helplessness, hopelessness. I know that. My own anger doesn’t scare me. It’s an emotion, like any other. And, most of the time, anger is very motivating for me. So, not necessarily a negative.

This time I am just blindingly angry. I have cried many hot, furious tears that have burned and blistered their way down my face. So much of what I am angry about falls into the ‘accept the things you cannot change’ category, and there’s no motivation or inspiration out of that. No new motivation or inspiration. I’m still out there changing the things I can. But it doesn’t feel enough and I don’t know how it ever could be really. And to be honest, I AM SO FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF HAVING TO ACCEPT the things I cannot change. Seriously over it. Especially when so many of them are unacceptable. Absolutely.

I am privileged to live in a place in the world that has been one of the most unaffected by Covid. I don’t underestimate that. And yet, Covid has slammed me. It’s the suspense of it. The not having control of it. The ‘SURPRISE! GLOBAL PANDEMIC’, uncertainty, insecurity, suspense of it. I hate surprises. Since roughly March – around the beginning of our Covid experience- last year the symptoms of my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder have been off the charts. My nightmares now are as bad as they were just after Daughter Number One died. The usual themes of loss and grief and powerlessness. Without exaggeration, as bad as they have ever been, My sleep varies in levels of shittiness all the time but is consistently the shittiest now. Getting to sleep. Staying asleep. The horrific nightmares really don’t help that.

As I am writing all this I am thinking of all the people who have been directly affected by Covid in the worst ways. I really don’t ever forget how lucky I have been. And I am grateful. Even though everything is not all about me, this is my place to write down how I feel. I guess if you think I am being too much of a selfish cow then you’ll stop reading?

You know what else isn’t all about me? A young friend who died of cancer last year, having fought it a couple of times before. He wasn’t a very close friend but a friend nevertheless. Genuinely one of THE MOST LOVELY and decent and kind people I have ever met in my life. Just a really GOOD person, you know? Someone whose mere existence makes the world a brighter place. Except he doesn’t now. Exist. Except in our hearts and memories. And that’s another thing I AM SO ANGRY about. IT’S SO UNFAIR. An exceptional human being, a young person with a young family, who every day was offering a helping hand to anyone who needed it. Who was clever and funny and brave. Who believed in the greater good and put those beliefs into action. When I think of all the arseholes still out there walking around IT MAKES ME FURIOUS!

At his funeral service the religious person officiating said he had tried to have conversations with this exceptional human being regarding their beliefs and that the exceptional human being had ‘refused to be drawn’ but that his family could have hope that he would be entering the gates of heaven, despite being noncommittal. I’m paraphrasing but that was the gist.

This absolutely INCENSED me! As I said, I wasn’t lucky enough to call the exceptional human a close friend and we’d never spoken of religion. We spoke about his partner and the home they were making together and his overwhelming pride in his little toddler. We swapped memes. Did each other the odd favour. I don’t know what religious convictions he held or didn’t hold.

But here’s what I do know. Hypothetically speaking, if there is a heaven, this exceptional human spent his days walking the walk. I don’t expect he was a perfect person, there’s no fun in that. But a genuinely decent person who lived his life with joy and appreciation and in active fellowship with the rest of us. IF there is a heaven then, by God (ha!), this person should be guaranteed entry. Not because he spouted the company line – which he may have done, I don’t know – but because he lived his life in a way that represents what all that stuff is actually meant to mean!

IF there is a heaven then his family shouldn’t have to hope anything! IF there’s a heaven it should be rolling out the red carpet and escorting him to the VIP lounge, ffs!

I was watching an episode of House the other day. House was talking about the lack of dignity in death. I think that’s right. There are certainly more dignified ways to die than others but, yes, I agree, the dignity is in how you choose to live.

In the last almost twelve months of Covid, like many others, I haven’t been able to travel to people I love. Some people I love have gone through/are going through extremely difficult times and I can’t go and be with them. Or hug them. I can’t get to them – another trigger. And again, my privilege acknowledged. I haven’t missed any weddings or funerals or births. I’ve gotten off easily, I know! The irony of me whinging about the effect ON ME of not being able to get to people I love to support them in THEIR time of need is not lost to me. This is an extremely self centred post. I’m not perfect either.

Another dearest heart, beautiful human – another exceptional being I am proud to call my friend – is dying as we speak. A kindred spirit, someone I felt a strong connection to the first time we met. Again, a bright, witty, giving human. Again it’s cancer, although they have lived a longer life than my younger friend. And I know, I know, we are all dying, day by day. I know that. But, yeah, there are more dignified ways to go and cancer is just not one of them. And my friend, who has lived a colourful and inspirational life, looked me in the eyes and said “It’s not fair!”. And they are right, it’s not fair. It is the opposite of fair. The furtherest away from fair it’s possible to get, if you ask me. And that makes me angry too. REALLY FUCKING ANGRY.

And sad and helpless and hopeless. I am still doing all the things. All the things I have learned, over all the years and all the traumas and all the fucking accepting of things I cannot fucking change. I’m still focusing my energy on things bigger than me – although this pity party post probably suggests otherwise. I’m still DOING. ALL. THE. THINGS. Putting my energy into things and people that matter to me. Taking photos. Taking medication. Writing here. Blaring songs on repeat. Like ‘The Middle’ by Jimmy Eat World.

I’m just angry. I’m just sad. I’m just tired. And my Daughter Number One’s birthday is in less than two weeks. Which probably isn’t helping. We will celebrate having known her at all and the time we had with her. But she still won’t be here anymore. It still won’t be fair. And I will still be angry. Because she deserved better. She deserved more. A lot of us do. But we play the hands we are dealt the best that we can. And we keep going, because it’s all we can do. And we choose love, because in the end the love is what we leave behind.

Safe onward travel x


This morning I received an email from the legal firm representing Baby Daddy in a little difference of opinion we are having. The email came from an underling of the actual representative, who bluntly asked for Daughter Number One’s birth date with just her first name. There were a few things that bothered me about this. One was that this person is a stranger to me and did not know my daughter so I felt less familiarity and more respect would have been appropriate. Secondly, Baby Daddy and I actually got married on what would have been Daughter Number One’s 17th birthday. I met him less than twelve months after she died; even if he couldn’t remember which birthday I married him on he knew how old she was when she died. So, you know, do the math, genius. But he WOULDN’T. EVER. BE BOTHERED. Because all she ever was to him was an opportunity for exploitation; whether he was throwing her death at me to score points in an argument or spending the compensation money received from her death. He is a class act


It’s funny the things that go through your head. Aside from everything else I lost in that car, on that day, there were the other incidental things that I kept discovering as time went on. My little niece’s shoes. She lived with us at the time. Not her only shoes but a favourite pair. She is in high school now. Son Number Two’s comfort teddy blankie. The one he’d had since before he was born. That was a bit of a blow. Luckily I had a spare but although it was the same, it wasn’t the same. It hadn’t been as well loved, it wasn’t as worn and soft from use. For weeks afterwards looking for things and then realising. 


It is over a year now since my beloved Nana died. Even so, because she died during Easter last year it is almost as if I am now having a delayed reaction to the anniversary. I miss her. 


The other day facebook told me the police officer involved in the case was having a birthday. A few days before that it had been pictures of his son’s birthday that pictured him with both his son and daughter. Star Wars themed. Very cool. He’s not a police officer any more. He was very decent to me. He still is. We are facebook friends. I wish him well. Life is weird. 


Tonight I will spend time with the Love of My Life and a young friend from an older time as well as go to see more recent friends and meet their new four legged baby. If I’m very, very lucky I might be able to wrangle a motorbike ride, which would be just the therapy I need probably. That and the company. Just keep swimming, right? 




Safe onward travel x 


Whatever gets you through the night – Part One.

I think I’ve used this song title as a post title before but it’s appropriate and I cannot be fucked to check, so that’s that then. It will be in two parts, so hold on to your seat – we’re in for a wild ride. There will be strong emotion and strong language – you’ve been warned.

Lori, over at RRSAHM, wrote a post recently about grieving publicly. She ended with the words “There’s just that deep, black grief… and getting through it. Any damn way you can.” As regular readers know three days ago it was the ninth anniversary of my Daughter Number One’s repeated rape and murder. Just because that day CLEARLY wasn’t hard enough I received the following email (all spelling and grammatical errors as per original):

Dear Kate,

My heart goes out to you today, it has gone out to you every day since I was told what you’ve been through… a day you will no doubt be reliving minute by minute, hour by hour in it’s ugly entirety to mark a time no-one will ever be able to comprehend what it has been like to walk the marathon in your shoes.

By default we know each other… albeit from a distance, which may in fact never change after this message, … if it doesn’t, I will understand.

I don’t claim to be psychic, nor advertise openly what some people may interpret as a ‘gift’.  That it is not!  XXXX only as of only a few minutes ago is aware of it, and I am prepared for what potentially may happen to our friendship as a result.  I am hoping she’s known me long enough to realise I’m not a freak (it’s ok because I sometimes think I am)…perhaps a little wierd, but not totally psycho (but hey there’s always potential ;)).  It is however, a casualty that will be out of my hands, one I am prepared for as I have done with my marriage and other special relationships with people in the past I have lost, so I can remain true to myself.  I have only said this so you can hopefully understand that I don’t take lightly intruding into your grieving space, without what I believe to be good reason.  Well honey, Sam sure as shit isn’t giving me much of an option, and I’m sorry but I’m not having her piggy backing my ass until I eventually admit defeat and do it anyway.

My so-called ‘gift’ is being an occasional ‘portal’ … a messenger girl if you like.  It is very rare that I am seconded…usually only in extreme cases, which I’m not even aware of until the time.  And for Sam it is now.  I had no idea until this-morning…and she has been up my ass (figuratively speaking) the past four hours and is not giving in until you hear her out… Man she is one persistent woman!

She will only come through the once, that is their promise to me and my rules, so I am not an ongoing portal…that is something you have to refine and tap into over time… so go and make yourself a cuppa, grab some tissues coz we’re going to have a chat.

Ok, before she starts she wants you to raise your right hand, ..

Now give yourself a bitchslap mum! And another one for good measure…and then a hug….

I love you mum, I don’t think I ever really showed you how much…to me you were and still are and always will be so beautiful…no-one or nothing can ever take that away mum, not ever.   I have hovered around watching you rot for so many years, I hear your thoughts, I watch you cry and feel your pain and relive what happened day in day out with you…

But enough is enough because I’m not completely the fuck (sorry) dead (she’s pissed off) yoo-hoo I am still here..  I may not be there in person buy hey, look at it as a daughter with benefits… you don’t have to wash or cook or clean up after me.  I know it’s not the same and yeah I’d rather be there to, but that sure ain’t going to happen, so just work with me a bit.

What’s done is done and I’m ok really, it’s kinda groovy over here anyway so will you quit reliving this shit, it’s getting boring and so yesterday.  You don’t even know it but what happened to me happened for a reason, and as my legacy we are both now working as a team so other people can get help.. It is through my story…our story mum, that they are doing that.  I know you can’t see me, and your pain and guilt numbs you from being able to feel or hear me, but I am here.  Talk to me sometimes, come for a walk or write me a letter… hell take me for a burger, and you will feel me come through (yeah journal idea was mine so don’t blame XXXX or XXX).  I’ll play a song on the radio sometimes and you’ll know it’s me, just listen…listen with your mind’s eye… and smile, please smile, I loved your smile.  Ok that’s all…oh one other thing I love you lots and lots and to the stars and back and around the moon… Big hugs mumma… I’ll be here and dry your tears, I’m not going anywhere.


I don’t know what to say now Kate… it is what it is and up to you if you choose to take it on board or not.

I hope you’re ok and we do get to meet one day, which if it is meant to happen, will, in it’s own time and space.

Whatever will be will be.

Take special care.

Ok then. Just to get you guys up to speed you should know that I HAVE NEVER MET this person. They are a friend of a very recent friend. To say that receiving such an email, particularly on that day, was distressing in the extreme would be an understatement of mammoth proportions. The sheer audacity that this stranger had in offering her unsolicited fantasy is breath-taking. I am not discounting that there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. I am open-minded about most things. But today I am not. Today I AM ANGRY.

Let’s break it down blow-by-blow, shall we? Because that’s what it felt like, the first time I read it; physical blows to my body that left me violently shaking and nauseous and crying, not to mention the instant upgrade to pounding headache that came with it. I already had the usual bonus physical symptoms anyway. The all over soreness and stiffness from holding tension in my body, even as I slept; the shaking and the headache were constant too, but now increased exponentially. The roaring of a deluge of flashbacks filled my head; “They are both gone.” “You won’t need to identify the body, but we are sure it’s her. Can you tell us where her dental records are held?” “Were you thinking cremation or burial?” and on and on and on and on. And I forwarded the email to The Man I Am In Love With (hereafter referred to as The Incredible Hunk) and ran from the room. The Incredible Hunk’s Daughter had a pupil free day so was at home with us and I didn’t want to collapse in front of her.

When I had calmed myself enough to read it again incredulity slammed me.  What this COMPLETE STRANGER had felt compelled to share with me, on the ninth anniversary of my Daughter’s death was that the first thing my Daughter wanted to give me, after nine long years, was a “bitchslap mum! And another one for good measure”. Righto. That’s worth repeating really, just so we can all get our head’s around it. The first thing my beautiful, kind, thoughtful, caring, loving, gentle Daughter, who left my life nine years ago and now has the opportunity to finally make contact with me, wants, is to get me to give myself a “bitchslap mum! And another one for good measure”. Well, guys, I’ve got to tell you, that WAS worth waiting for!

This COMPLETE STRANGER feels the need to share with me that my Daughter doesn’t think she ever really showed me how much she loved me.

“I have hovered around watching you rot for so many years”

“look at it as a daughter with benefits… you don’t have to wash or cook or clean up after me.  I know it’s not the same and yeah I’d rather be there to, but that sure ain’t going to happen, so just work with me a bit” – Gosh, silly me! All these years I’ve been thinking about my Daughter’s death in such negative terms. I really should thank the author for showing me the silver lining, glaringly obvious to me now really. “A Daughter with benefits” – the benefit, of course, being that she’s DEAD. That she died a brutal, violent death after hours of sexual assault and psychological torture. And the glass half full thing is that I don’t have to wash or cook or clean up after her, or any of the other things that MOTHERS do for their CHILDREN. Imagine the financial benefits! The money I’ve saved on university fees and wedding day expenses. Not having to buy birthday presents for the pesky grandchildren she may have one day given me. I did have to shell out for a coffin and a funeral, and plan the whole thing, but instead of my despair that these were among the last things I would ever be able to do for her I should have been jumping for joy that I’d been let off so lightly. Instead of the wake I couldn’t bear to have I should have planned a party. It’s amazing this has never occured to me before.

“It is through my story…our story mum”

“XXXX only as of only a few minutes ago is aware of it, and I am prepared for what potentially may happen to our friendship as a result.  I am hoping she’s known me long enough to realise I’m not a freak (it’s ok because I sometimes think I am)…perhaps a little wierd, but not totally psycho (but hey there’s always potential ;)).  It is however, a casualty that will be out of my hands, one I am prepared for as I have done with my marriage and other special relationships with people in the past I have lost, so I can remain true to myself.” – I can’t tell you how pleased I am for the email writer that they prepared themselves for any consequences TO THEMSELVES. Because they clearly had scant regard for any consequences their actions may cause me.

The Incredible Hunk responded to the writer by email. I won’t bore you with the transcripts but while repeatedly and creepily calling me a ‘beautiful person’ (HOW WOULD THEY KNOW?) they also suggested that The Incredible Hunk was not concerned with my best interests and reminded him that it was between my Daughter and I, not the writer, or The Incredible Hunk or anyone else – IRONY MUCH? Actually, that is not correct. While completely true that it has nothing to do with the email writer at all, it actually does have something to do with The Incredible Hunk because he is my partner. He is there for me. He stands by my side and travels with me along a not so easy road. He absolutely has a vested interest.

So, over to you, dear readers. I’d love to hear what you think. And tune in for Part Two tomorrow, which will be on a much more positive note. I’ll catch you then!


Just while we are on the subject now seems as good a time as any to say how utterly, utterly repugnant I find it that Baby Daddy continues to dine out on intimate details of my life and history. That his new lady friend not only now knows where I live but personal, private and agonising details of my losses. How do I know this? Because that is what he does. Every internet flirtation, every open ear about town, he’s right in there filling them in. It SICKENS me. He, naturally, likes to paint himself as the white knight of the piece, riding in on his charger to raise me up from my unfortunate circumstance. He uses MY HISTORY, MY DAUGHTER’S MEMORY, to elicit attention and sympathy for HIMSELF. He leaves out the bits where he told me I was ‘used to fucking murderers’ and other similarly abusive things. The days and nights he ranted and raged as we cowered from him.


Financially and emotionally he was a blood sucking leech during our marriage and even though I’ve cut the ties as much as I can he still is milking me for all I’m worth.


I know what love isn’t.

Yesterday was the 6th anniversary of 14 year old Daughter Number One’s repeated rape and murder by my husband of over nine years.  NOT AN ACT OF LOVE.


Yesterday Daughter Number Two’s Baby Daddy was at my home to see her. Eating my food, using my internet, watching my television. A funeral plan advertisement came on t.v. and he said ‘ Do you have to have a funeral?’ I said I didn’t think you needed the ceremony but obviously you have to dispose of your body somehow. ‘You have to have a coffin right?’ ‘How much do these things cost?’ I replied that the last time I was planning a funeral I wasn’t looking for a bargain and left the room.


Baby Daddy of Daughter Number Two ended his visit with an argument about the fact that the current person of interest will be coming to see me next week. I understand his feelings of hurt and anger but object to his manner of expressing them. He is put out because he doesn’t feel he can visit his daughter here if the current person of interest is also here. I pointed out that seeing his daughter at his ex-wife’s house has been his choice, indeed his preference, but that I would be happy to accommodate him by dropping her off to his place.


This man, who has known me for 5 years, and was in a relationship with me for over three of those, either had no concept of the relevence of the date, or did know and did not care less. Which is the better option?


I need to treat myself with the compassion and understanding, the kindness and consideration that I show others. So, I am taking a stand and will not be bending over backwards for Daughter Number Two’s Baby Daddy, or anyone else, anymore. My head is pounding and pain killers have had no effect. I am shaking from running on adrenalin for over twenty four hours. The countdown to the anniversary has coincided with moving Nana to an Aged Care Facility and settling her in. My trip to see the current person of interest this weekend, to regroup and relax and celebrate his birthday, before he comes home with me, has been highjacked by arranging and facilitating the removal of some of Nana’s things to my place. I am grumpy, tired, out of sorts and just not feeling well.


But tomorrow really is another day, and anger is more motivating to me than paralyzing sadness. One lesson I learnt from my beautiful Daughter Number One was not to give up. I may be down , but I am not out.