This evening, at 5.19pm, a child was born. Luka is the much longed for baby girl of Shane and Melissa. I have a new niece!
Up to my ears in paperwork for the P&C, has to be done by morning, so I'll post more later, but I didn't want to let the occasion pass without a mention.
Welcome to the world, baby girl. I can't wait to see you tomorrow.
Shane and Melissa, congratulations. I could not be more thrilled for you.
Say it with me, people. I'm going to get to buy pink things!
A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade O'er my lovely infant's head; Sweet dreams of pleasant streams By happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown. Sweep sleep, Angel mild, Hover o'er my happy child.
Sweet smiles, in the night Hover over my delight; Sweet smiles, Mother's smiles, All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Chase not slumber from thy eyes. Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child, All creation slept and smil'd; Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, While o'er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace. Sweet babe, once like thee, Thy maker lay and wept for me,
Wept for me, for thee, for all, When he was an infant small Thou his image ever see, Heavenly face that smiles on thee,
Smiles on thee, on me, on all; Who became an infant small. Infant smiles are his own smiles; Heaven & earth to peace beguiles.
Watching Baby Einstein with his brother. Baby Neptune, to be precise.
Along crawls the crab.
"Ooh, Mummy. Look! A crab! Just like you", he exclaims, patting me on the knee.
"Yes" Whiplash I'm sorry. What? How is the crab like Mummy?" All kinds of scenarios fill my head, and in none of them, am I remotely like a crab, I'll have you know.
"Err. Sweetie, how is the crab like Mummy?" "Yes. Like Mummy. Like "Holy Crab!", stated with the same exasperated tone I just know I use.
Ok then. Bite lip so as not to laugh. "Oh, yes. Mummy says that sometimes. Mummy's a bit silly. She really shouldn't say that". "Yeah. Bad choice word. Say "Oh My Goodness"
Seriously. I went away, and had 4 days of the Lifestyle Food Channel. Suddenly, I'm inspired.
I baked bread this weekend. For the first time in 20 (Gasp!) years. I've not baked bread since I was 12.
I made far too much dough, so I did a loaf, some dinner rolls, and two foccaccias (they were divine) for lunch.
When I did the dinner rolls (made them first. Xander 'helped' me with them, so he wanted them cooked first), they burned a bit. It said to put the oven at about 220. I knwo my oven is hot, so I put it at about 180.
Joel ended up going and getting an oven thermometer. Turns out, my oven, at 160 degrees, is actually sitting at 215! No wonder I have such a hard time with it.
Anyway, everything else was lovely, once I'd allowed for it. Can't believe how domestic I'm getting, I find myself wanting to made Everything from scratch.
With the foccaccias, we used the first vegetables from our garden, too! I used some rocket and some basil. Was very proud.
Of course, needing all of that dough has me sitting here, right now, loaded up with 2 Mersyndol and a heat pack. I feel like My shoulders have been pummeled, and a nerve in my neck has pinched really badly.
Excellent.
But. I'm hoping to make brownies and some cupcakes tomorrow (I made choc chip cookies yesterday, but they are one of Joel's favourite things, so between him, and a steriod driven 5 year old, it's safe to say they'll be gone by tomorrow afternoon).
I'm trying hard to make more of our food from scratch. Firstly, it'll help the budget. I've been a bit paranoid lately, we've been struggling a bit financially, and I've found it so hard to bring the shopping bills down. I felt really isolated, as it isn't something that I'm inclined to talk about. I am a fairly open person, and have no trouble talking about most things that are considered 'off limits'. But the specifics of finances, I consider to be a private family matter. So I felt like we were the only ones doing it tough right now, and I was the only person struggling to feed the family for a reasonable amount.
I've noticed a few threads on EB recently (Thanks, Caroline. Yours made me feel better, believe it or not) where a lot of people have expressed the same concerns as me. And whilst I'm sorry that any one of them are feeling the pinch, it does make me feel like less of..something, I don't know. A failure?
Anyway, I'm trying to make more from scratch, and have started growing some of my own veges. So, while this is not even close to turning into a food blog (though there are afewI'maddictedto at the moment, and am getting quite inspired by), I will post more about this over the coming months.
Alexander spent most of Saturday in the E.D. His asthma hit an all new low (low? high? not sure what you'd call it) on the weekend. By the time we got him into the hospital and after 2 nebulisers, his O2 levels sat at 92. It took 3 more nebs to bring him up to 94. Fun. Back on Prednisilone again. Am thinking of buying shares.
Anyway, by the time he could talk (a couple of hours into our adventure), he was kind of cute to be around. I knew we'd be a while, so I took his backpack, filled with food, colouring markers, books, activity books and a book for me.
Colouring in his "C" page in the workbook.
"Ooh, look Mummy! A crab." "Yes, that is a crab. Crab starts with a "C"." "Yes. A crab. Just like mummy!" "I'm sorry. What? Like Mummy?" "Yes. Like "Holy Crab!"
Possible I need to be more diligent in modifying my speech?
"Hi Doctor." "Hi Alex" "It's not Alex. I'm just Alexander. Alex is in Prep C. I'm in Prep A" "Oh, I'm sorry Alexander" "That's ok. This is my Mummy. Her name's Melissa. She's funny". "Is she?" "Yes. And he has a JaHima (Vagina)". "Err..."Doctor walks away laughing. Out loud.
"Mummy, what are you reading?" "My Book". (Should have known that wasn't going to be enough. "What does this say?" pointing to the cover. "Songs of the Distant Earth". "Oh Yes. Songs of the dissst earf. I love that one. What does this say?" "Arthur C Clarke. That's the man who wrote the book". "Yes. Arthur C Clarke wrote songs of earth".
"How are you feeling Alexander?" The nurse looking after him. "I'm just a bit very not well" (Charlie and Lola, anyone?) "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that". "That's ok. I'm just reading." "What are you reading?" "Jack and Sam. Three Stories. I'm just a super reader" (the name of his award). "Wow. Are you really? Are you a super reader?" "Yes. You're not a super reader. Just Prep A".
"Hi Alexander. Time for me to listen to your chest. Lets see how your nasty cough is" "It's not a nasty cough. It's just a bad cough. It's just asthma" He says, rolling his eyes." "Yes, it is asthma. What a clever boy you are". "Yes I am. I love Arthur C Clarke". (This about 3 hours after we'd had that intitial conversation. I have no idea how he remembered. "Well then. Ok."
I swear, I didn't raise him to roll his eyes. Except, I realised how much he looks like me when he does it. And, it's been pointed out to me that I do tend to roll them quite a bit.
Said by nurse who watched him read to me. "Are you sure he's autistic. He's very smart". Through gritted teeth: "You know, it bothers me that even members of the medical fraternity still think that autism automatically means an intellectual impairment". No answer.
From a Doctor, who isn't even on our case. "Wow. Who diagnosed him?" "With Asthma?" "No. Autism." Err...insert name of Dr here. Why?" wondering what on earth that has to do with the fact that after 3 nebs, he's still slightly cyanotic. "It's just that he doesn't look autistic at all" Nails digging into palms. "Oh. What exactly do you find autism actually looks like?" "No, I just mean he's exceptionally bright." notices my eyebrows shooting up into the stratosphere. "I mean, he's very high functioning". "Yes. He is. That doesn't mean there are no issues".
As evidenced by the fact that not 10 minutes later, he was begging for a blanket. They asked him if he was cold, and he didn't respond. "He's not cold", I answered. They got him the blanket. As I suspected, he was instantly hiding under it, wishing the world would just shut the hell up and leave him be.
After about 6 hours, the lights and the intrusions and the noises coming from the ED were becoming just a bit much for him. He started begging to leave.
"Sam needs me. I think I just need to go home and hop in the cot and cuddle with Sam. It's time to go Mummy. Please. I need my baby Sam".
It's a post for another time. But I'm in awe of the developing relationship between my sons. They are completely besotted with one another, and Alexander is proving to be an amazing big brother.
Have any of you watched talent shows? Something like Australian/Americal Idol? I watched the first season or two. Remember the audition episodes? Such a trainwreck. You know you get the ones that are amazing. You get the ones who are obviously there as a joke, or on a dare.
But you get the others. The ones that mean it. The ones who by some tear in the space time continuum cannot hear that they sound like a strangled buffalo. Eyes closed, as the belt out yet another dismal version of an Alicia Keyes song, you cringe and wonder...how? How could they get to this point in their lives, and not have been told (ever so gently) that they aren't really cut out for a singing career? How have their mothers, or their partners or their best friends not told them that they really, really suck? And how can the people who love them let them put themselves on National Television to be mocked by millions of people? And not just once. Their clips are played over and over again over the following 6 months or so. It's merciless.
And I sat there and thought how on earth do you not tell them? And I wondered, are there mothers just deaf? Could every single one of their mothers be deaf? Or at least blind to their children's flaws? Do we all convince ourselves that we have the worlds' most brilliant or beautiful or talented child. Even when we err..really don't?
There's a point. Honest. I'm slowly making my way there. It has shockingly little to do with Idol though, so this post could simply be the result of the migraine I've had the last 4 days.
Excuse the photo quality. These are from a phone.
No, this isn't Samuel. It's Alexander. Anyway. When Alexander was just a couple of months older than Samuel is now (the age he was in these two photos I don't remember how old he was, I"m sorry. But I remember he wasn't walking yet, just crawling, so less than 11 months), he did something that surprised me. We had an old Television, with a DVD and a VCR hooked up to it. But it had cables at the front, and you had to switch them, and you had to flick a switch to get between TV, VCR and DVD. I had my nephew for a couple of days while my SIL was in hospital. He brought with him Toy Story. Alexander was just a baby, but he was absolutely transfixed. He loved it. We bought it for him.
And one day, I was wondering around, doing something, and Alexander was in the living room. And the next thing I heard, was the Disney theme, the beginning of Toy STory. I turned around and while I could hear it starting, I couldn't see it, as he hadn't flicked over the switch. So there was no picture. He sat and watched the screen for a moment, puzzled. Until he crawled over to the television, and moved the switch from AV to VCR. I was so stunned, that seemed like a really advanced thing to do.
Everything at that point was pretty average. He'd rolled over on time, laughed on time, crawled on time, was starting to look like trying some words, but wasn't there yet. But he could work out how to turn a video on and switch over to the right channel. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd have not believed it. But I thought that maybe he was really quite bright.
Of course, it was just a few months later, that we became concerned about him. He'd started, then suddenly stopped speaking. He'd gone from (remember, he was only just over a year old) having about a dozen words (the usual, Baba, Dad, Mum, Bath, Ball, Duck, etc) to having none. In fact, over the next 18 months, he lost Mum (though kept his B and D words). We saw more and more delays with him. I saw Doctor after Doctor, gathered opinion after opinion. All said the same. He's fine. He's a bit slow. But that's ok. Boys tend to be slower. Don't push him, he may be just a bit slower than usual, but nothing to worry about...you know the drill.
We saw more and more delays. Simple things. Not building lasting friendships with people not in the family. Not making eye contact (though only when feeling confronted). Not learning animal sounds, in fact, not understanding at all when someone asked him what a dog says etc. Not making any attempt to draw or paint. Not engaging in imaginary play. Loving children, but not really knowing the 'rules' in interacting with them, so he was so often bullied. Even at 2 or 3, other children called him stupid. Other parents pretended not to think he was stupid. I knew, though. Of course. I saw the pity in their eyes. All this time though, I used to say to Joel "I'm not just saying this because I'm his mother. I really, really think he's bright. I'm not saying he's a genius. I'm just saying, I don't think he's dumb". It niggled at me and it kept me awake at night.
We spent a lot of time over the next 3 years or so, working on helping Alexander. He took really quickly to numbers, counting early, and even more so to letters, knowing his alphabet by 2. He still wasn't really verbal though. He hated (really, really hated) being read to. But he sat with me every day, several times a day while we made a game out of flashcards. I started with just 3 cards (he was 2). I remember they were Dog, Ball and House. Two that he knew, and one that he didn't. I wanted him to start with the familiar, and learn a new one every couple of days. By flashcards, at htis point of course, we're talking just pictures. Not letters/words. Every couple of days, we start wtih the ones he knew and add a new one. He did well, but actually having him use sentences was about 2 years of hard work away.
We read with him, did phonics programs with him (as he'd shown a great love of letters and numbers. Still, to this day, his favourite toy in the world is his box full of magnetic letters. He spends hours spelling words out). We (later on) introduced simple math with him as well, Joel spending time with fun math programs on the computer.
Oh yeah. That was the other thing. The computer. We already had a home computer, which Alexander had never shown much interest him. Joel and he played on it sometimes (math and phonics things) but Alexander didn't know how to use it. He didn't knwo how to use the mouse, or how to turn it on. Then we were given another, from my Dad. He was moving, and didn't want to take his with him. We got another desk, and set up the computer, intending for Joel and I to have one each. Well. Alexander walked into the office and said "Wow. Thank you so much Mummy and Daddy! Thank you so much!" We smiled and awwwed over him. How cute, thinking it was his. :) Joel installed all of the programmes, and decided to put a couple on for Alexander, so they could do his phonics etc on either computer.
I showed him a couple of websites I thought he'd like:
I sat with him while he explored the Tigger and Pooh site. I bookmarked it, saving it to his favourites. Within two days, Alexander had navigated the entire Disney site. Bookmarking several different sections on his own, saving also various sections of the other sites I'd saved for him. He could turn on the computer, open IE, open Favourites, pick exactly which site he wanted, close favourites (so he had a full screen again) and play. He could open his phonics and math programs, his car racing game, his bowling game. Whatever he wanted, he could do. He worked out (I guess from watching us) how to print pages to colour. By the end of that first week, the computer was undeniably his.
Joel and I watched in awe while he worked out how to use it. We were pleased, he seemed so comfortable, and we hoped that once he got to school, he'd be not far off catching up with his peers.
Anyhoo. I found myself more and more certain that he was really quite bright, despite the delays. Until I saw the Paed. We were talking, and she watched him for a while. One of the things they check is how high a tower a child will build with blocks (Lego). I told her that I doubted he would build one, as all he cares about is letters. She said, "It's ok. I'll ask him. He'll build one". She gave him the blocks. He took them, ignoring her request (or not really understanding it). He then played with them for a while, while she turned her attention back to us. He came over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Look. It's Mosters Inc" he said. I had to translate, he wasn't clear. He pointed to the blocks and we went to have a look at his tower. There wasn't one. Instead, he had put the lego pieces together in such a way as to spell out Monsters Inc. Clear as day. I swear. Exactly what I thought he'd do. She was, to put it mildly, a little surprised. "His brain just facinates me", she said. "He sees the world sooooo differently".
Anyway, I said I had him booked in for Prep, and she seemed genuinely surprised. I asked why, and she said "No, it's ok. You can always try, of course. See how he goes. Nothing is irreversible. If he doesn't cope, you can take him out and just leave him in the ECDU". I was gutted. She didn't think he'd cope. She started talking about getting testing done (like an IQ test, I guess) and was tlaking about Intellectual Impairment... Bear in mind, Samuel was 10 days old, I was in the midst of a shocking PND episode, and it was my first venture out of the house since having Samuel. I tuned out, her first mention of II sending me into an anxiety attack. I felt deflated.
I felt suddenly like one of those mothers who thinks her child can sing. And lets them go on Idol and get mocked by the entire world (see, told you I'd come to a point eventually). Like maybe I was the only one who thought he was bright, and I was simply deluded. That my love for him, and facination of him (becuase honestly, he absolutely facinates me. I know he sees the world differently, but I'm in such awe of him. I can watch Alexander, and talk to and about him all day) had clouded my judgement. I was one of them. One of those mothers who thought her child was beautiful/brilliant/well behaved etc. While the rest of the people around her draw straws to see which sucker should break the bad news. Honestly, I second guessed every second of my parenting over the past 4 years.
We went ahead and started him at school anyway. Hoping he'd cope with 3 days of Prep per week, adn 2 of ECDU. That perhaps in the last term of school, he'd transition to full time prep.
A month in, they told me he'd be in Prep full term at the start of Term 2. A month ago, his teacher called me in for a chat. She said "I just wanted to let you know, I've spoken to Jo (Head of Special Ed) and Kate (Librarian, as far as I knew. She has other roles, I've since found out). "We've started the paperwork for Alexander's assessment". Puzzled, I replied "Anne Marie. We went over this last week. I brought all of the forms back for his speech therapy. It's already in place" I laughed. Ditsy teacher, must have had a bad day. "Err. No. Not that assessment. We have been watching him and working with him. We're certain that he is gifted and talented". (What a strange term, by the way. Who walks aroudn saying "Oh yes. My son is gifted and talented". Makes it sound like he swallows fire and composes music in his lunch break). "Yeah, I thought he was doing well with his reading" say I. "Yeah, well some of his classmates are still working out their alphabet. He's more than doing well". Alexander is reading Year One readers that his teacher has had to sneak (as the Year One teachers said she wasn't 'allowed'(bollocks!) to give her Prep kids early work). "It's not just the reading, though that is exceptional. His computer skills are unparralelled. And his mental math, phenomenal".
So. There you have it. My boy, is a clever little chicken. And it's not just me who thinks so. I don't care that he thinks he's playing "football" with a cricket bat and a basketball (he really has no idea the difference, lol). He can read. So there.
Sorry. Got all petty just then, didn't I? I dont' know what any of this means, and I'm sure as hell not interested in having him moved away from his class or his teacher. And while we don't want to make too much fuss, I'm incredibly proud of him. He is learning at the rate of about a new book a day. He is making enormous strides wtih his sentence structure. His drawings are wonderful (he could not hold a pencil 6 months ago). The hard work, is finally paying off. Oh yeah. By the way. He is also the most good looking and most well behaved child in the world. I don't care what you say. lol. Alas, he really, really can't sing. :) Edited: Look what I found! I forgot we had this. This was about 2 years ago, up in Airlie.
Of course,it was always clear to us that Alexander was destined to be an academic. Proof! (Excuse the mess....what can I say?). ANYthing was a phone, once upon a time. Hello????? Phone won't work???? Stuid Prank Callers... Clearly, he gets it from his father. Honestly though. Did you know it was possible to love another creature this much?
Edited, beacuse really. When you're going to force people to sit through a post this long, you really want to provide them with some puctuation and paragraphs.
Just trying out the different sizes I can post pics. Want to play around with the settings a bit tonight, maybe even find a new layout. So please excuse anything that ends up looking horrible. :) Will delete later.
Sorry about that last entry. It was a bad night. Rest assured, this isn't depression, though I can understand how you'd think that. I've struggled with chronic pain for more than 10 years now. Constant inflammation in all of my joints, my back, neck, shoulders and hips. Long story, won't bore you. It just felt a bit much the other night.
I'm ok though. I have these moments from time to time, and then I'm fine. Back to normal.
I'm tired. It's been 10 years, I'm so tired. There isn't a part of my body that doesn't hurt. I'm tired of it.
Ten years. A huge chunk of my adult life has been this. Pain. I want it to stop. I just want one day, one night, where nothing hurts. Where I don't have the body of an old woman.
Just one. I'm so tired of it all. There are moments, like now, I feel like it's chasing me down, it's going to take over everything. I try so hard not to let it be in control. To live my life normally (or as normally as I can) and not let it define me. But today, this week, it feels like it's winning. It's just too hard, I'm just too tired.
Just a couple of happy snaps from the holiday. Which tecnically I'm supposed to still be on (well, Joel doesn't go back to work til Tuesday), but people seem to have found out. So the phone's been ringing all morning.
He was so happy at the beach. It was a bit cold to swim, the weather was glorious. But he was happy building sandcastles, chasing the poor seagulls and running away from the tide.
We'd all been writing messages in the sand. He said he wanted to write something. We watched him write this, and I HAD to get a picture, before the tide took it. He really does love his brother. On the way home, Sam had been a bit upset (it's a 4 hour drive, can't blame him). Alexander was holding his hand saying "It's ok my Sam. I'll always love you. I will always, always love you". Sigh. Joel and I practically melted.
I only know that it’s 4pm because the time is on the taskbar of this notebook. Joel and I took our watches off when we arrived here yesterday, and have simply decided we’re not putting them back on until we leave. We don’t care for timetables. We’ll just go with the flow for a few days. A big deal for people like us, often living by the clock, and always, always on time.
So. Here’s my question.
At what point to you think that one might be too relaxed?
Is it when you’re sitting in the most amazing little inlet. Clear water lapping perilously close to your feet. Listening to the sounds of your 5 year old son squealing and laughing in delight as he is chased along the sound by his roaring father. Sitting on a picnic blanket, with the nearly 8 month old baby between my legs. Watching the baby transfixed by the kite surfer (well, just the kite, I guess), the breeze whooshing through his golden ringlets.
Realising that soon enough, you’ll need to head off. Samuel will need a sleep soon, and Alexander will be hungry (AGAIN. O.M.G!). Feeling like a relaxed puddle of yourself, stretching out languorously, toes enjoying the soft, warm sand. Figuring you could just stay here forever. Maybe Joel could bring you food. Deciding that rather than move from this very spot, Samuel could just sleep here in the pram. That it’s about time that Alexander learned to forage for food (he’s 5 after all – time he grew up ;) ), Anything not to move from this spot.
Gosh I’m relaxed. I’m ridiculously, obscenely relaxed. Plus. I have two words for you people.
The next entry or two were written and saved while we were away. Had no internet access (I did surprisingly well, but I missed you all), so couldn't post them until we got back.
We went away at the beginning of the week. We've needed so desperately to get away from it all. We wanted to sit on the beach, play with the boys and be nowhere near anyone or anything we knew. Joel had grown up in this area, so we went and stayed here. It was absolutely perfect. I cannot recommend this place enough, or our hosts. They are simply lovely, lovely people.
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
It’s about 10.30 on Tuesday morning. I’m lying on the softest, most decadent sofa, cushions at my back and under my feet.
The French doors are open, and I have a clear view of a turquoise ocean, white caps not so much crashing onto rocks, they seem to almost dance onto the charcoal coloured boulders.
There’s a frangipani tree right outside our bedroom window. Most of its leaves and flowers have fallen already, an autumn rite. But a few hold on, saving their beauty for us, Their proud pink, white and yellow petals were the first thing my sleepy eyes focused on this morning, and as they swayed proudly in the gentle breeze, I smiled. I felt positively light as I remembered where I was, and wondered what the day would bring my family. Joel and Alexander left together about an hour ago, embarking on one of those childhood rites of passage – the first father-son fishing expedition. Yesterday, Joel took our hyperactive firstborn out and bought him his very first (and oh, so cute!) fishing rod. Alexander is positively giddy, telling every person that we’ve met that he was going fishing with Daddy. Joel seems to know this is the beginning of what will, perhaps one day, be a beautiful new tradition for his sons. Me, I’m on the poor fish’s side, so this is really Joel’s things. Samuel is sleeping in the boys’ room (can I tell you how excited Alexander was to discover he was sharing a room with his brother this week! He was thrilled, and couldn’t stop kissing Sam and telling him he’d “always love you, little brother”). He’s finally restful after a week of teething misery (he’s cutting 6 at the moment, all up the top. Who cuts 6 at a time, I ask you? ) and a terrible head cold, that all three of my men have (3 cases of man cold. Yeah, I’ve had a beautiful week). So, here I lay, a book by my side (Maeve Binchy, great holiday reading, in my opinion). The lifestyle Food Channel (ooh, just what I need. A new guilty little secret – Joel would HATE it ), is in the background.
I can hear the waves. There seem to be birds everywhere, the kookaburras seem to be celebrating something, such is the joyous sound they create this morning. The breeze softly flows through the apartment and combined with a perfect blue sky, the fluffiest white clouds you can imagine, and my steaming, milky tea, I find myself filled with the warmest sense of wellbeing. It seems I may not be alone in this. I just went in to check on Samuel. He is sleeping peacefully, almost still (he is NEVER still, not even when he sleeps). A breeze floats into the bedroom, and must caress his beautiful face, for he thrusts his chin forward, to reach for it, perhaps, and a satistfied smile lights up his face. He rolls over, clutching his Charlie Bear, and I tiptoe out of the room.
It’s nearly 12 now. I’m heading back to my book, before the boys return. But I’ve been thinking of you. I thought about Jenn, and the Monkey, and whether Monkey would like the rockpools just across the road from us. I think about Kim and wonder if Bella would like to Dance with Alexander, swirling in the park, her ringlets twirling in the breeze. I think about Ave and Donna, imagining Luke, Sam and Dashiel, clumsy hands trying to work the rod and reel, excitedly watching their Daddy’s throw the lines out for them, more interested in sandcastles. I think of Simone, and Simon, and how this would be the ultimate break, a chance to get away and just relax with the twins. I think of you, Paulette and just know that you and I would sit with our coffees on the little table out the front, catching up properly.
I think of Joel and I, and how much we need to do this, just the two of us. And how wonderful it is for us to get out, take our children to the beach. When they get back, I’ll make them some lunch. I”ll convince my exhausted husband to take a nap, and maybe after that, we’ll head back down to the beach. Talk to you all soon.
I love the smell of you. I love that no matter how long your day, no matter how hard you worked, you still smell of Obsession. Obsession, and something else, something that is just you.
I lean in to kiss you there and my senses start to fire. Smell first. That beautiful, delicious scent. I breathe you in, and feel my body start to relax. My hands flat, against your stomach, I place the gentlest of kisses. Right under your belly button. Perhaps my favourite place of all.
You're guarded at first, worried it will tickle. You, my love, may be the most ticklish man in the world, but I know your body now. I know how to dance along that fine line, taking us from light and fun, into something far more intense.
I know the sharp intake of breath, as I flick my tongue out and taste you. I know if I look up, your pupils will be dilated; your eyes dark and smoky as you look into mine. I'll lean back in, my hands tracing their way across your chest, around, to your back. I'll trace the scar on your right shoulder. I'll kiss your neck, your eyes, your lips.
You'll capture my lips, take over for a while. But soon enough, I'll remember. I'll be drawn back, and make my way back to your stomach. I always am. I can't stay away long. I'll feel my own pulse quicken as you run your fingers through my hair. The slightest pressure, and I feel your hands suggest another course. You let your head fall back as I follow your lead, edging ever closer to..
Today was our final goodbye to you. It was the day of your memorial service. The night before, I remember a growing sense of doom. A feeling, heavy, churning in the pit of my stomach. A growing seed of panic, whispering to me, louder and louder as the hours passed.
Joel bought some scotch, and he and Dad got out a video to pass the evening. Joel really looked after him Mum. He could tell when Dad needed to be alone, when Dad needed to be able to unload on me, and when he simply needed distraction. A glass of scotch, some cheeses and a good video (the type you used to hate him watching) was always an excellent way to lift Dad out of any funk.
I remember they got out Dead Calm. It's a movie I'd always wanted to see, but somehow never had gotten around to it. Dad and Joel settled down on the recliners, eyes dancing as tehy waited to have the life scared out of them. Though he'd sat there before, the sight of Joel, on the green leather of your recliner felt so wrong. Cleo wandered in, going straight to the seat. He started to rub himself up against Joel's legs, and it was just seconds before he stopped, still. He seemed to suddenly remember you weren't here. Like he'd forgotten, and must face it all over again. He left, he seemed sad. Can cats feel sorrow? Cleo certainly seemed to.
The whispering in my head grew m ore intense. I remember tryign to slow my breathing down. Slow breaths, Melissa. Slowly does it. You're ok.
I'm not. I knew what I was afraid of. It wasn't saying goodbye. We'd done that, of course. God, we'd spent a year saying our goodbyes. That wasn't it. It was saying goodbye in front of everyone. Knowing how many eyes would rest on me, waiting for reactions. I never told you the number of people who warned me. Trying to be gentle, admonishing me. "You need to take a break, Mel. You need to slow down. You need to take time for yourself. You're going to break. IT will all catch up on you, and you'll be a quivering mess". Friends. Family. Doctors. Your carers. Everyone.
They hurt me. Oh, I know they didn't mean to. I know they were speaking from a place of love and concern. I know how well I cared for you. I know that most (not so much the family, it woudl seem) were taken by it, admiring. But I was so hurt that so many people were waiting for my fall. Waiting for me to fail. Waiting for it allto be too much for me.
I spent the night before your funeral service in a state of panic. Wanting to die, rather than have that many eyes on me. I begged off from the movie. I said I was tired, kissed my husband and my father, and went into the bedfroom.
Joel followed me, to tuck me in. He lay by my side, held me, offered to come to bed. I told him I was exhausted, that I'd taken Mersyndol and would be fine. I lied. I was not fine. I was not nearly, even close to fine.
I could hear them talking. I could hear their laughs. I heard them joke about how you'd have hated this movie, and given Dad a hard time for watching it. It made me chuckle. You so would have. You never let him watch them. He used to sneak over to our place when yuou were resting, to 'help' with somethingorother, bringing a six pack and a thriller.
My heart started beating so fast. My arms and feet twitched. My chest felt heavy, as though something were sitting on me, holding down my lungs and my heart. For the first time, I started scratching. Really scratching. I scratched my legs. Well, not so much scratched, as rubbed, until they were burned. Friction burns, by the way, hurt like buggery the next day. I scratched until I bled. I didn't feel any pain that night, though they certainly made up for it the next day.
The day dawned, and I, as had become my habit, rose at 4. I used to try to get up at 4, before Alexander stirred. It gave me time to have a coffee as I prepared your medications. I went out and put the kettle on, and reached down to grab the mortar and pestle we used for your tablets. It was almost rythmic, grinding them so they wouldnt' stick in your peg. I got the tablets out and as I placed the first one in my hand paused. I remembered. I didn't need to do this anymore.
Pathetically, this was the 3rd morning since you died, that I had done this. I sat, lost. Bereft. Suddenly with time on my hands, and nothing to do. What on earth was I supposed to do?
I rushed around most of the day, falling back on my usual method of distraction, taking care of the details. Flowers to organise, phone calls to make, deliveries to accept.
Joel did a beautiful job on your programme. He spent so long on it, needing it to be just so. It was his final act of devotion to you. The final job he could do for you as your son.
There were about 200 people at your service. Everyone wanting to say goodbye. Noone knowing quite how. Michelle and Mary were there. Distraught. Remembering their workmate, colleague and confidant. The Centre has not been the same since you left. Tamara and Katrina both have their kids in there. It's not the same though. I'm not sure I'll ever go back.
Darren and Tracey were there. They knew they were next. They knew Damon's funeral would be next. Not even 8 years old, and they were making plans. Trace and I spent a bit of time together. She understood. She knew I didn't want to go and sit up the front. She knew I didn't want those eyes on me.
So I didn't. I found myself 'accidentally' still greeting guests when the service started. So there I stayed, up the back. The rest of the family was in the front seet, happy enough to accept those looks and hugs and whispered condolonces. Except two of us. I stood up the back, holding hands with Tracy. And Dad. Together, we watched over your service, discreetly hidden away amongst the others. Standing room only, did you know. So many people. Did you know some of your nurses came. Came to say goodbye. You touched so many people.
The service was exactly as you had wanted. Poignant, funny and so very 'you'. Asking people to remember you as "intelligent, witty, compassionate and a size 8" set the tone for a fitting tribute to you.
It was 5 years ago, we all said goodbye. I miss you more now, than I did that day.
May 10th is also significant in our family for another reason. It is the wedding anniversary of Ray and Wendy, Joel's parents.
Ray and Wendy married on May 10th, 1975. 11 months and just a few days later, Wendy gave birth to the love of my life. For that gift alone, I love them.
They've had four children, all now married. So now, 33 years later, they find themselves surrounded by plenty of noise, plenty of drama, but more importantly, a cup overflowing with love. 8 children, where there were 4. 5 Grandchildren, with 3 to come in the next 3 months. We all live within 5kms of each other, and our homes are filled with images of our family, our parents, our children. All because of these two humble, giving people.
They adore my children, with a love almost as fierce as our own. The feeling is mutual.
They have created something truly beautiful, a loving family. Happy Anniversary, Ray and Wendy. Thank you for opening your hearts and loving me as your daughter(even when I stole the golden child.:) ). Thank you for loving my children as much as you do, you offer them such a gift, and they are so lucky to have you both in their lives.
