postscript

"According to most studies, people's number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. Death is number two. Does that sound right? This means to the average person, if you go to a funeral, you're better off in the casket than doing the eulogy!" -Jerry Seinfeld

griefamundo and girl power

Yesterday I attended the funeral of a friend's husband (well, an ex, but much-loved one). 

I was consumed with her grief, and that of her son and daughter, children who can't possibly comprehend the road ahead without their father.

Russell's big adult wooden coffin sat, ironically, in the exact spot that my little Riley's white child-sized coffin sat four years ago, in the same chapel, the same putrid green walls, the same hideous curtains and pelmets and stupid fake smiling funeral director. It was a confronting day for me, but for Tracey and her kids it was excruciating. 

I taught her beautiful daughter in year one, 2004, a horrible year for me personally, that manifested itself with the hideous grief of losing my own child. Tracey was one of the many special people who showed themselves to be thoughtful, kind in the extreme, funny, black(humoured, not coloured), irreverent and just there for me whenever I needed her along with her large posse of girls. It began with a huge basket of goodies, dropped at my door, lovingly chosen and delivered with the love and compassion that I had never seen before from this group of girls, but have never stopped observing and experiencing since.

Dear Trace,

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that your loss feels so great,  gross, and grabs you greedily with a vice-like grip.

I'm sorry that you feel grey, grey, the greyest grey, black charcoal clouds hang over your every breathing moment.

I'm sorry you have to be brave, gravely faced with the grotesque griffin of grief that wants to disable you and take away your spirit. 

I'm sorry that this feeling grips you sometimes for days, weeks and leaves periodically only to return so quickly with more ferocity.

I'm sorry you feel groggy, paralysed and grounded with grief in your guts, your heart and your head.

I am sorry that you have go to bed, not to sleep, but to face the loss over and over again, a horrible recurring wakeful nightmare.

I'm sorry that your children are feeling all of these emotions along with you. You want to protect them from that. I'm sorry that you can't.

I'm sorry that there is no way out of the darkness, other than to go through it, experience all of its hideous tentacles, like a surreal dark deep sea monster that engulfs you and won't let go, suffocating you in its grip.

Feel blessed, girl, that along this dark, black, grey and sometimes lonely road, there will be people who will amaze you with their support and dignified graceful way of just being there, physically and spiritually. These people will carry you through.....they will not care if you are down, depressed, irritable, irrational, obnoxious, angry, in denial, or downright self-centred. They will love you through it all. They are the voice of reason and reality. They are the word of truth in a chaotic world. If you can find a connection to these people, a small thread at first, and then a web of support that will develop exponentially, one day you will realise that the unmanageable heavy load you feel is unfairly placed upon you will dissipate until......slowly, perhaps years later, you are able to experience the feeling that the grief and deep sorrow has turned into something a little more like normal (well, a little more than normal, but still manageable) sadness. One day, I assure you, you will look in the mirror, and not see that face that haunts you today, the weight of sadness reflected in your every cell.

I speak for all the girls, when I say that we are there for you, whenever you need us. Whenever Shelby and Connor need us, just whenever. We consider it a privilege to be able to share your load, which we know is more than any one person can bear on their own.

 

Wonders will never cease

OK. I have joined the workout world. Yes it is true, to all those of you who know me well and are right at this moment judging me harshly. This year seems to be one of growth and change for me in many ways. I decided that I need to do another something for myself, even if I really hate it, I know I have to do it. (I HATE BEING EVOLVED AND GROWN UP) So I joined Curves. Colleagues of mine poo pooed me saying it was for OLD women. HEELLOOOO!!!!!!! I am 42, and love being around mature and interesting people (espesh when they are wrinklier and fatter and droopier and cellulitier than me).

Anyway, I am popping in after school, pumping away and quite loving it. I feel better (if achy and sore is better) and have more energy and a bit more focus than usual. I am not quite pole bunny yet, but am quite proud of myself for trying.
To all my dear friends and blogaliscious buddies, happy easter and may the rest of your year reflect renewal and abundance.

'I slept and dreamed that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy.'

Adventure contraption #2

Yep, this is the second instalment in the new big blue contraption/ adventure vehicle (thanks National Australia Bank....). Houses adventure boy, adventure girl and adventure water sport contraption (kayak). Teenage son (sloth boy) also sits in the back measuring the adventure by how many movies he can watch during the trip. We will be off-roading so watch out!!!

My Place

Paddo. Brisvegas. A grungy little bohemian suburb quite near to the city but still quiet and leafy and noice. We love living here. There's the cafs and the bars and the really overpriced designer fashion shops and delis. There's the junkies and the uni students and the tennis playing mercedes driving trophy wives. Always an interesting mix. There's the milliondollar price tag homes and the derelict workers cottages side by side. It's hilly and palm tree laden. We have scrub turkeys, pythons, possums, bats, blue tongue lizards and gekkos everywhere. It is our little piece of heaven in the city.

The Pity Party Part of Me

Well I had to admit it sometime. I like to feel sorry for myself. It is a really comforting feeling to feel sad for yourself (especially when nobody else does!). Occasionally (and I have to admit, more infrequently now) I take some time for myself to be really utterly miserable. I need it. In my case misery does not love company, but loves to be completely alone and completely desperately depressed. Misery loves to eat, cry and eat some more. The more tissues I can get through the better. Usually I go through my 'basket case'. This basket is filled with things that make me miserable, such as all Riley's treasured possessions, photo albums, toys and letters sent to me after his death. I find them excruciatingly sad and bask in the melancholy feelings. I put on my saddest films, like Beaches, Steel Magnolias and Fried Green Tomatoes. I listen to all the music from my son's Funeral and eat chips and lolly snakes and ice-cream. Sometimes I smoke half a packet of cigarettes. It is miserable bliss. It keeps me 'normal' for a little while longer, gets all the disgusting thoughts about myself out until the next time. MMMMmm, something to look forward to you think!!

A little bit stressed

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. OK.. I feel stressed. I have been working really long hours, and knocking myself out to do what I think is an ok mediocre job. GOD teaching is so hard...it is never finished and never good enough for anyone!!!!!. This is the first time in a long time that I have let myself get sucked in to the absolute rubbish of super teacher. Unfortunately my school is full of them, and I will never be like them, so right now, starting today I say LET IT GO....somewhere off into oblivion my stress and angst about being a perfect teacher has been let free and materialised into nothingness. I say goodbye to that sucky part of myself that hates mediocre. Mediocre is great. I love mediocre. Long live mediocre....