Posts tagged ‘child’

THE SONG REMAINS THE SAME. 

This morning I woke up from a nightmare in which I was getting my children ready for some imminent apocalyptic event. I don’t remember what it was, I just remember speaking to my kids and trying to prepare them, in a detailed way, including instructions on what to do if separated from me, or from each other. They were smaller, younger, more vulnerable versions of themselves, just to add to the ambiance. I was talking to them in a very matter of fact way while in my head I was screaming because I knew it wasn’t enough, wasn’t enough, wasn’t enough and the very bad thing was coming and I couldn’t keep them safe. 


Yesterday I woke up from a dream that left me so disoriented that it literally took me a full sixty seconds, without exaggeration, to work out – first – where I was, but then, when I was. In that order, which is weird. Yesterday disappeared into a bit of a hole that I was unable to crawl my way out of. The level of exhaustion is hard to describe. I read somewhere that people with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder feel so tired all the time because you are basically on high alert constantly. After nightmares all night (I will wake up several times during the night and even if I go back to sleep all I remember are nightmares) I slump into some days. My head pounds, I have chest pains and my limbs all feel like they are made of concrete. My whole body aches with heaviness. Everything, every. little. thing. requires such effort that, even if I can be bothered, a small task can take up most of the day. There are days I can’t even pretend to be a functional human being. 

I guess this is my annual Mother’s Day whinge. Feel free to stop reading. I don’t claim any exclusivity. Everyone has hard days and Mother’s Day is hard for lots of people, for many reasons. Childless mothers, motherless children, women who mother other people’s children, children and mothers who are separated by whatever circumstance. I don’t pretend my list is comprehensive. You all know who you are. 

For some, it will be their first Mother’s Day and for some it will be their first Mother’s Day since. For some, it will be both and that’s just the way it is. What I know is that as soon as Easter was over, literally the day after, shops were full of Mother’s Day merchandise. Mugs and slippers and photo frames everywhere you turn. Brochures in the letter box and advertisements on television and Mother’s Day espisodes of television shows. Choking up my newsfeed in every direction. A constant assault that is impossible to escape. And for me this year the added bonus of a later Mother’s Day bringing it even closer to the anniversary of my Daughter’s death. Two and a half weeks to go. Bonus. 

Would I have been a grandmother by now? I cried on the packed train today, silently, after scrolling past a mother guessing her daughter was pregnant on a facebook post. Bit, fat, hot tears that dropped singly from my lashes and felt like lava carving their way down my face. 

After tomorrow there will be marked down slippers, mugs and photo frames and that is nowhere near as fun as marked down Easter chocolate, nowhere near as fun at all. But the days, even the hard ones, pass. Just a bit slower. 

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Tonight I am baby sitting three rascals of the four legged kind. Two very special babies and the big brother of the little girl Son Number Two and I have staying with us; precious souls all of them and I am glad to be here. 
A friend asked me to edit her manuscript recently. I cannot possibly put into words what it meant to me to be trusted with that task, but it meant so much. It worked for me on a number of levels. 
I have friends I can text random things to and they will meet me where I am. I recently went to see a performance of live theatre. It was an incredibly moving adaptation of The Diary of Anne Frank hosted by the Western Australian Academy of the Performing Arts. I’ve had lunch in the quiet, leafy grounds of a University and laughed at my Daughter Number Two and my Sons. I have felt the relief of cool nights after just warm enough days. Videos of small boys and big dogs that melt my heart. And, you know, marked down Easter chocolate. 

The best of times and the worst of times. 
For the rest of my life; the best of times and the worst of times. 
Safe onward travel x 

TWO LITTLE BOYS. 

Speaking to The Love of My Life today, we were talking about how my Daughter Number One, Sam, died. 

‘You know’ he said ‘in the future there will be cars that people can’t die in. Someone is probably working on it now, something to keep the occupants safe, so that car crashes can’t happen. And then people won’t die in cars’. And I thought to myself that that would really be something. No more fatalities on our roads. 

But then I thought, it wasn’t actually the car that killed her. The car was just the weapon of choice of her murderer. My Daughter was killed by another human being, it wasn’t a car accident, it was an act of murder by a trusted adult known to her. A man who drove at high speed into a rock wall on an expressway and ended her life. 

Then the news today that a father has driven off a wharf with his two little sons, aged four and not yet even one, after posting a suicide note on facebook. Koda and Hunter died, trapped in a car, drowning. This was no car accident either. And although the coroner will have the final word, and as much as I feel for their mother – and oh I do! So very much! This club doesn’t need any more members – I am not afraid to say that the man the media is reporting as a loving father and active member of the community is, now, a murderer and surely whatever else he may have been fairly PALES in comparison? Seriously. 

My heart bleeds for Hunter and Koda’s mother, extended family and friends. But mostly it bleeds for two little boys who are now gone, just like that, for always. 

Cars that people can’t die in would really be something. But so would an end to Domestic Violence. Fuck, why stop there? Let’s get rid of people killing other people, full stop. Because, enough already. 

Rest in Peace Koda and Hunter. And say hi to Sam for me x 

  

That’s What All the People Say. (For Matt and Chris, with love x)

Ah, life! You sadistic, sucker punching bastard! You’re riding high in April, shot down in May. Or you know, ok on Tuesday and over it by Wednesday. 

Bittersweet is something I am overly familiar with. Son Number Two is doing a musical this year, Little Shop of Horrors. It’s the same musical that his Sister did the year she died. He’s in the chorus. She was in the chorus. He’s in year 9. She was in year 9. He’s older than she ever was. He’s still here. She’s not. Not in the ways I wish she was.

Still, that’s life. That’s my life anyway and life for too many like me.

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When we went to see his Sister in Little Shop of Horrors Son Number Two was absolutely petrified of the giant plant. We went backstage to see his sister and he was beside himself! He was so very little then. Shortly after that his whole world exploded. What I wouldn’t give for that little boy to have been able to live a bit longer before he had to find out that monsters are not just make believe. Take him back to a time where all he had nightmares about were papier mâché plants and a hug from his big Sister made everything ok. 

Son Number Two is going to his first rehearsal today. I hope he has a blast. 

And now over to one of my favourite philosophers who says it far better than I ever could. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you- Eminem:

“Beautiful”

[Intro:]
Lately I’ve been hard to reach, I’ve been too long on my own
Everybody has a private world where they can be alone
Are you calling me? Are you trying to get through?
Are you reaching out for me, like I’m reaching out for you?

I’m just so fuckin’ depressed, I just can’t seem to get out this slump
If I could just get over this hump
But I need something to pull me out this dump,
I took my bruises, took my lumps
Fell down and I got right back up
But I need that spark to get psyched back up
In order for me to pick the mic back up
I don’t know how or why or when I ended up in this position I’m in
I’m starting to feel distant again
So I decided just to pick this pen
Up and try to make an attempt to vent
But I just can’t admit
Or come to grips with the fact that I may be done with rap
I need a new outlet, and I know some shit’s so hard to swallow
But I just can’t sit back and wallow
In my own sorrow
But I know one fact I’ll be one tough act to follow
One tough act to follow
I’ll be one tough act to follow
Here today, gone tomorrow
But you’d have to walk a thousand miles

[Chorus:]
In my shoes, just to see
What it’s like, to be me
I’ll be you, let’s trade shoes
Just to see what it’d be like to
Feel your pain, you feel mine
Go inside each other’s minds
Just to see what we find
Look at shit through each other’s eyes
But don’t let ’em say you ain’t beautiful, oh
They can all get fucked.
Just stay true to you
So don’t let ’em say you ain’t beautiful
Oh, they can all get fucked.
Just stay true to you, yeah, so…

I think I’m starting to lose my sense of humor
Everything is so tense and gloom
I almost feel like I gotta check the temperature in the room
Just as soon as I walk in
It’s like all eyes on me
So I try to avoid any eye contact
’cause if I do that then it opens the door for conversation
Like I want that… I’m not looking for extra attention
I just want to be just like you
Blend in with the rest of the room
Maybe just point me to the closest restroom
I don’t need no fucking man servant
Trying to follow me around and wipe my ass
Laugh at every single joke I crack
And half of them ain’t even funny like
“Ha!, Marshall you’re so funny man, you should be a comedian, god damn”
Unfortunately I am, but I just hide behind the tears of a clown
So why don’t you all sit down?
Listen to the tale I’m about to tell
Hell, we don’t gotta trade our shoes
And you ain’t gotta walk no thousand miles

[Chorus]

But don’t let ’em say you ain’t beautiful
Oh they can all get fucked.
Just stay true to you so
Don’t let ’em say you ain’t beautiful
Oh they can all get fucked.
Just stay true to you so

Nobody asked for life to deal us
With these bullshit hands we’re dealt
We gotta take these cards ourselves
And flip them, don’t expect no help
Now I could have either just
Sat on my ass and pissed and moaned
Or take this situation in which I’m placed in
And get up and get my own
I was never the type of kid
To wait by the door and pack his bags
Who sat on the porch and hoped and prayed
For a dad to show up who never did
I just wanted to fit in
In every single place
Every school I went
I dreamed of being that cool kid
Even if it meant acting stupid

Aunt Edna always told me “Keep makin’ that face it’ll get stuck like that”
Meanwhile I’m just standin’ there
Holdin’ my tongue tryna talk like this
‘Til I stuck my tongue on that frozen stop sign pole at 8 years old
I learned my lesson then cause I wasn’t tryna impress my friends no more
But I already told you my whole life story
Not just based on my description
’cause where you see it from where you’re sitting
It’s probably 110% different
I guess we would have to walk a mile
In each other’s shoes, at least
What size you wear? I wear tens
Let’s see if you can fit your feet

[Chorus]

[Outro:]
Lately I’ve been hard to reach, I’ve been too long on my own
Everybody has a private world where they can be alone…
So are you calling me, are you trying to get through, oh?
Are you reaching out for me, like I’m reaching out for you?
So oh oh

Yeah… To my babies. Stay strong.
Daddy will be home soon
And to the rest of the world, god gave you the shoes
That fit you, so put ’em on and wear ’em
And be yourself, man, be proud of who you are
Even if it sounds corny,
Don’t ever let anyone tell you, you ain’t beautiful, so…

 
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Remember friends,
 
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Travel safe x 

 

One Perfect Day.

If we lived in a perfect world relationships would end on notes of mutual respect. People would not treat their children as possessions to be divided like the spoils of war; collateral damage of overblown egos. Co-parenting would be more important than winning in a game where there can only ever be losers. Custody battles are a blood sport where children are the trophy. At the end of the day, when all the scurrilous allegations have been made and the damage has been done, do you really think your children will be thanking you? Or do you think that once they are old enough they will just decide for themselves?

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