On death and dying, grief and grieving, life and the living.

This morning I drove my beloved to the airport. He is flying off to Tassie for his sisters funeral.
I have a particular opinion about death, it tends to make me come across a little cold hearted, but I'm not.
As we drove this morning we listened to his music playlist. A song came on called Holes by Passenger.
It's a nice song, I like it well enough. I have listened to it, sung along to it many times before but today the words struck a chord.
'we've got holes in our hearts, yeah we've got holes in our lives, we've got holes but we carry on'

As I pulled away from the curb and waved goodbye to my beloved those words hit my heart and tears started to fall. I hate leaving him to go through this alone. I hate being so far from him. It is a hole, but I'll carry on, and he will carry on.

Up until I drove away his sister's death had not been real. It was subdued phone calls, text messages facebook messages, but it was just words, nothing else.
Now it is here, my husband flying to Tasmania to participate in a time honoured ritual of burying the dead. Now I feel the hole she has left in my life.
I don't mourn the dead. They are in God's hands now so why feel sorry for them. I mourn for the living, those left behind, those who have to find a way to deal with the hole in their hearts and in their lives.
We say to people 'I am sorry for your loss' but we focus on the loss of deceased, not everything else they have lost. A person is not the space they take up on this earth. It is more than their spirit and body together. A person is so much more than that. They are a reflection of us, a collection of life experiences and memories. They are a part of our life, our very existence. Their bodily demise does not automatically sever their tie to us and who we are because of who they were to us and with us.
This is why I hate dealing with death. The dead are dead. Gone. No feelings in the matter. What we are left with is the grieving and aggrieved (the distressed and otherwise affected) those who are left behind to mourn.
What we are left with is the sudden rush of emotion. Every emotion. And trying to survive the tumultuous shit storm it brings.
When you say to someone next ' I am sorry for your loss' think about what you actually mean. Are you sorry the person died? Sorry this happened now? Sorry in what way? Did you cause it? Sorry is over used and now meaningless (in my opinion)
Some people offer their condolences. It's a handy way of avoiding the word sorry. It means to suffer together in the original latin condolere. It is a way of saying, hey we are here to support you however you need it. But it has become a common usage and is trotted out without much thought to the commitment it actually is. And then there are the give me a bucket platitudes and I do mean the trite meaningless phrases one hears and reads. 'if my hugs could take your hurt I would wrap my arms around you and never let go' really ... never let go. Uhhh exaggerated well meaning lie.
'Their greatest joy was making others happy' again REALLY. You know this how?
How about stick to the truth.
If it is within my ability and I can help you, please ask.
There is nothing to say that those left behind haven't already heard or thought or said.
Stick to the truth.

Everyone deals with death differently. I had a friend, let's call him Garry coz I don't know any Garry's. Anyway Garry's son, 26 years of age, found a job he loved, was having a ball with life decided to do something stupid. Under the influence of alcohol he climbed a cliff and jumped off into the ocean. No big deal really, except he did it in the middle of the night, without anyone knowing where he had gone. Because of the amount of alcohol he had consumed and the darkness, the swell and the dangerous nature of the activity, he drowned. His body was found the next day after an exhaustive search by divers.
Death by misadventure. Garry was devastated. But his way of dealing with it was to get drunk every day/night and berate himself for not being there. Then as time wore on he decided he didn't want to acknowledge his birthday because his son was dead, but he made a big fuss of flying up to the gold coast to visit the site on his son's birthday. To me that is idiotic. Life is for the living. Existing in a bottle of booze and refusing to live is no way to honour the dead... in my opinion. Garry's son did something stupid however it was in keeping with his lifestyle, he died doing something he loved. he died living his life to the full. So why does Garry feel it necessary to stop living and drown himself in an ocean of booze. That's not right. Again my opinion. I tried to be supportive and help him through this, but he kept throwing at me that I don't know what it's like to lose a son so how can I tell him what to do. For starters I never told him what to do I questioned his motives for things and tried to help him see that life goes on, even in the pit of despair and hell life goes on. And second, actually I do know what it is like to lose a child. I've lost more than one. The only difference is mine where babies not yet able to say I love you. So yeah I don't know what it is like to lose a son who had a personality, who you had history with, but I do know what it is like to lose a child. So I think that qualifies me to understand the loss and pain even if only a little. And it is true no one can ever know how you are feeling because we all feel things differently. I told him I and my beloved were there if he needed us and it was within our abilities. My abilities stop at bald face lying about how this was not his (the son's) fault. My abilities do not ever include enabling Garry or anyone else to wallow and waste their life for something that cannot be changed. Life goes on and so must we. Find a way.

I have two friends, a couple, who lost a child to a terrible tragedy. Again they were devastated to lose a child especially one so young. Instead of wallowing in their sorrow they are accepting the loss and getting on with life. They are doing all they can to deal with the hole in their loves and hearts and family and carry on, because nothing will bring the child back. They have black days and sudden moments of intense sorrow as any normal human being would but they are not blaming themselves for something that was out of their control as much then as it is now. The child is gone. Garry's son is gone. Nothing can change that. Life carries on. Father Time can not and will not stop for anyone. There's a hole, but life must go on. So they carry on. For them I have shown up for an unannounced sword fight. A long hug and a cry. Offers of throwing eggs. Throwing tissues. Quite conversations with no reservations or restrictions. Pure unadulterated love and support.

My beloved's sister and I had our moments. For 12 years we were a part of each others lives. She taught me how to send text messages. So we ran up quite a bill until my beloved put me on a unlimited text plan. We had many a great conversation and shared joys and secrets of our lives and our hopes and we had a massive disagreement, but we dealt with it and got on with life. We had plans for her to come over so we could sit on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and share outrageous stories. We had plans for our future as sisters in law. Those plans now will never see light of day.
I feel that hole and it makes me sad. For me. It is an opportunity missed. Something I will have to live with.
I feel deeply for her children. The old adage goes that a parent shouldn't have to bury their child. And yeah that is heart breaking, but a child no matter what age burying a parent is just a crushing because this is someone they have known their entire lives, this is someone who was their life. Their corner stone. Their safe place. Their first friend.

I am aggrieved at her death, it should never have happened the way it did. In the words of my very wise Miss 10 'it was no way to die'. I am outraged at the circumstances that caused her death, but most of all I am devastated for her Mum who stood by her through the years of pain and frustration and endless rounds of surgery and false hope. Held her hand and sat by her bed willing her to wake up and get better. I am heart broken for her loss. They were so close. Her hole will be a dark gaping chasm.
I am beside myself for my beloved. He and his sister were close enough but not in each others pockets. They had a genuine love and friendship. I know this is not how he wanted to catch up with her next. The tyranny of distance. They couldn't just jump in the car and drive interstate to keep closer in touch. I know he regrets that distance. But life was life. They each lived it and it took them in and out of each others circle from time to time. I wish I could be with him for the funeral. To stand beside him and support him. So that in this he was not alone. Condolere. Suffer together. Endure together. But finances prevent it.
I feel for my children who are trying to understand the sudden loss of an aunt they were looking forward to being well and here and knowing better. Miss 10 is crushed. She is missing her Dad and is at a loss fully to express her sorrow at the death of her aunt. They are holes that they will deal with. Life goes on.

Death brings many things to the surface. Making it a time fraught with danger. Many relationships have terminated on the death of a mutual family member or friend.
Everyone has different feelings and beliefs. Death makes us express them. Sometimes in an effort to reassure and condole, other times out of anger and a need to blame and lay our pain at someone or something else's door.
I believe in God. It really makes me fume when folk who don't believe in God suddenly blame him for the death of their loved one. If you can't believe in and follow the ideal of him in your brightest hour, leave him out of your darkest if all you want is a scape goat to make you feel better.
Sometimes death makes people question their faith. They either find themselves hoping for something more after death or they question the existence of something more after death and in life.
No my place to say who is right and who is wrong. We are all here for the same purpose. How we choose to do that is our own business.

So here I sit, my beloved over the sea and far from my arms, each of us with a hole in our heart, a hole in our lives. Each of us wishing we were together to share and to help lessen each others hole.
Life carries on because it must.
I try to look for the silver linings in all things.
I had a great sister in law for 12 years. I have great memories of a real person.
I loved and was loved by Deanne.
Nothing can change that.
Onwards and Upwards.

my laptop died... sorrow.

I have not been intentionally quiet maelstromers several things have happened to keep me from you.
First I picked up more work as an Education Access Worker which sees me out of the house bright and cheerful each day.
Then my laptop died.
I am bereft without it. Thankfully we have an extra pc so I have claimed that for now.
Once I find my routine and stride with the new hours and juggling life I will be posting more to keep you entertained, thrilled, shocked and intrigued along with any other emotion my words may elict.
Until then
Rock On
Georgia

Baby Tears

Back in 2008 a project I started in 1997 finally made it's way from my heart to paper.
I book called 'Baby Tears'.
I wanted people to know. I wanted other women to know what it was really like to have Ante and Post Natal Depression. Everything I had read to date had made me feel like I was a monster. I didn't feel like these other women felt. I didn't feel sad and have moments of being unorganised. I was dead inside. I was trapped in a living nightmare that everyone else seemed delighted for me to be in. Motherhood. 
I thought over and over about the night I sat in a bath with a knife trying to get the nerve to kill myself. And I thought about that one woman out there who maybe felt like I did. And I wanted her to know that it was OK. She was not a monster any more than I was. That she was not alone. 

And so I wrote this book. I sent it to a publishing agent. Who said hey love it, but we want you to change this, this and this... basically they wanted me to write the books I had already read. That I was a little teary. 
Let me think about it. How about ... NO.

So with the help of my beloved husband Grant and my dearest friend Mish, I self published my book.
It sold a few copies. The State Library of Victoria liked it enough to buy one for circulation. (super proud author moment) But I was still afraid of it. Still afraid of taking my book and getting it out into the world where it would really help.
I said that all I wanted was to help one woman. If one woman got help and was helped by my book then I was happy. And I was. I had people tell me that they finally understood their daughter/daughter in law/ granddaughter/wife. I had one woman tell me that I saved her life. 

Since then I have watched the news, listened to women talk and found myself wondering if I had the strength yet to take my book out of it's protective shell and send it out into the world. Women still need to know they are not alone and not monsters. Family members need to know how to help. Dr's and nurses and midwives need to know that sometimes the feelings go way deeper than what is being said.
So this year. I thought I might revisit Baby Tears.
It needs a big editing overhaul. But I have the knowledge now to do that. Maybe that was why I studied editing and proof reading. For this day. 
This year I want to polish and revamp my book and bring it out of the shadows and into the world.
Here is an excerpt from the first printing. I would love to know your thoughts.


Onwards and Upwards
Georgia.


Wednesday, 5th February 1997
3:15am
I have a son. A beautiful baby boy weighing 7lb 6oz (in the old scale) or3350gm. 
He is the most amazing thing I have ever seen.
I cannot believe this little human being in my arms began as little more than a blood clot, I am in awe.
I am in awe.
But I do not feel love for this little miracle. 
I feel indifference, less then nothing. 
I am amazed at him and study him like a scientist studying an organism under a microscope. 
No love or attachment, merely clinical curiosity.
I watch my parents rapture with their first grand child. 
My Grandfather with the great-grandchild he thought he would never live to see is a ‘Kodak moment’.

But Ethan is not my son. I feel no ownership. No sense of belonging. No joy. Not even a slight softening of the heart when I look at him. Just an ever-increasing sense of obligation. 
Then the tears started. There is something wrong with me. But I am afraid and ashamed. 
Ashamed because I have a beautiful healthy baby and how many women do not even have that? 
Afraid that everyone can see my inadequacies, I don’t even know how to pick him up out of his crib.
I am too ashamed to tell anyone that I am not feeling the joy that they are feeling. 
Afraid because not only do I not know how to care for my baby, I don’t even particularly want to. 

During my pregnancy I had asked people how would I know what to do and when to do it? They all smiled benignly and said, “oh you’ll know”.
But I don’t!
I am just not maternal and the nurses, without even a backward glance, have left me to it. 
I don’t even know what the ‘it’ is I am supposed to do.
I guess their paperwork is more important then making sure I am O.K.

During the night I think Ethan is looking a little more jaundiced then when he was born. I see that thought as a ray of hope and ring for the nurse. 
Deep down inside I want her to look at me, to see into my heart and recognise how I feel and make me better. Or maybe Ethan is more jaundiced and she will take him away and I won’t have to deal with him.
I feel so torn.
I would be crushed by the weight of my guilt if something happened to Ethan and he died. 
Crushed by the knowledge that I was glad he was gone because I could not bear to have him near me. 
But by the same token I would be crushed he was gone before I could learn to love him.

The nurse comes and barely looks at me, takes Ethan away to check him and I feel the tears stinging my eyes. I want so much for someone to talk to, but the nurse is busy and it is too late to call anyone. 
What would I say anyway?
So I look out of the window, crying, alone and lonely. 
I had hoped and prayed that all the fears and doubts I had during my pregnancy would just disappear at the sight of my son.

New post over on Some Things Just Have To Be Said.

Trials and tribulations of a school Mum

Yesterday Me Beloved and I had a heated discussion with our Miss 9's teacher over her changing two words of a poem our girl was to read as part of the ANZAC ceremony.
Our argument was that A: it is copyright protected so what right did she have to change it. B: she was asking or daughter to also breach copyright and therefore teaching her to have no respect for other people's work and the law.
I will leave out the argument over religion because this was never about that, although it did offend me that it is ok to not mention God so as not to offend non Christians but Christians are ok to offend.

No one was ever going to win this one. 

 

Read the full post here.

http://somethingsjusthavetobesaid.blogspot.com.au/2014/04/trials-and-tribulations-of-school-mum.html

The crazies in my head

My mind never stops.
There is always some project or mad idea swirling around in there.
Something I want to try, something I want to make, something I want to say.
It is very rarely silent.
I used to worry that I had schizophrenia because there was so much going on in there. Each idea had its own personality and voice. But once my Dr stopped laughing and explained to me what schizophrenia actually was, I don't worry so much anymore. Now I just think I might be a little bit crazy. Not rubber stamp me, lock me away for my own and others people's safety sort of crazy. Just a little left of mainstream normal, sort of a fringe dweller of crazy normal.

Thought I would share with you some of my crazy.
I want wings. I have always wanted wings. I can feel exactly where they would come out on my back, coz it is always itchy on that spot.
Some days I can feel my wings rising up to wrap around me, to wrap around others, to give added oomph to my day.
So I made a set of wings.
3 metres tip to tip.
I made them out of paper. By hand cutting around 800 feathers ranging in size from 1 metre to 10 cm in length.
I had no idea how they would work. I only knew I needed to make myself a pair of wings.

 close up of the feathers

As I made them other people became interested in them. Seems everyone secretly or not so secretly wants wings. People's reactions to them were really interesting. Many positioned themselves in front of the wings and had their picture taken so it looked like they had wings.
I printed the feathers with the words Faith, Hope and Love. I was asked repeatedly why those words. So I wrote the following. I don't like the word poem, but I can't quite bring myself to call it prose either. So I wrote 'the following' to go with the wings.

WINGS

Faith, Hope and Love

are the wings we all wear but do not see.

They help us to soar,

experiencing the exhilaration of all life has to offer.

In moments of sorrow, pain or confusion

they wrap around us, nurturing us until

we can again take flight.

We can wrap our wings around others,

lending them our strength

until they find their own again.

Everyone needs Faith, Hope and Love.

It is the core being of who we are,

no matter what Spiritual or Religious belief you hold.

Faith, Hope and Love define us,

guide us and protect us.

Our wings are made of individual feathers,

so that when we lose one the other can maintain us

until a new feather grows in.

We are designed this way because when we lose a little Faith,

Hope and Love will keep us afloat

until our Faith feather grows back in.

Same for Hope and Love,

they will be sustained by the other two

until we are whole again.

So spread your wings flex them and arch them,

show the world,

show yourself,

you are MAGNIFICENT

You were born to fly on the wings of your

Faith, Hope and Love

By Georgia Brain

(Copyright 2013)

this is them from a distance on our lounge room wall.

I entered them into an art exhibition. I had never entered anything in anything before so I was nervous because to my crazy head I was not an artist. I was just someone with a mad idea. I won people's choice. I was so stunned. There was some amazing work in that exhibition. Work I could never in my life create. But the people seemed to connect with my wings. I guess everyone has a little angel inside them trying to get out.

For another exhibition 10 mannequins were given to artists of various mediums to turn into 'the perfect man'. They were to be auctioned off at the exhibition to raise money and awareness for a vital cause Impact for Women. An organisation that helps women fleeing domestic violence.

I didn't think I was good enough to make anything but thought seeking further information about the project couldn't hurt.

I came home with a mannequin named Harry. Harry and I talked and bonded as I ran my hands over his perfectly formed torso. He wanted to be Henry. He felt like a Henry. So he underwent a name change.

My family are wonderful. They love an adventure and accept my craziness as normal and did not mind the plastic man in the bath tub (he needed a bath) or when he then took over the dining table for a month or more.

I wanted Henry to be my perfect man. So given my love of buttons (almost a fetish... but not quite. I do have some self control around them) I knew Henry needed to be made of buttons. I also wanted to show what a perfect man is to me. 

So I used Proverbs 22:6 'Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.'

To me this was telling us that if like a sapling we train a tree and give it good roots and nourishment the tree will stand strong and steadfast and a be a shelter and source of life, just like a perfect man. And so from a plastic torso to a mannequin with personality and life Henry was created.

Whilst making Henry I began to think about mosaic art. How cool would it be to mosaic a guitar? I had seen plenty of them on Pinterest. I had a friend pick up a guitar for me off hard rubbish, it was banged up and the back was off. Perfect.

So I gave it some thought. I could go the traditional route... but that's not really me. Also it is a guitar. It should be mosaic-ed in a manner that best represents it. Plectrums.

So I sourced 535 plectrums and a set of tuners (can't recall what they are called... the things that your tighten the strings) plus a bunch of G strings (because it amused me) and I set to work.

I named her Arabesque, Bessie for short. Because I wanted her to be beautifully ornate.

I am happy with how she came out. I have plans already for the next one. hee hee hee.
But this is just some of the stuff that goes through my head on a creating level. Then there is the writing.
I have been slowly plugging away at a book for a few years now. I am afraid of it, well bits of it. But I will get there and I will post excerpts of it here from time to time.
But for now.
Rock On
love
Georgia

New Post on The Sexual Side of Life

Excerpt from A lover's view of oral sex.

The porn film industry has a lot to answer for. People’s ideas of sex and sexual acts have been turned from intimacy between loving couples to something cheap and over exaggerated.

Read the full post on The Sexual Side of Life blog. click on the blog link.

New Post on Some Things Just Have To Be Said

excerpt from Shopping Centres should have the same rules as on the road.

You know what drives me mad?
When you are trying to navigate your way around a shopping centre or supermarket and people just cut across in front of you or stop without warning. Seriously It drives me mad.

Women with prams seem to think they own the place and can push that thing where they want and how they want and too bad if they run into you, coz they are the bigger 'vehicle' and so have automatic right of way.
Ahhh... yeah... no you don't.
I believe if the same rules for driving applied to pedestrian traffic through a shopping centre then it would be so much easier (for me).

Click on the link down the side to go to the blog.