Monthly Archives: May 2016
LadyBugs. – RRSAHM
LadyBugs.
When I was very young, just five years old, in my first year of school, I decided at one point that I wanted to be a big girl, and catch the bus with the other big kids.
Which was fine, of course, in my safe small town. But walking to the bus stop came down to two choices- the long way, right round the main street of my tiny, four street ‘suburb’ at the edge of a lake in Paradise, with a back pack almost as big as I was, ponytails bouncing on either side of head, socks pulled up to scabby knees..
Or it meant walking the back way, down a side street that I hardly ever went down, never walked down, never rode my bike down. Because it was so big and quiet, and most of the houses belonged to holiday makers, so they were empty and seemed to stare at me with their reflective glassy eyes.
I don’t remember how it happened, I guess you never do when you’re that young, friendships just form like flour and water into glue. But two older boys, twins, they lived down the street from me. And every afternoon, they would walk me through that scary back street, and drop me at my front door.
One of them, one afternoon, he snuck me into the backyard of the house closest to the bust stop, and showed me what seemed to be an ocean of a cabbage patch, filled with broad green leaves.
And on those leaves were tiny, shiny ladybugs, red specks whose tiny legs tickled my fingertips, and this boy showed me how to pick them, lift them up without squashing them.
I know him again, now I’m back in Paradise. He left for a while, and now he’s back here too.
It feels like I’ve known him for years. I guess, in a way, I have.
And he still makes me feel safe.
I think I trust him enough to hold my hand, every now and then, while I walk through the scary bits.
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The Secret Garden- Australian Gothic, Part Two. – RRSAHM
The Secret Garden- Australian Gothic, Part Two.
It’s the ambient simplicity here that’s so icy-fingeredly disconcerting. Such a pretty, wholesome tableaux for a marriage ceremony in the Australian wilderness. So eerily untouched by time and weather… even the stark white of the benches seems pristine. It feels as though there are row upon row of transparent guests waiting for a bride who’s dress is tattered and stained, her bouquet dried and desiccated, smiling a skeleton grin at a motionless scarecrow ahead… her groom waiting at a timeless altar prickled with seeded plants grown to horrendous sizes, tangled and brown, bloated and knotted through one another.
There is an expectant air of waiting here. Of things left behind sitting just so; paused as perfectly as a music box in a dusty room, a sad ballerina poised for the moment the tinkling, pregnant music is restarted. It feels bizarrely like the infamous Grand Central TimeFreeze– at the appointed moment, the synchronized second the Gods have decided on, this quiet place where the stillness is broken only by the occasional low call and snap of a whipbird will be rushing with people and laughter and music and dancing all over again, bouquets trailing through the air and bridesmaids getting drunk and great aunties plumed in their wedding best fanning themselves against the sticky, humid eucalyptus heat.
This place is just… sad. It’s the simplest of words- we learn it as a polar basic. But it’s incorrectly labelled, a word so overused for the rarest of emotions. Once upon a time, it was beautiful here. Many, many people were happy here. There is the decaying, rotting smell of desperation mixed with optimistic commercialism. How long did someone keep pouring solid dollars into this property for, when it’s death knell had been sounded in the last low buzz of one summer’s cicadas?
And then leaving it, just as it was, in the hope someone else would come along with enough funds to rescue a dream left stranded on the hard banks of a stream… somehow, that seems sadder still.
Perhaps this is the answer to the question that tugs at me very time I find an abandoned shell of a building– how did this happen? How does this happen? At what point do people just walk awsy from properties worth millions of dollars, allow the structure and even the chattels inside to become so overgrown, to rot and sag and bear themselves wide open to the destructive public?
But this… maybe this is the missing piece in my urban exploring puzzle. It’s the strangest feeling of inertia, of being held in some vortex of time… this is the era in it’s existence where a property becomes too overrun with scrub and rats, too infested with mold and grot.
This is a place on the very precipice, the edge…. this is where land goes from being unkempt to unruly, unoccupied to unlivable.
I venture further, away from the eerie Halloween wedding. It’s no surprise, not now, to find a reception hall set back into the bushland. Someone has made a half arsed effort to remove a cash register, then obviously thought better of it and dumped it at the edge of the reception courtyard. Again, I’m struck by someone else’s memory of how richly pleasant this venue must have been. This is a place for warm summer nights with simple happy dancing music spreading underneath the rolled-up awnings of the reception hall, nights with starlight and laughter and feeling dressed up and in love and bubbling with champagne as a breeze blows cigarette smoke and cheap perfume and the scent of native lilacs aloft in the warm evening atmosphere…
And that seems only to make the desolation all the more distasteful. A dining room full of chairs with no guests. Decorations still hanging on walls, sagging with the dust and disuse. A deserted disco ball lolling in a corner.
And covering all of it the dense, un-lived in smell of rats. Rats that make tiny shuffling noises occasionally, pinging my nervous system to make the skin on my shoulders spasm in revulsion. Not that I mind rats at all- I kept one as a pet years ago, his name was Pig and I adored him. But the rustling I’m hearing from the spaces in this place where light doesn’t go are bush rats; responsible for the fetid smell, twice the size of my domestic pet and feral. This place is theirs, and has been for some time now. A first generation of settler bush rats reveling in their run of what humans have left behind for them
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| Boo!! In the reception hall. Low res.. flash off. |
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| Cropped and zoomed. Dr Zaus, is that you….? |
There’s more, deserted accessories of this business courting the leaf litter of the scrub, slowly losing their strangling seduction to the innate patience of time. A menu board, a tiny birdhouse. What was once an ornate bridg
e. The requisite pine playground, stripped of anything really useful. Round lights like giant lollipops on sticks and ornate lamp posts standing sentry along the leaf covered paths, and as the sun sets that ethereal sense of waiting is in them as well– the soft light they shed would have created an exquisite ambiance on eucalyptus scented nights.
I can feel a tribal drumbeat begin somewhere in the grey matter of my mind as the sun drops lower and a chill creeps into the air. ‘Leave, leave, leave, leave…’ It thrums in time with my footfalls, faster and faster as I reach the spot from whence I came, almost a full hour ago now. I’m not sure what that panicked mantra means, whether it’s some primal instinct warning me of danger or just that (damned) PTSD tricking me. It’s quite possible it’s even basic common sense. Night is falling in the bush and growing up where I did, I know that’s never a good thing when you’re not prepared for it.
And, again, what I’m doing right now teeters judiciously between ‘exploring’ and ‘trespass’.
I’m almost at the spot I first came in when something catches the very edge of my peripheral vision. The close relative of my mate Conscience (who has, by this time, retreated for a Bex and a good lie down) is named Caution. She’s bitter and twisted, used to being ignored in these situations. From her corner of my mind, the back alley where she’s chain smoking cigarettes and feigning indifference’ she shrugs.
And, as per the status quo, Curiosity runs pell mell to find out what on earth that flash of solid black is, the only stark element to be spotted amongst the lush green.
It’s a bridge, sturdy thick timber that won’t show any serious signs of age or core rot for decades yet. It spans high above a man-made moat that curves through the greenery. Halfway across the bridge, looking back to the mainland, a small jetty is set into the concrete that forms the banks of the man-made moat.
The entire thing is dry, devoid of water. The bore water pump, either siphoning directly from a spring underground or gulping great swallows from the trickle of a creek nearby, has been switched off for years. The electricity required to run it is no longer connected. Those dark, waiting street lamps attest to that.
The bridge connects to a tiny island, as overrun with foliage as the rest of this massive botanical wilderness. I work out the geography roughly in my mind. The moat becomes the trickle of water that flows alongside most of the paths, serving to irrigate the gardens as well as add to the atmosphere. The tiny creek runs circular, scouting just inside the main attractions of the pergola and the reception hall. The decimated ornamental bridge crosses over it and, just behind the hall, it empties into a lake that my mind’s vivid brushstrokes paint brimming with ornamental carp, fat and happy on their diet of sliced white bread fed to them by flower girls in fussy dresses.
The lake was empty, the last of it’s sturdy water reeds still standing but bleached and dried from the sun.
There’s a certain finality that seems to suck what’s left of the day’s warmth from the air when I see the cream white smack of a barge, an actual boat, a few metres ahead of me. It hasn’t been dry docked, no one has pulled it up onto the bank via a boat ramp that must be around somewhere, probably hidden behind a huge curtain of trees in the same place as the unattractive bore pumping station must be. The barge has been left moored in the moat, just gliding strides from the bridge where well-wishers once gathered to watch brides and grooms float underneath them, slideshow slices of happy couples kaleidoscoping through the tiny spaces between the bridge’s thick oil black planks . Much more than a simple tinnie, this is a wedding barge– lined with seats on either side, flat and open. A red carpet is just visible in its aisle, rotted and clumped.
The water has simply dried up beneath it. The barge rests uncomfortably across the span of the moat, suspended in mid air, it’s stern scraping the dappled concrete until it clung tight, wedged across phantom body of water.
No one meant to leave this place so long, surely, I think to myself, while at the same time corroborating evidence asks exactly what on earth would a boat like that be worth? This property was meant to sell years ago, in all it’s perfect matrimonial glory. And the maintenance, the labour and the electricity and the materials and the water and the security all gradually added up, the expenses piling one atop of the other…
Until it was best just not to think too much about this beautiful, peaceful, joyful, expensive place that was growing and rotting and the rats where making their homes here and the whole task was just too massive. The human mind is an amazing thing– watch it shelve this one at the very back, where the biggest regrets are kept, the only reminder of the whole sordid thing a frustration stuck like a bitter clove at the very back of your tongue should someone inquire as to how things might be going, or you happen to touch on it by accident, putting pressure on a nerve that just wants to be ignored until it dies.
It’s just on twilight when I leave the Secret Garden, marveling even as I start my car over the exquisite creepiness of that ceremonial still–life. I love the bushland with an intensity that comes from growing up with the scrub as my playground, and the view from the deserted wedding pergola is as beautiful as any I’ve ever seen. But the breathtaking, soul-sunning scenery here seems tainted, whispering dirty jokes with no punchline in the middle of the night. It feels as though the tattered, rotting souls of a hundred failed marriages are tickling dessicated flowers and wilted bouquets along the bumps of my spine as I hurry back out through the entrance. This whole place feels akin to heartless rejection, to
brides jilted and left the alter… it feels like promises, broken.
It feels like an understanding, of sorts. A pause in the timeline, a hitch in the fresco. A perfect specimen of developing urban decay, laid open bare for examination.
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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
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April 26, 2013 at 3:02 am -
I’m reading your blog tonight, with insomnia as my mate, all over the place through the archives. And I find this discovery. Your words and pictures convince me that it is the place I walked in front of my little sister on her wedding day, then danced the night away. But it is so ghostly, I can’t be sure. What a great adventure, it really was a lovely wedding
nice to find you.-
April 26, 2013 at 10:52 am -
Hi Sarah,
Welcome to RRSAHM
And than you for the lovely comment! I went back here recently and there where workmen there- rumour is they’re gutting the place and selling just the land, which is kind of sad.
Lovely to e-meet you x
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Being A ‘Good Mum’ (And Other Righteous BullSh*t).
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September 22, 2012 at 12:33 am -
Eerie, ghoulishly vacant discovery. Loved reading this post although I'm a little frightened to dare to imagine going there myself. …. And yet I'm compelled to ask you where ….. No don't tell me!!
- September 20, 2012 at 8:54 pm
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I do love these posts. These discoveries.
Previous post: The Secret Garden- Australian Gothic, Part One.
Next post: Bloggers, Gone Wild.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Crowning.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Not Easy Being Green
September 2013 – RRSAHM
September 2013
I have turned into a total, complete Melbourne hipster.
I’m only slightly ashamed of myself.
It’s been a matter of jealousy, really. Watching my kids ride their bikes to school every morning reminded me of how awesome riding a bike was. Pumping pedals with your legs. Moving under your own power, flying past sights and pockets of sound. How free it felt.
It’s my birthday in a month or so. The Most Amazing Man In The Universe had been asking what I wanted. Living where we are, right on the bike track, ‘a bike’ seemed the best answer I could give him.
And besides- it’s Melbourne. Everyone in Melbourne rides bikes everywhere. Or so it seems.
So the Most Amazing Man- being, as he is, amazing- got me a bike for my birthday. And, being just as bad as me when it comes to not being able to keep presents a secret, he gave it to me early.
And oh my, is it pretty. It’s sparkly and shiny. It’s red, so it goes fast.
It’s also ridiculously hip and vintage and even has a wicker basket on the front.
I cruise around the neighbourhood on it, feeling just too school for cool.
I’m not going to say I’m not a hipster, because that, effectively, would make me more of one.
Don’t even care. Shiny red bicycles are awesome.
{ 7 comments }
Happy, happy, happy.
I’m so happy I could vomit all over the place.
Being this content, I’ve discovered, is not necessarily conducive to being busy, or organised. It’s been a slow dawning realisation over the last four weeks that most of my cleanliness, my routine, my keeping-on-top-of-things, is firmly rooted in anxiety and taking my mind off other stuff.
A veritable lack of anxiety or depression or even passive irritation has meant that I’ve spent the last week or two wandering around in my own little fairy world. La la la la la la la.
Being disorganised and not even caring is lovely.
La la la la.
{ 3 comments }
If history has taught us nothing else, it’s that things with googly eyes stuck on them are just plain hysterical.
It’s a happy, googly-eyed kinda day.
Enjoy.
{ 1 comment }
Darrell and DFAT
Darrell and DFAT
I know a lot of you have been following the story of Darrell and his struggle with his employer, DFAT. The following was written by Aaimi, Darrell’s mum.
I just… don’t even know what to say.
What a massive pack of cowards.
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As a result of Darrell’s continuing battle against bullying within DFAT ranks, Darrell’s parents (Darrell Snr and Aaimi) started their own campaign to make the interested parties aware of the unacceptable level of leadership and management within DFAT and other public sector institutions. Their campaign flag ship is the Anti-Bullying and Discrimination League of Australia (ABDLA). Under this banner and with the aid of social media, they began to spread the message of their son’s plight and the inadequacies of a range of senior level Australian public servants. In order to further their crusade, Darrell Snr and Aaimi obtained, through a family member, some pointed but reserved merchandise (T-Shirts, pens, pencils etc.,) advertising the following message, ‘Stop Bullying in DFAT’. This material was sent to a number of politicians from both sides of the House to inform and to engender a reaction. In addition, a number of individuals were sent an e-mail as follows:
“As part of our anti-bullying campaign we have produced numerous promotional items to raise awareness of bullying and discrimination issues in Australia. Particularly, as we understand, conducted by yourself and others in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade.
We are freely distributing this material widely (internationally), noting you as a person who contributes to bullying and harassment in Australia and potentially the international community.
Regards
The Anti-Bullying and Discrimination League of Australia”
Meant to be provocative, Darrell Snr and Aaimi to date have not received a single reply or rebuttal to these e-mails.
In addition to the above actions, a partition to stop the bullying in DFAT was also started via social media, which has received support from people both here in Australia and from overseas.
Without any reasonable preliminary investigation, Mr Peter Varghese, Secretary DFAT, through Mr Chris Moriatis, First Assistant Secretary, Corporate Management Division, has suspended Darrell Jnr pending an investigation into possible breaches of the Australian Public Service Code of Conduct.
Darrell Snr upon hearing what had happened to his son attempted to contact Mr Varghese in order to clarify that his son had nothing to do with the Anti-Bullying and Discrimination League of Australia activities. Darrell Snr was told that there was no one available in Mr Varghese’s office/area, but someone would return his call. Darrell Snr is still waiting for that call. The office of Senator Bob Carr (Minister for DFAT) was also contacted, but Darrell Snr was told the matter was an internal DFAT issue that should be referred to Mr Varghese. (Somewhat difficult when he won’t accept your call!).
Darrell Snr and Aaimi will continue to promote the fight against bullying and discrimination in the workplace and demand leadership from executive level APS throughout Australia. Further attempts will be made to reverse the suspension of their son and to seek assurances that bullying is investigated and offenders and their supporters are held accountable.
Who is responsible for bullying in the workplace? There at least three groups responsible for bullying in the workplace; the actual individual who initiates or continues the bullying; those that are aware of the bullying and do nothing; and senior management or in the case of DFAT, the Secretary, Deputy Secretaries and Executive level officers. In the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade – Enterprise Agreement 2011-1014, the following statement is made:
Harassment, bullying and discrimination are unacceptable in DFAT and contrary to the APS Values and Code of Conduct. The department is committed to providing a fair, flexible, safe and rewarding workplace, where all employees are responsible for promoting a work environment free from harassment, bullying or discrimination. Managers and supervisors have particular responsibilities for implementing the department’s Workplace Diversity Program as set out in the HRM, being alert to diversity issues in the workplace and taking timely action in response to reported or observed harassment, bullying or discrimination. The department does not tolerate behaviour which undermines morale and productivity and which, if not dealt with, can harm the wellbeing and performance of individuals and work units.
The fact that the Secretary and his senior executive team cannot honour this laudable sentiment indicates that they have failed in their responsibilities as the appointed leaders of the Department.
***
My challenge to Aussie journos still stands… does anyone have the balls for this?
{ 4 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Jeans and Stuff.
The Former Clown Chronicles Vol. 2- More Things You Didn't Know About Party Clowns – RRSAHM
The Former Clown Chronicles Vol. 2- More Things You Didn’t Know About Party Clowns
Hello readles deedles,
I do apologise. It’s been quite a while since I bought you Volume 1 of the Former Clown Chronicles. If I was to be feeling really honest, I’d tell you I completley forgot about it. But I’m not really in an honest kind of mood, so I’m going to say it was on hiatus.
Right. Now that that’s cleared up, here it is, returning from it’s hiatus- the Former Clown Chronicles. Volume 2. My effort to change the world, one blog post at a time, by instructing the greater public on the finer points of clown etiquette. So pay attention, please. This may be the most important thing I ever do. Sad but true. OK?
So here ’tis. Again. A few more things I betcha never knew about party clowns.
We really hate it when you mow the lawn the day before the party. I know, I know, it’s the Aussie thing to do- Dad gets out the afternoon before the party (or, heaven forbid, the morning of the party) and gives the lawn a good trim to make it look all spic and span for the guests. Clowns hate that. Why? Because a freshly mowed lawn means very spiky grass. Which meas we end up making approximately 600 hundred balloon swords for 15 kids in the two hours we’re there. You get me?
When we say “What balloon animal can I make you?”, don’t ask us for a 19th century carousel. You may think you are being clever, dropping an obscure Simpson’s reference. You ain’t. Believe me, we’ve heard it a hundred gazillion times. As well as the one about the elephant trunk pointing upwards *nudge, nudge, wink, wink, roll eyes*.
We just can’t face paint Superman to a seven year old’s satisfaction, no matter how hard we try. Because kids are never happy with just the ‘S’ symbol painted on their cheek, and what else can you do? Superman really just looks any other bloke. And glasses are for Harry Potter. Help us out here. We are clowns, not miracle workers.
And the worst thing you can do is… call out “Food’s up!” when your friendly party clown is halfway through a magic show. There is nothing more devastating than working hard to capture and keep the attention of baby Gen Y-ers with their attention span all fused out by sugar and excitement, then having a well meaning adult announce that frankfurts, sausage rolls and tomato sauce have just appeared. Give us five minutes. It will save the kids burning the roofs of their mouths scarfing down hot party pies. And you won’t be held responsible, in the eyes of the clown, for killing the magic.
Which is a good thing. After all, we can be pretty scary creatures.
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
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May 27, 2014 at 5:35 pm -
Magnificent goods from you, man. I’ve understand your stuff previous to and you are just too great.
I really like what you’ve acquired here, certainly like what you’re stating and
the way in which you say it. You make it entertaining and you still take care of to keep it smart.
I can not wait to read far more from you. This is actually a terrific site.
Best elliptical 2014 recently posted…Best elliptical 2014
- April 23, 2010 at 7:49 pm
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Sorry for my bad english. Thank you so much for your good post. Your post helped me in my college assignment, If you can provide me more details please email me.
- March 25, 2010 at 11:51 am
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I never even would have considered the whole grass cutting thing. Good to know!
- March 24, 2010 at 9:37 pm
- March 24, 2010 at 4:21 pm
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arent u onli ment to be blogging once a day missy
- March 24, 2010 at 3:23 pm
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I just want to let you know that clowns scare the living-boo-jesus shit out of me.
Thats all. - March 24, 2010 at 1:39 pm
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I associate balloon-animal-making with stress because whenever I see it being done there is always a line of kids waiting and the balloon artist is madly rushing to catch up. Hats off to you.
Oh, and thanks for the heads up on the whole butch border protection agent thing. Exnay on the live-rabbit-strapped-to-the-body scheme. So what's plan B then? Should I get caught up in an undertow? You have some mighty fine Aussie lifeguards. How are your paramedics? I could faint in a crowd. Need help please…
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The Last Day of The Purple Life. – RRSAHM
The Last Day of The Purple Life.
It’s the very last day of my Purple Life.
And it’s all packed up and ready to go.
I’m terrified. Up until now, I’ve hated the word ‘brave’.
But this time, I feel brave.
Because this is a choice. This isn’t just grinding on. This is flight, or fight.. or simper.
Stay, in a place where I’m expected to walk around with my tail between my legs, head down, displaying to the world that Tony was, indeed, correct- what a terrible person I am.
Fuck that.
The same way I chose to be honest, with a story that was now mine, to prevent myself feeling suffocated, to prevent the shame and stigmas of this closing in on me… It feels the same as choosing to stand up now. To go, and be alone, in a quiet place, with my children, away from this.. toxicity.
I feel like I’m on the very edge of a cliff, ready to jump. Holding my breath.
Part of me longs for the crisp crack of the ocean, salt up my nose, my whole body immersed in feeling alive…
And another part of me, it waits for the body slam, that drives the air from my lungs and turns the air black with stars… (I took a friend with me to HomeTown, last night, and we stood on the beach and looked at the millions of stars, the milkiness of asteroid belt… “This is where they all run to, all the stars. They come here.”)
I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing. Two rainbows in two days, that seems to tell me yes.
I don’t care. I’ll figure out if this is right thing when I get there.(What if the light at the end of the tunnel is actually the headlight of an oncoming train…?)
This happened so quickly.. three months ago, I was normal. I heard Wanderlust speak at the ABC,and she mentioned ‘cognitive dissonance’.. how long it takes for the mind to catch up, when your physical circumstances change so quickly.
My head is still reeling. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but every instinct in body is telling to run from this trauma, run somewhere safe, so my mind can process it properly.
Home, it’s not here anymore. HomeTown, (Summerland) it’s the closest thing I have.
I bought home a child to this house, and birthed another one right here, in my backyard. I entered this house, deliriously happy, with my boyfriend who would become my fiancee who would become my husband.
I celebrated one single, perfect, happy wedding anniversary here.
I laughed and sang and danced with Tony here.
This was our home. The place where we were both so blissfully happy, with our little life.
It was the happiest either of us had ever been, and we said that to each other so many times.
Those memories.. I keep.
I have plenty, that I want to leave behind.
A creaking rope, as I shook him, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Standing, saying, thinking, he was bluffing, he had to be, he was on a garden chair and his feet would touch the ground, how could he possibly hang himself?
A moment, the moment, the first night this happened, an hour after leaving Tony in the ICU, realising that this was over, really over, that he was my best friend and no matter what happened from here on in, I would never talk to him ever again, screaming that and pulling at my own hair and walking, walking, walking in circles because it was the only thing that took the edge of the pain. Like childbirth, but so prolonged.
Saying to my shrink.. “I can’t believe this has happened to my life“, and her looking me straight in the eye and saying, “Lori, neither can I.”
A social worker, next to Tony’s bed, crying and swearing and telling em how fucking unfair this was, there was not a single thing here that told her this man wanted to die.
The heavy, heavy feeling of waiting for your brother, who will carry the casket, to drive you to your husband’s funeral. Saying to him, when he arrives, “This is… sad. That’s all I’m feeling. Sad.” (And sadness, it’s such a heavy, heavy thing, my torso weighed tonnes, my legs were immovable objects.)
Telling my son, his daddy had died, and would not be coming back.
Wishing there was a note.
Being eternally grateful there was not one, that this was not planned.
Laying on my best friends lounge, eyes swollen from crying, trying to close my eyes, and seeing nothing but a blue shirt, orange rope, feeling the dead weight of husband’s body beneath my hands as I shook him.
All of those, I leave behind.
And the ones I can’t leave.. hopefully the sea, the salt, will wash away them away.
OK, my lovely jellybeans… this is Lori, signing off, for the last time, from the Purple House…. I’m quite literally about to turn off my computer and pack it in a box, so I’ll be back in a day or two. Let’s make a date for Sunday, but please don’t hold it against me if I stand you up.
Cheers.
Hold your breath, close your eyes…. and jump.
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{ 82 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 29, 2011 at 8:19 pm
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Lori, there's no right decision. There's only moving forward, choosing a change when your situation is not what you want. Bravo for having the courage to instigate the change, when the changes – and losses – have already been so enormous. X
- March 28, 2011 at 8:08 pm
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Good luck Lori. I hope you get the time and space to grieve, and to process everything. You will be okay. In time.
M2Mx
- March 28, 2011 at 5:39 pm
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Good luck! x
- March 28, 2011 at 8:09 am
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Is there ever a "right" thing? You're making the best choice for you and your little lovelies that you can make right now, and the list of things you wanted to do in Hometown sounds GLORIOUS for both you and them. I love what you said about your "whole body immersed in feeling alive"- if that doesn't sound right to me, I don't know what could. xoxox here's to positive changes!
- March 27, 2011 at 7:57 pm
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None of us ever know if we're making the right choice until after we make it. We just have our gut instincts to act on. Much love to you my friend.
- March 27, 2011 at 2:24 pm
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Yet again I'm moved to tears by the rawness of your words. And by making this choice you have taken one small step towards reclaiming your life. Wishing you much peace on this new journey, brave & beautiful Lori x
- March 27, 2011 at 1:01 pm
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oh lori, don't be afraid to jump. i feel you've already proven you can fly
- March 27, 2011 at 12:49 pm
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Hugs, prayers, love and luck!
- March 27, 2011 at 9:42 am
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You're in my prayers. You are so brave and strong. Jump and you find that you can fly. There are many times in life that you find things that you wish you could change, moments you wish you could go back to, things you wish you would have done.. So in life, through the good and bad you have to jump.
- March 27, 2011 at 6:05 am
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Many blessings to you, Lori.
- March 27, 2011 at 6:03 am
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I will be praying you through your move this weekend, that every step would be wonderfully planned and you will be loved and protected and safe.
Sending many many hugs. - March 27, 2011 at 2:25 am
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*HUGS* Wishing you all the best! See you Sunday!
- March 26, 2011 at 7:52 pm
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You're so right. Bravery and strength is a choice, and this is where it gets you… somewhere better. Let yourself heal, you deserve it.
- March 26, 2011 at 7:19 pm
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The weight of such "simple" emotions when you feel them fully is outstanding isn't it?
How many times do you or someone else say you're "sad", and then there are those moments when you say it and it is a whole nother meaning behind that word. Sorta like looking at the stars for the first time.I think what you're doing is right.
Staying…you're just stalling. Sitting in the one spot.
If things in your hometown don't work out, you can always come back. There are so so many people back here who will happily open their arms to you and your children. So rally you have nothing to lose by giving this a try. It doesn't work out? You've lost nothing. You may even gain just a fraction more knowledge, or clarity or some shit like that.
Hoping your move is safe and problem free. Hoping that hometown brings you at least a little of the something you need.
And just remember i've got your back - March 26, 2011 at 6:14 pm
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woo hoo! You're doing it!
I know that this next chapter isn't going to be easy, but I sense that there's some rest for you in sight. Hug those close and enjoy the peace that comes. xoxo - March 26, 2011 at 5:14 pm
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All the best Lori xox
- March 26, 2011 at 4:45 pm
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Brave. And strong. And beautiful.
- March 26, 2011 at 3:11 pm
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Brave. Yep.
We have no other choice, you and me.
I hope that being around your people, your hometown will help.
XA - March 26, 2011 at 2:57 pm
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Lori I just want to say thank you. I was a reader before Tony took his life and I have cried tears for you, him and your kids since. Recently my sister's marriage ended. Suddenly, without warning and it has devastated her. While what she is going through is nothing compared to the trauma in your life, your writing, your journey has given me hope. "If Lori can survive this, D WILL be ok." is something I think frequently. Thank you for giving me hope and for sharing your purple life with us. I feel truly blessed.
- March 26, 2011 at 2:33 pm
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Best wishes to you!
- March 26, 2011 at 2:14 pm
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"Leap and the net will appear."
Words I've used to get me through over and over. (My life has some similarities to yours.)
Leap, Lori. xox
- March 26, 2011 at 1:24 pm
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This certainly is a choice, Lori. A courageous and wise choice, and one that I'm sure you'll be glad you made.
No choice is risk-free, but they also all present tremendous opportunity.
Sending LOVE, STRENGTH, and PEACE for you in Honetown.
xo
Marianna - March 26, 2011 at 11:51 am
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Sounds like the ideal move. xxx
- March 26, 2011 at 9:59 pm
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There are soo many words my heart wants to say but my brain cannot translate them. I wish u the best of luck in this move back to HomeTown.
Good Luck Sweetheart
- March 26, 2011 at 10:34 am
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Thinking happy thoughts for you so very hard and sending lots of fairy dust to make the unpack smooth. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life, welcome to it
- March 26, 2011 at 9:44 am
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Good luck! And (((hugs)))
- March 26, 2011 at 9:28 am
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Jump … and the net appears.
The flipside to all of this yuck and gunk … is that your Spirit is so broken open right now, you are letting all the good things in too. All the magic.
I love you hon. I'm here.
XOXOXOX
- March 26, 2011 at 9:15 am
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Brave move. Incredible woman.
xo - March 26, 2011 at 8:04 pm
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Lori…
Having the guts to make the big changes is what gets you the biggest rewards. Keep your head up when it's hard and scary.. I think you've done the hardest things already.You should somehow install a chat room here, so when ur feeling lonely or mad or scared.. there will most likely be several loving people here to take your mind off of it all!
Cheers all the way from Texas!
- March 26, 2011 at 7:23 pm
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I'm pretty sure I had something really poetic ready to share then the Bug caught wind of your jellybeans … and now, I have nothing.
So all I will say is you are fucking wonderful, and I am coming to stay. Margaritas and sneaky fags? Yes please!
x - March 26, 2011 at 8:21 am
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I hope you've breathed out by now. Your HomeTown sounds divine. I think magical things await you there. Just you wait and see xox
- March 26, 2011 at 8:12 am
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Jump Lori – that's how you discover you have wings xxx
- March 26, 2011 at 7:54 am
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xxxxx
- March 26, 2011 at 6:25 am
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Wishing you love and healing. God bless.
- March 26, 2011 at 6:21 am
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Jump, mama, jump. You do what's right for you and those kiddos – I know you'll land on your feet. We're all pulling for you. Hope the move is uneventful, quick and easy. Come back to us soon!
- March 26, 2011 at 6:17 am
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Girl! You are brave! You can do this! You can!
I'm wishing you loads of good and happy moments from this day forward. That you finally feel like you are healing! I've followed you religiously since that post so long ago on The Bloggess' site. I keep pulling for you, pushing for you…know that you have one of many readers on your side, keeping you in our thoughts, sending you our love. ((( Lori )))
- March 26, 2011 at 3:44 am
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Sending love your way as you leap into this new part of your new life. We're all rooting for you. *hugs*
- March 26, 2011 at 3:36 am
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Godspeed, Lori.
- March 26, 2011 at 3:18 am
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My heart is full of hope for you and your babes Lori. You're surviving. You're doing the right thing by leaving I think. Way too much torture to stay.
Heres to turning over a new leaf.
- March 26, 2011 at 3:10 am
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From half a world away, I wish you luck and love and everything that you deserve. Be well.
- March 26, 2011 at 2:54 am
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I wish you a soft landing. You are a brave woman and I admire your decisions to take care of yourself and your children. Sending you a hug from Texas.
- March 26, 2011 at 2:53 am
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I am glad for you to be going.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:54 am
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I'm so glad you're doing this, fast as it is. I think, hope, pray that it will help your healing. Right now I'm all for ANYTHING that will help your healing.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:52 am
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Wish you all the best. Hope the Hometown brings you to a better place… peace, love and time for healing.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:52 am
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Enjoy the stingy salt as it cleanses your wounds. If you stand me up I might cry, but I'll forgive you
- March 26, 2011 at 1:18 am
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Delurking to say that it definitely sounds like this is the best thing for you and that's all that's important right now.
I hope the move goes smoothly.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:17 am
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A leap of faith, a soft place to land. Enjoy the salty air.
- March 26, 2011 at 12:58 am
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Lori, jump! You will find that when you jump your wings will carry you right where you need to be. This is right. This is good. And as someone else said, there are invisible strands of love holding and helping you. You are the bravest person I have ever known, even though you don't know me.
Good luck with the move. - March 26, 2011 at 12:02 am
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Jump, lovely girl. It sounds like the very best thing for you to do right now; its rightness shines from your words. Good luck with the mechanics of it all, and we'll all be here, Sunday or any day you're ready. xx
- March 25, 2011 at 11:51 pm
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Travel safely Lori….look after you and your babies……may Hometown bring you comfort and peace in time……sending you strength and hugs…..
- March 26, 2011 at 10:37 am
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Love hugs and best wishes. x o
- March 25, 2011 at 11:36 pm
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♫♫ Don't wanna live in the city, my friends tell me I'm changin',
The smell of salty air, is what I'm chasin'….♫♫ - March 26, 2011 at 10:34 am
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All the very, very, very best to you guys on this move. May the beach be a wonderful place to be cosy and safe and snug and protected:) xx
- March 25, 2011 at 11:13 pm
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Wishing you the best Lori. You are brave.
- March 25, 2011 at 11:08 pm
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Day after day I'm amazed at how well you write… may the healing begin.
- March 25, 2011 at 11:07 pm
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A leap of faith.
Good luck. I hope your HomeTown helps you heal. I hope those people that have been toxic stay away.
Follow those rainbows. Surely they are a sign you're moving in the right direction.
I have been following along. Commenting irregularly.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:50 pm
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You are brave, you are beautiful and I'm sending you love.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:47 pm
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Jump
Hit the water smiling. - March 25, 2011 at 10:44 pm
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Go you!
I really do think this is the best thing you can do for yourself and your kids right now.
You are awesome, and I'm wishing you every bit of happiness and good thoughts on this new journey of yours.
xxx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:23 pm
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Good luck xoxo
- March 25, 2011 at 10:23 pm
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God bless you, lady.
There's a metaphor I used with a client that I stole from my late father- if you have a big huge lawn to mow, or a lot of weight to lose, you can't think about the whole thing or you'll just give up.
So just mow the square where you're standing. OK. That's done. Now mow the next square.
You can do this. You've made it this far- which is a lot farther than I could have.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:21 pm
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Let the sea air heal you, go with your gut instinct and sod what anyone thinks. You deserve some peace now. Sending you Good wishes & love as you begin this new journey xxx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:18 pm
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Today I have no words. Nobody should have to go through what you've been through. So I'm sending (((hugs))) instead.
I look forward to your Hometown blog.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:16 pm
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Wherever you land, I will be here reading. I am so happy I got to give you that lame arse hug on the dance floor the other night. You were probably wondering who the weird chick was….twas me. much love and light and power and strength to you gorgeous lori. You have guts and determination in spades and you are going to be ok. I know it. xxxx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:15 pm
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My eyes welled up reading the last post from the purple house where so much has happened but you must follow those rainbows to your next adventure. Looking forward to it.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:05 pm
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And just as Indiana Jones in the Last Crusade, you too will realise that jumping off the edge of that cliff will deliver your Holy Grail. The only way to get there is to step into what looks like thin air but you Lori, are a brave being that listens to your soul. I don't even know you but I'm so proud of you. You are an inspiration.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:04 pm
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(y)
Good luck with the move. May it be mostly positive experiences for you and your bubbas from now on.
Sx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:02 pm
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Lori, Just wanted to say thank you. This journey of yours, it has helped me stay strong. So many times your story could have been mine, thankfully for me (and my babies) it isn't. You have helped me find strength to make my husband communicate when it all just seemed so hard. Thank you. You are awesome and so so brave. Good luck with everything. I have the deepest respect for you.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:01 pm
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There are no words, only the wish that when you land, you receive the love, support and peace you deserve.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:59 pm
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As always, I'm thinking of you, Lori
xxx - March 25, 2011 at 9:55 pm
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Good luck Lori! i'm thinking of you. every day, i was playing squash on wednesday and suddenly couldn't help thinking about your life, how suddenly it crumbled under you. I felt guilty that i could live life in such a way, forget about it but you couldn't. You really are on my mind.
I'm very proud of you, i think we all are.
take care, Lori xxx - March 25, 2011 at 9:51 pm
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Jump Lori. May you and your babies land somewhere warm and soft.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:48 pm
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So much I want to say- but can't so I hope you can feel how much love and respect I have for you. Hope you can feel that- hope you know how much you give.
Honor yourself always I do believe you do that. There are so many invisible strands of love that hold you as you breathe, as you close your eyes and as you jump. Feel them xxx - March 25, 2011 at 9:48 pm
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Massive, squishy hugs to you my friend.xxxxxxx
- March 25, 2011 at 9:46 pm
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Brava Lori – brava. For this post, for your blog over the last few months, for your having the balls to make a change. Bra-freaking-va.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:44 pm
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Lori: I hope there is now healing for you, as much as can be. It is good to be in a place of ocean and stars and big skies when you need to come home to yourself and reconnect. Sending love and light to you and your children. May this next part of the journey be all that you need it to be.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:43 pm
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Jump…. And let the sand & surf & loveliness of hometown be there to catch you. I hope that the sea washes all the badness for The After away & leaves you with only the beautiful happiness of The Before.
You my girl are brave, the bravest there is. Making a new start and leaving with your head held high. No tails between legs, no blame. You are not terrible, you are awesome.
I love you chook & I am going to miss you so much, but as lame-ass as it sounds I am so proud of you doing this. This is all you, the bravest strongest person I have ever met.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:43 pm
- March 25, 2011 at 9:41 pm
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Just put one foot in front of the other and follow your instinct. You need this. You are brave and beautiful. You are also vulnerable and lost. Be gentle with yourself and listen to your own heart. I wish you peace and light lovely Lori xx
- March 26, 2011 at 7:50 am
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Wishing you many ocean breezes to blow away the pain.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:38 pm
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I've got a good feeling about this, Lori.
And I hear hope in your post today. I have a good feeling about that, too.
xx - March 25, 2011 at 10:24 pm
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Beautiful. Here's to a brand new life, with promises of some wonderful memories for you and your babes! x
Previous post: Boxes.
Next post: Free Fall.
The Last Day of The Purple Life. – RRSAHM
The Last Day of The Purple Life.
It’s the very last day of my Purple Life.
And it’s all packed up and ready to go.
I’m terrified. Up until now, I’ve hated the word ‘brave’.
But this time, I feel brave.
Because this is a choice. This isn’t just grinding on. This is flight, or fight.. or simper.
Stay, in a place where I’m expected to walk around with my tail between my legs, head down, displaying to the world that Tony was, indeed, correct- what a terrible person I am.
Fuck that.
The same way I chose to be honest, with a story that was now mine, to prevent myself feeling suffocated, to prevent the shame and stigmas of this closing in on me… It feels the same as choosing to stand up now. To go, and be alone, in a quiet place, with my children, away from this.. toxicity.
I feel like I’m on the very edge of a cliff, ready to jump. Holding my breath.
Part of me longs for the crisp crack of the ocean, salt up my nose, my whole body immersed in feeling alive…
And another part of me, it waits for the body slam, that drives the air from my lungs and turns the air black with stars… (I took a friend with me to HomeTown, last night, and we stood on the beach and looked at the millions of stars, the milkiness of asteroid belt… “This is where they all run to, all the stars. They come here.”)
I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing. Two rainbows in two days, that seems to tell me yes.
I don’t care. I’ll figure out if this is right thing when I get there.(What if the light at the end of the tunnel is actually the headlight of an oncoming train…?)
This happened so quickly.. three months ago, I was normal. I heard Wanderlust speak at the ABC,and she mentioned ‘cognitive dissonance’.. how long it takes for the mind to catch up, when your physical circumstances change so quickly.
My head is still reeling. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but every instinct in body is telling to run from this trauma, run somewhere safe, so my mind can process it properly.
Home, it’s not here anymore. HomeTown, (Summerland) it’s the closest thing I have.
I bought home a child to this house, and birthed another one right here, in my backyard. I entered this house, deliriously happy, with my boyfriend who would become my fiancee who would become my husband.
I celebrated one single, perfect, happy wedding anniversary here.
I laughed and sang and danced with Tony here.
This was our home. The place where we were both so blissfully happy, with our little life.
It was the happiest either of us had ever been, and we said that to each other so many times.
Those memories.. I keep.
I have plenty, that I want to leave behind.
A creaking rope, as I shook him, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Standing, saying, thinking, he was bluffing, he had to be, he was on a garden chair and his feet would touch the ground, how could he possibly hang himself?
A moment, the moment, the first night this happened, an hour after leaving Tony in the ICU, realising that this was over, really over, that he was my best friend and no matter what happened from here on in, I would never talk to him ever again, screaming that and pulling at my own hair and walking, walking, walking in circles because it was the only thing that took the edge of the pain. Like childbirth, but so prolonged.
Saying to my shrink.. “I can’t believe this has happened to my life“, and her looking me straight in the eye and saying, “Lori, neither can I.”
A social worker, next to Tony’s bed, crying and swearing and telling em how fucking unfair this was, there was not a single thing here that told her this man wanted to die.
The heavy, heavy feeling of waiting for your brother, who will carry the casket, to drive you to your husband’s funeral. Saying to him, when he arrives, “This is… sad. That’s all I’m feeling. Sad.” (And sadness, it’s such a heavy, heavy thing, my torso weighed tonnes, my legs were immovable objects.)
Telling my son, his daddy had died, and would not be coming back.
Wishing there was a note.
Being eternally grateful there was not one, that this was not planned.
Laying on my best friends lounge, eyes swollen from crying, trying to close my eyes, and seeing nothing but a blue shirt, orange rope, feeling the dead weight of husband’s body beneath my hands as I shook him.
All of those, I leave behind.
And the ones I can’t leave.. hopefully the sea, the salt, will wash away them away.
OK, my lovely jellybeans… this is Lori, signing off, for the last time, from the Purple House…. I’m quite literally about to turn off my computer and pack it in a box, so I’ll be back in a day or two. Let’s make a date for Sunday, but please don’t hold it against me if I stand you up.
Cheers.
Hold your breath, close your eyes…. and jump.
Leave a Comment
{ 82 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 29, 2011 at 8:19 pm
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Lori, there's no right decision. There's only moving forward, choosing a change when your situation is not what you want. Bravo for having the courage to instigate the change, when the changes – and losses – have already been so enormous. X
- March 28, 2011 at 8:08 pm
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Good luck Lori. I hope you get the time and space to grieve, and to process everything. You will be okay. In time.
M2Mx
- March 28, 2011 at 5:39 pm
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Good luck! x
- March 28, 2011 at 8:09 am
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Is there ever a "right" thing? You're making the best choice for you and your little lovelies that you can make right now, and the list of things you wanted to do in Hometown sounds GLORIOUS for both you and them. I love what you said about your "whole body immersed in feeling alive"- if that doesn't sound right to me, I don't know what could. xoxox here's to positive changes!
- March 27, 2011 at 7:57 pm
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None of us ever know if we're making the right choice until after we make it. We just have our gut instincts to act on. Much love to you my friend.
- March 27, 2011 at 2:24 pm
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Yet again I'm moved to tears by the rawness of your words. And by making this choice you have taken one small step towards reclaiming your life. Wishing you much peace on this new journey, brave & beautiful Lori x
- March 27, 2011 at 1:01 pm
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oh lori, don't be afraid to jump. i feel you've already proven you can fly
- March 27, 2011 at 12:49 pm
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Hugs, prayers, love and luck!
- March 27, 2011 at 9:42 am
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You're in my prayers. You are so brave and strong. Jump and you find that you can fly. There are many times in life that you find things that you wish you could change, moments you wish you could go back to, things you wish you would have done.. So in life, through the good and bad you have to jump.
- March 27, 2011 at 6:05 am
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Many blessings to you, Lori.
- March 27, 2011 at 6:03 am
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I will be praying you through your move this weekend, that every step would be wonderfully planned and you will be loved and protected and safe.
Sending many many hugs. - March 27, 2011 at 2:25 am
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*HUGS* Wishing you all the best! See you Sunday!
- March 26, 2011 at 7:52 pm
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You're so right. Bravery and strength is a choice, and this is where it gets you… somewhere better. Let yourself heal, you deserve it.
- March 26, 2011 at 7:19 pm
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The weight of such "simple" emotions when you feel them fully is outstanding isn't it?
How many times do you or someone else say you're "sad", and then there are those moments when you say it and it is a whole nother meaning behind that word. Sorta like looking at the stars for the first time.I think what you're doing is right.
Staying…you're just stalling. Sitting in the one spot.
If things in your hometown don't work out, you can always come back. There are so so many people back here who will happily open their arms to you and your children. So rally you have nothing to lose by giving this a try. It doesn't work out? You've lost nothing. You may even gain just a fraction more knowledge, or clarity or some shit like that.
Hoping your move is safe and problem free. Hoping that hometown brings you at least a little of the something you need.
And just remember i've got your back - March 26, 2011 at 6:14 pm
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woo hoo! You're doing it!
I know that this next chapter isn't going to be easy, but I sense that there's some rest for you in sight. Hug those close and enjoy the peace that comes. xoxo - March 26, 2011 at 5:14 pm
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All the best Lori xox
- March 26, 2011 at 4:45 pm
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Brave. And strong. And beautiful.
- March 26, 2011 at 3:11 pm
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Brave. Yep.
We have no other choice, you and me.
I hope that being around your people, your hometown will help.
XA - March 26, 2011 at 2:57 pm
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Lori I just want to say thank you. I was a reader before Tony took his life and I have cried tears for you, him and your kids since. Recently my sister's marriage ended. Suddenly, without warning and it has devastated her. While what she is going through is nothing compared to the trauma in your life, your writing, your journey has given me hope. "If Lori can survive this, D WILL be ok." is something I think frequently. Thank you for giving me hope and for sharing your purple life with us. I feel truly blessed.
- March 26, 2011 at 2:33 pm
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Best wishes to you!
- March 26, 2011 at 2:14 pm
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"Leap and the net will appear."
Words I've used to get me through over and over. (My life has some similarities to yours.)
Leap, Lori. xox
- March 26, 2011 at 1:24 pm
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This certainly is a choice, Lori. A courageous and wise choice, and one that I'm sure you'll be glad you made.
No choice is risk-free, but they also all present tremendous opportunity.
Sending LOVE, STRENGTH, and PEACE for you in Honetown.
xo
Marianna - March 26, 2011 at 11:51 am
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Sounds like the ideal move. xxx
- March 26, 2011 at 9:59 pm
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There are soo many words my heart wants to say but my brain cannot translate them. I wish u the best of luck in this move back to HomeTown.
Good Luck Sweetheart
- March 26, 2011 at 10:34 am
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Thinking happy thoughts for you so very hard and sending lots of fairy dust to make the unpack smooth. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life, welcome to it
- March 26, 2011 at 9:44 am
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Good luck! And (((hugs)))
- March 26, 2011 at 9:28 am
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Jump … and the net appears.
The flipside to all of this yuck and gunk … is that your Spirit is so broken open right now, you are letting all the good things in too. All the magic.
I love you hon. I'm here.
XOXOXOX
- March 26, 2011 at 9:15 am
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Brave move. Incredible woman.
xo - March 26, 2011 at 8:04 pm
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Lori…
Having the guts to make the big changes is what gets you the biggest rewards. Keep your head up when it's hard and scary.. I think you've done the hardest things already.You should somehow install a chat room here, so when ur feeling lonely or mad or scared.. there will most likely be several loving people here to take your mind off of it all!
Cheers all the way from Texas!
- March 26, 2011 at 7:23 pm
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I'm pretty sure I had something really poetic ready to share then the Bug caught wind of your jellybeans … and now, I have nothing.
So all I will say is you are fucking wonderful, and I am coming to stay. Margaritas and sneaky fags? Yes please!
x - March 26, 2011 at 8:21 am
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I hope you've breathed out by now. Your HomeTown sounds divine. I think magical things await you there. Just you wait and see xox
- March 26, 2011 at 8:12 am
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Jump Lori – that's how you discover you have wings xxx
- March 26, 2011 at 7:54 am
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xxxxx
- March 26, 2011 at 6:25 am
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Wishing you love and healing. God bless.
- March 26, 2011 at 6:21 am
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Jump, mama, jump. You do what's right for you and those kiddos – I know you'll land on your feet. We're all pulling for you. Hope the move is uneventful, quick and easy. Come back to us soon!
- March 26, 2011 at 6:17 am
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Girl! You are brave! You can do this! You can!
I'm wishing you loads of good and happy moments from this day forward. That you finally feel like you are healing! I've followed you religiously since that post so long ago on The Bloggess' site. I keep pulling for you, pushing for you…know that you have one of many readers on your side, keeping you in our thoughts, sending you our love. ((( Lori )))
- March 26, 2011 at 3:44 am
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Sending love your way as you leap into this new part of your new life. We're all rooting for you. *hugs*
- March 26, 2011 at 3:36 am
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Godspeed, Lori.
- March 26, 2011 at 3:18 am
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My heart is full of hope for you and your babes Lori. You're surviving. You're doing the right thing by leaving I think. Way too much torture to stay.
Heres to turning over a new leaf.
- March 26, 2011 at 3:10 am
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From half a world away, I wish you luck and love and everything that you deserve. Be well.
- March 26, 2011 at 2:54 am
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I wish you a soft landing. You are a brave woman and I admire your decisions to take care of yourself and your children. Sending you a hug from Texas.
- March 26, 2011 at 2:53 am
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I am glad for you to be going.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:54 am
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I'm so glad you're doing this, fast as it is. I think, hope, pray that it will help your healing. Right now I'm all for ANYTHING that will help your healing.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:52 am
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Wish you all the best. Hope the Hometown brings you to a better place… peace, love and time for healing.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:52 am
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Enjoy the stingy salt as it cleanses your wounds. If you stand me up I might cry, but I'll forgive you
- March 26, 2011 at 1:18 am
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Delurking to say that it definitely sounds like this is the best thing for you and that's all that's important right now.
I hope the move goes smoothly.
- March 26, 2011 at 1:17 am
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A leap of faith, a soft place to land. Enjoy the salty air.
- March 26, 2011 at 12:58 am
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Lori, jump! You will find that when you jump your wings will carry you right where you need to be. This is right. This is good. And as someone else said, there are invisible strands of love holding and helping you. You are the bravest person I have ever known, even though you don't know me.
Good luck with the move. - March 26, 2011 at 12:02 am
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Jump, lovely girl. It sounds like the very best thing for you to do right now; its rightness shines from your words. Good luck with the mechanics of it all, and we'll all be here, Sunday or any day you're ready. xx
- March 25, 2011 at 11:51 pm
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Travel safely Lori….look after you and your babies……may Hometown bring you comfort and peace in time……sending you strength and hugs…..
- March 26, 2011 at 10:37 am
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Love hugs and best wishes. x o
- March 25, 2011 at 11:36 pm
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♫♫ Don't wanna live in the city, my friends tell me I'm changin',
The smell of salty air, is what I'm chasin'….♫♫ - March 26, 2011 at 10:34 am
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All the very, very, very best to you guys on this move. May the beach be a wonderful place to be cosy and safe and snug and protected:) xx
- March 25, 2011 at 11:13 pm
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Wishing you the best Lori. You are brave.
- March 25, 2011 at 11:08 pm
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Day after day I'm amazed at how well you write… may the healing begin.
- March 25, 2011 at 11:07 pm
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A leap of faith.
Good luck. I hope your HomeTown helps you heal. I hope those people that have been toxic stay away.
Follow those rainbows. Surely they are a sign you're moving in the right direction.
I have been following along. Commenting irregularly.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:50 pm
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You are brave, you are beautiful and I'm sending you love.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:47 pm
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Jump
Hit the water smiling. - March 25, 2011 at 10:44 pm
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Go you!
I really do think this is the best thing you can do for yourself and your kids right now.
You are awesome, and I'm wishing you every bit of happiness and good thoughts on this new journey of yours.
xxx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:23 pm
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Good luck xoxo
- March 25, 2011 at 10:23 pm
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God bless you, lady.
There's a metaphor I used with a client that I stole from my late father- if you have a big huge lawn to mow, or a lot of weight to lose, you can't think about the whole thing or you'll just give up.
So just mow the square where you're standing. OK. That's done. Now mow the next square.
You can do this. You've made it this far- which is a lot farther than I could have.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:21 pm
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Let the sea air heal you, go with your gut instinct and sod what anyone thinks. You deserve some peace now. Sending you Good wishes & love as you begin this new journey xxx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:18 pm
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Today I have no words. Nobody should have to go through what you've been through. So I'm sending (((hugs))) instead.
I look forward to your Hometown blog.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:16 pm
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Wherever you land, I will be here reading. I am so happy I got to give you that lame arse hug on the dance floor the other night. You were probably wondering who the weird chick was….twas me. much love and light and power and strength to you gorgeous lori. You have guts and determination in spades and you are going to be ok. I know it. xxxx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:15 pm
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My eyes welled up reading the last post from the purple house where so much has happened but you must follow those rainbows to your next adventure. Looking forward to it.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:05 pm
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And just as Indiana Jones in the Last Crusade, you too will realise that jumping off the edge of that cliff will deliver your Holy Grail. The only way to get there is to step into what looks like thin air but you Lori, are a brave being that listens to your soul. I don't even know you but I'm so proud of you. You are an inspiration.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:04 pm
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(y)
Good luck with the move. May it be mostly positive experiences for you and your bubbas from now on.
Sx
- March 25, 2011 at 10:02 pm
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Lori, Just wanted to say thank you. This journey of yours, it has helped me stay strong. So many times your story could have been mine, thankfully for me (and my babies) it isn't. You have helped me find strength to make my husband communicate when it all just seemed so hard. Thank you. You are awesome and so so brave. Good luck with everything. I have the deepest respect for you.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:01 pm
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There are no words, only the wish that when you land, you receive the love, support and peace you deserve.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:59 pm
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As always, I'm thinking of you, Lori
xxx - March 25, 2011 at 9:55 pm
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Good luck Lori! i'm thinking of you. every day, i was playing squash on wednesday and suddenly couldn't help thinking about your life, how suddenly it crumbled under you. I felt guilty that i could live life in such a way, forget about it but you couldn't. You really are on my mind.
I'm very proud of you, i think we all are.
take care, Lori xxx - March 25, 2011 at 9:51 pm
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Jump Lori. May you and your babies land somewhere warm and soft.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:48 pm
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So much I want to say- but can't so I hope you can feel how much love and respect I have for you. Hope you can feel that- hope you know how much you give.
Honor yourself always I do believe you do that. There are so many invisible strands of love that hold you as you breathe, as you close your eyes and as you jump. Feel them xxx - March 25, 2011 at 9:48 pm
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Massive, squishy hugs to you my friend.xxxxxxx
- March 25, 2011 at 9:46 pm
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Brava Lori – brava. For this post, for your blog over the last few months, for your having the balls to make a change. Bra-freaking-va.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:44 pm
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Lori: I hope there is now healing for you, as much as can be. It is good to be in a place of ocean and stars and big skies when you need to come home to yourself and reconnect. Sending love and light to you and your children. May this next part of the journey be all that you need it to be.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:43 pm
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Jump…. And let the sand & surf & loveliness of hometown be there to catch you. I hope that the sea washes all the badness for The After away & leaves you with only the beautiful happiness of The Before.
You my girl are brave, the bravest there is. Making a new start and leaving with your head held high. No tails between legs, no blame. You are not terrible, you are awesome.
I love you chook & I am going to miss you so much, but as lame-ass as it sounds I am so proud of you doing this. This is all you, the bravest strongest person I have ever met.
- March 25, 2011 at 9:43 pm
- March 25, 2011 at 9:41 pm
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Just put one foot in front of the other and follow your instinct. You need this. You are brave and beautiful. You are also vulnerable and lost. Be gentle with yourself and listen to your own heart. I wish you peace and light lovely Lori xx
- March 26, 2011 at 7:50 am
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Wishing you many ocean breezes to blow away the pain.
- March 25, 2011 at 10:38 pm
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I've got a good feeling about this, Lori.
And I hear hope in your post today. I have a good feeling about that, too.
xx - March 25, 2011 at 10:24 pm
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Beautiful. Here's to a brand new life, with promises of some wonderful memories for you and your babes! x
Previous post: Boxes.
Next post: Free Fall.
Not A Fairy Tale. – RRSAHM
Not A Fairy Tale.
The trolls are back… I think this is what I get from the universe, perhaps, for whinging.
Fair call. It’s my blog, I’ll whinge if I want to. But comments are always open, and you can say what you like. In all honesty, we’ve had most of these discussions before (won’t somebody please think of the children???), and going over it again would just be boring.
But I will say this.
Pretending would be easy. I could write myself a fairy tale here, and no one would ever know the difference.
But it would be lying, and that wouldn’t be fair.
Cynthia left me a comment on my last post that said “It must be hard to hit publish when you know that there are some out there just waiting to pull your words apart”, and that pretty much sums it up.
But I’d rather tell the truth here, than bullsh*t to you all, to keep everyone happy.
This is real life, not Disney. And the first week or so, that period of settling in… that’s been difficult. I don’t think I ever expected it to be easy.
The good news is… things are getting better. We’ve had an entirely lovely weekend. And the sun is shining in Melbourne. It’s spring and the city is just gorgeous.
‘Happy’ is not a click-your-fingers-and-it-happens kinda thing.
I reserve the right to take my time getting to it, if I need to.
Leave a Comment
{ 21 comments… read them below or add one }
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September 7, 2013 at 1:47 am -
It’s just moving, people do it all the time. It’s not like Lori moved to Melbourne and left her kids on their own in TinyTrainTown. I don’t understand how people can possibly find it so upsetting that a family decides to move somewhere. The world would be an entirly different place if no-one had every moved anywhere. Let it go. Moving doesn’t damage children. Being negative and mean and narrow-minded is however damaging, mostly to your own soul but also to the people you subject to your judgements. Be a bit more generous and understanding and I am sure you will feel your own horizons expand. The thing with people who leave nasty comments on how it (life) should be done is that they never come across as intersting, inspiring or even kind people, so why would anyone want to take their advice and become more like them?
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September 4, 2013 at 4:21 pm -
I’m another who drops in from time to time.
I enjoy reading your blog, but – and I’ll probably be attacked for saying this – the trolls are annoying…but so are some of the responses to the trolls. I think it’s fantastic you have so many people supporting you and most rise above the negativity and support you without feeding the trolls, but it’s a shame when some of them stoop to the level of the trolls with personal insults (I think one was called ‘obese’?). I sometimes feel like I’m at the train station at Sunshine lol.
The quality of your writing is very good and it’s a shame when the comments section turns into a war of words because I feel as though the energy of your original post is often lost.
But it’s your blog and you can moderate (or not) the comments however you want to!
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September 3, 2013 at 11:25 pm -
Taking care of yourself and your happiness for the long term, bigger picture is the best thing you can do for your children, ultimately. A stable, settled household with a mother who’s in a stable, loving relationship will be a much better environment for them to be raised in. Sorry you had to deal with all of the negative comments.
But look at it this way…at least you HAVE trolls, haha! I’m still relatively new to blogging and am just thrilled any time I get any comments.
Marianne recently posted…A Three Hour Tour, A Three Hour Tour… -
September 3, 2013 at 8:48 pm -
My kids came first before anyone else after my husband died. I was a widow at 21 left with a two year old and new born twins. I connected with an amazing man who lived in NZ he sacrificed his career in NZ to be closer to me, I slowly introduced my kids to him and we eventually got married and are proud parents if 6 amazing kids. My eldest three thank me always for putting them first when I did. As for my comment that Lori should be happy, well I felt at the time she was just whinging. Sorry again if my comments offended.
- September 3, 2013 at 8:54 pm
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Well Ruby, thanks for sharing your expertise. Evidently, you did it best, so let’s just leave it at that, shall we? Your circumstances may have been similar to mine at one point in your life. That still doesn’t give you the right to judge anyone else, their actions, or what you consider to be ‘putting your children first’.
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Not A Fairy Tale.- September 4, 2013 at 7:59 am
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Lol Lori I said I was sorry and I am happy to admit that I was wrong! I am no expert but I did what me, myself and I thought was tight for my kids. Don’t be defensive please. At the end of the day you do what is best for you. As long as your beautiful kids are happy that’s all that matters. I will be a reader of your blog until you stop writing. I will also comment. I begrudge nothing. X
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September 5, 2013 at 12:50 pm -
Good for you for apologising Ruby, it takes a big person to admit they were wrong. As you say, you did what was best for you and Lori will too. It’s fantastic your man was willing to move, maybe Lori’s wasn’t able to. Did she make the right decision? Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell. If it was a mistake, there’s nothing stopping her moving back. For now she’s made the choice to give this relationship a chance in Melbourne, let’s support her in that!
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September 3, 2013 at 2:28 pm -
Trolls indeed!
How great was the weekend weather?! And the weekdays are rocking too. x
Emily recently posted…Tiredness vs exhaustion -
September 3, 2013 at 12:04 pm -
I hate to say this, but unfortunately I think there are people out there who have been reading this blog to watch someone elses trauma unfold. It sounds hideous because it is but there are some people who love nothing more than to grab the popcorn and see some real drama unfolding before their eyes. Now that you have your life more in control and are finding happiness Lori, I think these people then want to create drama for you. Sad but probably true. I’m glad that you share the way you do and I think that people could quite easily express their opinions without being so hurtful. I for one am glad that you are finding strength and happiness.
Sheri Bomb recently posted…It’s Time To Brooch The Subject- September 5, 2013 at 12:51 pm
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I did not think of it that way, but I think Sheri is 100% spot on! There are readers here who, sadly, came to see the train wreck. Now the train is back on track – they don’t like it.
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September 3, 2013 at 11:57 am -
Keep your head held high! Some people are a little weird to get on here and shit you out. Popping my head in to see that your doing ok. Enjoy the sunshine, Kiss Bump And Chop for me, and know that people far away are sending you their positive thoughts and best wishes x o x o
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September 3, 2013 at 9:11 am -
You go, girl! The truth is much better. After a trauma or after any big life change, no matter how wonderful that change is (I’m thinking here of big moves like yours and also new relationships, the birth of children etc), so many people think that the road to happiness is some one-directional thing. a = b. Maybe it is that simple for some people, but I know it isn’t for me or for many others I talk to. It can be 2 steps forward, 3 back, and then a leap of 5 forward, and 1 back. You’ll get there in the end but it doesn’t mean it is going to be smooth sailing all the time. I think a lot of people believe they should be instantaneously happy and that can leave people feeling isolated and like something’s wrong with them. More people need to be as brave as you and speak the truth so that others don’t feel so alone in their feelings.
My thoughts are with you, Chop, and Bump during this transition. You’ll all get there
By the way…haters gonna hate. It’s science :-p http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2013/08/28/haters_are_gonna_hate_dispositional_attitude_study_confirms_it.html
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September 2, 2013 at 10:49 pm -
I definitely prefer the truth.
There is courage in that.
Karen Loethen recently posted…Hope Floats- September 3, 2013 at 3:53 pm
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I didn’t mean to post that link! LOL
Karen Loethen recently posted…Hope Floats
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- September 2, 2013 at 10:00 pm
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My question is, if people think you’re a whinger or whatever, then why fucking read your blog? Go else where? Keep scrolling? If you don’t have anything positive to comment, then don’t comment? Un like the page and move on? Simple no? Geeze… and I mean fuck, who wouldn’t be “whinging” moving to a different state, with two kids a relatively new boyfriend etc etc etc… fark… I moved 20 minutes pregnant with a 2 year old and was a right whinging sod I tell ya! seriously… trolls.. go do something constructive and stop embarrassing yourselves… Lori, as always my love…. big hugs. you’re doing great
glad this week is being better for you -
September 2, 2013 at 7:37 pm -
High-Five!
This is a brilliant post. Thanks for speaking your truth.
Trisha recently posted…Living with Depression: Some of my coping tips -
September 2, 2013 at 3:08 pm -
I appreciate the honesty you have in your writing, and I realise that even though you’re honest, it is just a window into things, it isn’t the sum of all the things you’re going through. I don’t understand how anyone can really judge someone else’s life choices when they can’t possibly know all the ins and outs and ups and downs.
I’ve been in the situation of where I *should* be happy but wasn’t, and to be told that isn’t a valid way to feel isn’t remotely useful.
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September 2, 2013 at 2:08 pm -
It is such a comfortable place to be in where we get to assess other people’s lives and decide how they should be feeling, thinking, and behaving, as well as a big dollop of ‘move on already’ the ignorant constantly apply to those of us who’ve been knocked over by life. Some people just can’t resist. Some days the internet lets people hug you from afar, some days it lets them fish slap you in the face. I wish the fish slapping didn’t happen, I hope the hugs make up for it a bit. xx
sarahkreece recently posted…Thinking on safety -
September 2, 2013 at 1:21 pm -
The thing I can never get is why people keep reading when they don’t like what they see. If it troubles them so, why keep clicking over here. There are millions of other blogs where people pretend they have the perfect life, are the perfect parents, live the perfect dream. Go over there. This blog hasn’t ever really pretended to be that.
I just like knowing you. Reading about you. It doesn’t have to be anything.
Whoa, Molly recently posted…Outsourcing My Problems To the Internet: Should I move?-
September 2, 2013 at 6:40 pm -
Hi Molly. Hi Lori.
Molly, as usual, I couldn’t agree more. Who thinks “Hey I’ll just read this blog this person’s written and then totally trash it.” Who thinks that?!?
Why bother? Why don’t they just stop reading?
People are so judgmental. How come people aren’t just nice? And encouraging? And supportive?
Lori, I’m glad (I snorted with delight) that you told Jean to shove it up her arse. I hope she doesn’t show up around here again. Oh, and I don’t worry about your kids at all. AT ALL.
Off now Molly to give you my opinion on whether or not you should shift house
xR
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Previous post: Ouch.
Next post: Father’s Day.
Harvest. – RRSAHM
Harvest.
Tony was an organ donor.
We’d spoken about it, many times. “I don’t need ‘em.” That simple.
But- and I’ve blogged a bit about this before- when it came down to it, the decision to it nearly broke me, it was so very difficult. Him dieing, what happened- I had no decision in that. But here, I had a choice. And saying it was OK, to cut up his body,his tattoos for us…
The pain was almost too much. I was almost such a coward.
I’m eternally grateful that Tony’s mum and sister where there, to enforce it, to hold me up, to say yes when the word’s just failed me.
It’s till hard. I know it’s been such a comfort to Tony’s mum, but it aches at me, eats at me, makes me jealous of the people who are walking around, his heart beating blood through their veins. Seeing the world through his eyes.
The organ donation service are lovely. We haves pins, tiny gold roses, a real rose bush, coming soon in the mail (I wonder if their hearts are heavy, at that nursery, every time they receive a card with an order for another Remembrance Rose, of if they rejoice that more lives have been altered, been saved..?), support whenever we need it.
But it’s a flipside for me. while it’s comfort for his mother, his sister too, I think, just reminds me achingly of what I’ve lost.
My mother in law gave me a photocopy of a card she’d received, from a donor family, saying thank you. I couldn’t look at it.
But some nights, now, as the peace slowly begins to drizzle in and fill the cold, gaping cracks in my soul… some nights, when I’m lonely, I stand under the warmth of the shower, and try to hear my heartbeat. And I think that somewhere out there, there are people giving thanks whilst they acknowledge my pain. People who know that what they’ve got left me with this heartbreak.
And that makes me feel better. I worked at a hospital, years ago, and I’ve seen organ donations. I’ve seen a 16 year old girl, with a set of new lungs, who has colour in her cheeks and walks like a girl, not an old woman.
I’m proud of Tony, for that. I think he’d be proud too.
Leave a Comment
{ 26 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 28, 2011 at 6:18 am
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That is the best gift…to breathe life into someone else. He would be proud xoxox
- May 18, 2011 at 10:19 am
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What you're feeling is understandable. But good on you for carrying out Tony's wishes. I am sure he would be proud. xo
- May 15, 2011 at 11:57 pm
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That, my (new) friend, is awesome. To give life after life, just brilliant.
- May 15, 2011 at 6:25 pm
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I saw you in our Advertiser yesterday, Lori. You are looking happier these days.
I remember my mum donating my brother's organs. Everything except hs eyes. She often said she didn't want to be walking down the street one day and see Michael's eyes looking at her from a strangers face.
Tony would be so proud.
I'm donating too, but my whole body, to the medical hospital for study and research. New doctors need to learn somehow. - May 15, 2011 at 2:52 pm
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I've read a few of your posts today Lori. I'm only commenting on this one. What an incredibly difficult thing to have to do. I can understand why you baulked at the final moment for taking that breath and saying yes. Yes, Tony would be proud. And he would understand.
- May 14, 2011 at 7:46 pm
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Yep – he would be more than proud, you had the strength in you to follow through with his wishes. Opened our local paper today (The Advertiser) only to see yours (and your gorgeous kiddies) faces… broke my heart once again but you looked amazing and i commend you (again) for having the strength that many would not have to talk so openly and honestly about the horrific tragedy you have all endured. Always thinking of you xx
- May 14, 2011 at 6:14 pm
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Edan beat me to it. He'd be so proud of you Lori.
- May 14, 2011 at 12:19 pm
- May 14, 2011 at 11:15 am
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Wow! I've never had to go through anything like that and I can only imagine your pain. You so eloquently described it and I am in awe at your strength. Keep marching on, because someday, you will see Tony again and hold him close once more. My prayers are with you tonight.
- May 13, 2011 at 5:11 am
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hugs and prayers.
- May 13, 2011 at 2:02 am
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Take your time. You don't have to be happy for them right now. Just know that the decision ultimately saved so many lives–not just the recipients but their families and friends as well.
After my daughter, Melia, received her liver transplant (at 8 months old), my friend wrote a message to the donor's family. It said, "You not only saved Melia's life, but my best friend's life too." There are no truer words.
But it's okay that it isn't something you can rejoice in right now. The beautiful thing about organ donation is that it keeps spreading love, compassion, and selflessness. Through our gift we have vowed to always honor our daughter's donor and their family, and to teach her to pass on their goodness into the world. And we have a huge circle of people who have been affected and who've made changes as well. There is also an enormous group of people who holds the donor and his family in their hearts all the time–and the same is true for you. While I'm not a religous person, I do think it is a powerful and important thing.
All the best to you.
- May 12, 2011 at 11:06 pm
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This may sound odd, but please don't be shocked or offended.
You know they say that organs or cells have 'memory' (not scientifically proven I don't think)…I think where I'm going with this is that all the recipients would become automatic friends in a way (to me if I were in your shoes) and I'd want to meet them and spend some time with them…I'm sorry if that sounds "sick" in any way…but it's how I feel I might react to having lost someone whom I loved so deeply and still wanted to be close to in some way in the physical realm.This post really touched me and affected me deeply today. I totally get what you mean and am in awe you found the strength to make the choices that were right for you and Tony. xo
- May 12, 2011 at 10:14 pm
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Something beautiful, loving and hopefuly out of such a horrible tragedy. I cannot imagine how painful it was to consent but I can imagine the immense joy it brought so many other families.
Jenn - May 12, 2011 at 10:11 pm
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Beautiful post, beautifully said, I can't even begin to imagine. Hold your head high.
- May 13, 2011 at 3:38 am
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I'm very proud of you for going through with the donation. I can well imagine it's not an easy thing to do even when the choice has been made well beforehand.
Sending you big, squishy hugs and lots of love.
- May 12, 2011 at 5:21 pm
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I like to think that I would go through with it if Rish went in a motorbike accident. I talked him into signing up when he got his bike, as reassurance. :
- May 12, 2011 at 4:40 pm
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I think it was one last chance for Tony to do something truly wonderful and lasting. And you were brave enough to let him.
And while it is cold comfort now, I do think that one day, knowing how many lives you've changed will be momentous to you and Chop and Bump.
- May 12, 2011 at 4:32 pm
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You should be proud, of you and of him. Because even though you had it a tiny bit easier than some in that situation do – in so far as you'd actually had a discussion about it with him and knew his wishes, it was still a damned difficult and heartbreaking thing to do. Right at that moment in that circumstance. I wouldn't have glanced sideways had you said no. But you said yes, and through all that pain others were saved, and that is something to be proud of. Maybe in time it will bring you more comfort, but I can only imagine right now that you wish those organs were back in his living breathing, body, that's only natural.
Also I think it is wonderful that posts like these bring awareness to the organ donation issue too.
- May 12, 2011 at 2:30 pm
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I hadn't thought about organ donation until I read this post. When I found my husband he had been dead probably three days so his organs wouldn't have been any use to anyone.
Why does this make me feel like this was another selfish act? Surely he knew that it would take a few days for me to check up on him when I couldn't get hold of him. Or did organ donation even cross his mind?
This minefield of suicide is littered with whys and what was he thinking …
On a lighter note, now that I've had lasik eye surgery I can't donate my eyeballs. Weird, huh?
- May 12, 2011 at 2:20 pm
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I'm an avid organ donor supporter and truly believe it's the right thing to do, but absolutely agree that everyone has his own choice in the matter.
That being said, my sister and dearest friend, will likely need a new set of lungs and/or a kidney in order to live soon enough. She's 32 and has had a terrible autoimmune disease for the last 10 years and it's hurt us all very much to watch her suffer.
She nearly went on "the list" for a kidney. And, even she – who will one day not be able to live without a donation – was torn with the process. I remember her struggling with the idea that she'd carry around a beeper until she got 'the call'.
My point is that it's tough on both sides. Tony's selfless act (and your final support or acceptance of it) did, indeed, do a world of good for many. I hope that brings your comfort.
- May 12, 2011 at 2:00 pm
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We lost a family member last week and one of the few things that has me occasionally smiling through the tears is that right till the end, she was always trying to "do good turns", just like when we were teens. To donate her organs was her last good turn. I am glad you can be proud of him in that way.
- May 12, 2011 at 1:40 pm
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What you did, it was so remarkable.
I don't think people realise how hard it is, how hard it would be to say yes to this, when you're not ready to let someone go. When a death happens so young and unexpectedly.
I have told Mr Black and my family that if i am their next of kin i will donate their organs. ALL of them. A decision i have thought through before hand, accepted now that i would rather give up what they don't need anymore, and be able to give life to someone else and their loved ones.
It's not a nice thing to think of, but just know that parts of Tony, they may have saved a child's life, or a baby, or a person just like him who had a family needing him to pull through and get better. It doesn't bring Tony back, no, but if it were your situation you would be so grateful for someone like you who said yes to donation, who gave your family another chance.
It's just so awful that you didn't get that chance. - May 12, 2011 at 1:37 pm
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That can be a very hard decision for some to make. My neighbour had a lung transplant only 2 days ago. She is only 23 years old, and her first was about 16. This is her 3rd set of lungs, and while there is much rejoicing that it all went well, I am also thinking of the grieving family who consented to the donation too. I pray it brings comfort to them, even in their darkest hours.
- May 12, 2011 at 1:29 pm
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I think the fact it was a tough decision for you to make just shows how much you loved him but the fact you went through with it shows how much you respected his wishes as well.
His organs probably helped many. It probably isn`t much of a comfort now but in the future it might be.
- May 12, 2011 at 11:19 pm
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Lori, saying yes to that was an amazing thing to do and I hope that with time it gives you some comfort. I say this as someone who will be needing a transplant in later years.
Love to you. x
- May 12, 2011 at 9:29 pm
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♥
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: For Any Mother Who May Pass This Way (Nothing funny about this post, folks)
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The Farm. – RRSAHM
The Farm.
This post brought to you by Nuffnang…
What could possibly be more fun for kids than having a farm to go and stay on?
My kids are so lucky, and I remind myself of that often- whenever I’m feeling sorry for myself, or for them. High on the list of awesome things they have in their life is their Nonna and Poppy’s farm. It’s relatively small (as farms go) and more of a hobby farm than a livelihood. But there are chooks and sheep and cows. And oh my, isn’t it beautiful. Rolling green hills. Large full dams. Well-kept fences. And a river that trails along the bottom border of the property, with sandstone cliffs on one side and countless wombat holes on the other.
One late January afternoon, when the school holidays were not quite close enough to being over, we decide to have a picnic on the farm. Pepsi Next had sent us a picnic basket and blanket and the instructions to go and do something natural and fun. The farm’s green open spaces called to us. You can sit in the middle paddock and forget that you’re so close to everything. The only things you can hear are the call of the birds and the occasional baa-ing of the not-too-bright sheep. The kids can run for miles. We jump in the tray of their Poppy’s white, dented farm ute and arrive at our destination no more than five minutes later.
My kids love a picnic. I get it. Picnics are the things of wholesome children’s stories, the typical family together-ness experience. And there always seems to be junk food when we picnic… I’m not sure why. Maybe because I know the kids wouldn’t love it quite so much if we only packed sandwiches and fruit. Maybe because I’m just as bad as they are.
The kidlets don’t drink soft drinks very often. We never have them at home- they’re a special occasion thing. I’ve drummed the concept of too much sugar into my son, feeling like a hypocrite because I know I drink the equivalent of thirty of forty teaspoons of sugar a day myself (and doesn’t it sound awful when I put it like that?).
With my huge sugar intake in mind, I was interested to try the Pepsi Next we had been sent. From what they tell me, it has naturally less sugar than other cola drinks. Pepsi Next contains Stevia, a natural sweetener, rather than ‘real’ sugar or that nasty chemical-y artificial stuff. I actually predicted it would not be great- generally I hate the taste of diet drinks, like Pepsi Max. But- pleasant surprise- Pepsi Next actually didn’t taste any different to regular cola. In fact, it was pretty good. And I didn’t feel quite so bad when I gave into the incessant nagging and let my kids have a glass of it. Because, ya know- less sugar. Given the terrible example I set for them, that has to be a good thing.
Anyway. The general consensus was that the picnic on the farm was awesome. So was the Pepsi. If you happen to come across one of the Pepsi Next blind taste challenges- where you compare to the taste of a full sugar cola- give it a go. And check out the Pepsi FaceBook page, too.
So you can have your own lovely picnic- on a farm if you’re lucky enough to have one, or elsewhere if you’re not- Pepsi Next has given me a picnic pack with a blanket and super cool picnic hamper to giveaway. To enter, just leave me a comment or email me with your answer to this question-
Why would you choose Pepsi Next instead of full sugar cola on your next shopping trip?
Giveaway ends next Friday, 14 Feb at 5pm AEDST and is open to Australian residents only.
Full t’s & c’s can be found here. Happy picnic-ing, jellybeans.
Leave a Comment
{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
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February 13, 2014 at 11:17 pm -
Considering the fact that Pepsi Next contains naturally less sugar than regular colas and tastes great at the same time – i am definitely going to choose it during my next shopping trip . My son is growing big and i always feel that its unfair to stop him from drinking soft drink and i always feel guilty for my decision. So now i can buy Pepsi next for everyone in the family so that my son can also enjoy it as a treat on special occasions and does not feel left out.
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February 13, 2014 at 8:52 pm -
I’d choose Pepsi Next, so that I can have my sugary sweet treat, but miss out on some of the calories. I’ve been making some great choices lately food wise and I’ve learnt that you’ve got to make them stick. So choosing Pepsi next means I don’t get to miss out!
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February 10, 2014 at 10:23 pm -
Because it’s new. The reason many strange things find their way into our trolley. Cola flavoured raisin, anyone?
Leah recently posted…Lazy holidays -
February 9, 2014 at 9:29 pm -
I should choose Pepsi next, because our family has taken on all new healthy habits, but I still haven’t managed to kick my coke habit!!
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February 9, 2014 at 7:07 pm -
I would try it because you said it was good lol. I’m also a non diet drink soft drink drinker because I just have never come across one that actually tasted good. Thanks for the info. Also I would love to win the picnic pack. I have never taken my kids on a picnic (10 & 5) because I don’t hv a nice set and didn’t want to take KFC to the park in a plastic bag and just sit on the grass
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February 8, 2014 at 11:25 pm -
Lori, just the fact that you like it and you allowed the Chop and the Bump to drink it sells it to me!!! You are ‘The Most Honest Woman in the Universe’ so I will definitely be trying Pepsi Next when ‘next’ at the superduper market!! We picnic at the beach on hot summer nights, a blanket and basket of goodies along with some Pepsi Next would put extra big smiles on my little beach babies faces’. Thanks for the heads up! Good luck to whoever is the lucky winner.
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February 6, 2014 at 8:20 pm -
I’d choose Pepsi Next because you’ve totally sold it to me!! Absolutely the ‘Next’ soft drink I’ll be buying.
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February 6, 2014 at 7:07 pm -
I’d choose Pepsi Next because it is far less Weight Watchers point, leaving me with more points for jelly beans!
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February 6, 2014 at 5:00 pm -
The diabetic in me thinks it is probably a better option
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February 6, 2014 at 4:25 pm -
I would choose Pepsi Next because less sugar in my soft drink means more I can eat in cakes and other goodies! Winning!
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February 6, 2014 at 4:23 pm -
Why would i choose Pepsi Next? because it’s the one drink my husband and i agree on. He likes diet drinks, which i refuse to drink due to the artificial sweetners, and i like ‘normal’ drinks in a bid to avoid said sweetners. Pepsi next gives us the best of both worlds, less sugar for him and no nasties for me
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February 5, 2014 at 7:59 pm -
I would choose Pepsi Next because it’s yum! I’m a die hard Coke fan but we were lucky enough to do one of the challenges at The Rocks on Australia Day and I was so pleasantly surprised!
As a family of 5 we have lots of picnics and would love to win this hamper to spoil our family a bit more!
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February 5, 2014 at 8:27 am -
I would choose Pepsi Next because we can’t have refined sugars at home due to a few health reasons, so we normally buy the chemically sugar free stuff, even though we’re all for natural living. This sounds like the perfect balance for an occasional treat.
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Fight or Flight – RRSAHM
Fight or Flight
When under extreme duress, faced with pumping adrenalin and a sever threat or danger, the brain chooses it’s mechanism within a millisecond- fight, or flight.
Fight. Attack. Defend.
Flight. Run…. like the wind.
When the unthinkable happened, my mind, it choose flight. As I said, a millisecond, it’s not a conscious choice, it’s just what your brain does.
I try not to beat myself up about it. I’m imagining the primal section of my brain did it’s thing- it weighed up Tony’s size against mine, added in my terror. And then, to compound it, it assessed the child in my arms. And maternal instincts, mixed with adrenaline…
Run. And scream. Fly.
***
I hadn’t done it right. I’d made phone calls in the wrong order, I’d ran instead of stayed… everyone, everything I came across while my husband’s body was dieing in the ICU, told me I hadn’t done this right.
“You just don’t know what you’d do it that situation..” This nurse is plump and lovely, sweet and supportive and tells me what a fantastic job I’m doing as I sit and hold my husband’s hand, and speak to him of our wedding day, “You did what you could. You did well. I had a friend, her husband committed suicide, on the back of the laundry door… a bit different to you, he was already dead when she found him… but she chopped tomatoes. While the police and the ambulance came, and they took his body away… from the moment she called 000, she began chopping a kilo bag of tomatoes, and didn’t stop through all the commotion, not till they were done. then she put down the knife and said “OK, I’m ready to go now.”
I feel for that woman. I know the ugly horror she experienced, the feeling that the Earth is quite literally changing beneath your feet and you’re not sure where you’ll end up.
I think, perhaps, her mind chose Fight. But he was already dead. So all it could do was retain some sort of normality, while the world came crushing down.
The tomatoes needed chopping.
Everything else, it could wait.
Leave a Comment
{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
- June 21, 2011 at 9:41 pm
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Sometimes any sense of normalcy is needed x
- May 26, 2011 at 6:34 pm
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You did all you could Lori. Go gently xx
- May 24, 2011 at 9:59 pm
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It's quite likely the you will keep reliving those moments, hours, days for a long time to come. Wondering how it came to pass, wondering what you did, why you did it, did you do it right…
I don't know how healing happens… We each do it our own way.
You did what you did. There is no changing the past. There is only this moment. Do what feels good right now.
- May 24, 2011 at 8:41 pm
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There is no template – even if one is a counsellor – which I am. One does what one does. I am one of those, I think, who flees.
- May 24, 2011 at 9:45 am
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Lori, I don't think it'd matter what you did, I honestly don't think you could've changed the outcome:(
I think your brain did what it needed to do to protect you and your kids. The human mind can be very kind sometimes. Other times, not so kind:(
- May 24, 2011 at 3:37 am
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There is no way of knowing what would have happened if you had done something else. The outcome might very well have been the same. You took care of your baby and that is naturally the first response any mama would have. It breaks my heart thinking of you feeling guilty for the actions of another. You did what you could do and that is surely enough.
- May 24, 2011 at 8:57 am
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Keep on chopping, my sweet.
- May 23, 2011 at 8:51 pm
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I very much agree with the previous commenter – as a nurse we run emergency drills over and over and over and over – it's annoying and boring, but in an actual emergency – you simply don't think clearly, rationally. It's a fact. Your training gets you through, because your thinking is totally muddied. You did an awesome job during an unthinkable, horrible situation.
- May 23, 2011 at 7:34 pm
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I really dont want to contemplate it but i think i'd be more like the other woman – stuck in some kind of fog and only being able to focus on one repetitive task to stay calm… but like i said, i really dont want to ever have to find out.
- May 23, 2011 at 7:10 pm
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Hi Lori,
You reacted as you saw fit; well, actually, your brain reacted as it saw fit. Your reaction was pretty much taken out of your hands. By your brain.
I believe that in such horrific and intense situations, something in the brain kickstarts and over-rides any other cognitive processes.
When my sister called me at work, to tell me my Mum had killed herself, I walked calmly into the office, informed my manager and colleagues in an extremely straight-to-the-point manner, and then started cracking jokes.
I was in complete shock, and had absoloutely no control of how I was reacting.
It was only weeks later, that I actually broke down and lost control. Until that point, I just kept going, on autopilot, until, I guess, my brain figured it was ok to break down. I went out and bought new clothes, busied around everyone else, and generally acted like nothing had happened.
I follow your blog everyday, Lori, and you never fail to inspire me with your extreme strength and determination.
Keep going, it gets easier, I promise.
http://www.iampisspot.wordpress.com
http://www.ajuxtaposedlife.wordpress.com - May 23, 2011 at 4:16 pm
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I would be like that lady.
At least, i am now when i'm hit with hard stuff. I busy myself. Suddenly the dusting i put off all week is so thick it needs to be done right this second. And the trip to the pet store to gaze adoringly at pets we will never buy with the kids that i put off each time we walk past? Yep, i NEED to do that too. And i throw stuff and shout at Mr Black about all the little jobs he has promised me he will do but hasn't yet, and i don't CARE how busy he has been, they need to have been done yesterday.
Grief hits us all differently. Some cry, they talk and they cry and they find comfort in others. How i ache to be that type of person. I look at those people with longing. I am just…not. And it does hurt, because you are not openly grieving, you are not shedding tears or howling about it all, and you yourself feel the questions "Am i a monster?" "Why am i not crying?" creeping in. And then suddenly you find yourself faced with those questions by others. Others that have no right to even accuse or ask.
If i were in your situation, i would have done the same, i would have looked after my kids first. I think it was part of you knowing that there wasn't anything you could do for Tony. Sometimes we never understand our actions, why we did this or that, and it's frustrating, but just trust that whatever you did, it was right for that moment. There was a purpose to it. <3 - May 23, 2011 at 3:53 pm
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Hugs. It was an impossible situation for you …who would know what to do? Be kind to yourself honey. xo
- May 23, 2011 at 2:46 pm
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The kinf of loss and trauma you went through in those few split seconds are the kind that nightmares are made of, Lori. You did everything you were capable of. No one can or should judge you on those split seconds. Not only are they not qualified, becaue they are not you, but there is nothing to sit in judgement of.
- May 23, 2011 at 2:03 pm
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I think we just put it down to the brain doing what it can to cope with the shock. I remember the day they told me that my baby wasnt going to make it, the main thought that kept going through my head was "what am I going to do with her clothes and who should I give them too". This was literally as she was dying in our arms…looking back I believe it was the only way my brain could protect me from the horror of what was unfolding.
- May 23, 2011 at 1:40 pm
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Well I guess I popped my comment cherry over on your guest post at Wanderlust so why stop now?
All I can say is that I would never judge you because that moment is so devastating, so surreal, so unexpected that I cannot even imagine it coming true for anyone let alone knowing what to do or how to react.
When I was 9 years old, my sister and I were playing on the swingset in our backyard. The swing was one of those 2-seater ones and the pole at the bottom of my seat was broken and rusted through. My older sister started tickling me and I was giggling like mad and squirming from all the tickling. I left go of the pole to try and fend her off and as the swing went back I fell off. The swing came back in my direction before I could get out of the way and stabbed into my leg, ripping it open and exposing all of the muscle and sinew. I started screaming and my sister just froze. It wasn't until my mum came down to see what was wrong that she had to shake my sister to get her to listen.
Very different to your situation I know, but I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I don't blame my big sister and I hope she doesn't blame herself. And as hard as it must be for you…I hope you learn not to blame yourself as well.
- May 23, 2011 at 1:25 pm
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You did right as you were able with the facts you had in front of you at that moment in time. My hope is that someday you understand that and can forgive yourself. Until then, there are those of us who are thinking of you.
- May 23, 2011 at 10:15 pm
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Wow. Well, everyone else here has pretty much said it for me – there is no "right way" to act in such a situation, and honestly, your brain really does take over. You really do just go on autopilot. For sure nobody has a right to judge you or your actions on that awful day – and really, who could blame a mother for reactively protecting her child? Anyway. It's just so awful that you had to go through this at all, it really is. I really hope that someday these horrible images, this self-blame, all of it, fades away and that you get some true peace. HUG!!!!
- May 23, 2011 at 8:43 pm
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Thanx for another powerful post, Lori.
I'm sure you know this, but there is no right or wrong way to handle what happened to you. You did what you did to get you and your children through the immediate aftermath in the most instinctually safe way known to you.
I defy ANYONE in the position you were in to react, 'correctly' or in a 'right' way.
There are a hundred different ways to respond to events. But who is trained to react in a 'right' way when something so totally out of left field explodes in front of your face?
Paramedics? Yes.
Health professionals? Yes.
Counsellors? Yes.People like you and me? Lovers, wives, husbands, daughters, fathers, siblings, children?
No.
We are not trained.
We do not know b/c we have no template to follow.
No instruction book.
We do what we are able to do.
We do what we know how to do.
And when we don't know how, our instinct takes over and does it for us.
You are still the bravest person I've ever come across.
xxxx
- May 23, 2011 at 1:40 pm
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No-one can ever know what that was like for you, Lori. And unless you've experienced it, you can't really know what it's like to have your primal brain take over, and do things for you where you have no control and often no memory of having done them.
Your brain made an assessment and acted on it. KEEP THE BABY SAFE.
I say, good call.
You did the best you could, hon. The best for you and your bub.
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Christmas, 2011. – RRSAHM
Christmas, 2011.
I took a week off from blogging last week. I wrote stuff anyway. I just can’t seem to help myself.
***
It is Christmas day in the worst year of my life, and I am a ghost.
I rise early, dragging myself from a slumber that is the sleep of the living dead… if I could stay forever, warm and comfortable in that blackness, no children to rouse me with demands, wants and needs… If I could stay there, undisturbed, I would.
But I scramble myself and my senses from my bed as soon as my son calls that “Santa has been!” It may be the only thing, that tone of jittered, wondered excitement, that is capable of rousing a mother from deep sleep just as quickly as the hungry squall of a newborn, or the shriek of a toddler’s nightmare.
We examine the milk and cookies Santa has devoured, the plate the reindeer’s apple has disappeared from. I don’t take photos, although I take my camera with me. A hollow voice that sounds like an old, stretched cassette tape played over and over in my mind tells me ‘You may regret this, you may wish you had taken photos…’, but I ignore it and it causes me no anxiety. If this is tempting fate, then let it be tempted, I think, and the thought comes with a small dose of spite, but it’s cold and factual, no hot passion or spiked emotions. Because I am numb today, a nothing, holding in my husk the memories of last Christmas, just before things fell apart.
I smile, but it is plastered on, and my thoughts are a rocking rhythm of “This time last year…”
It becomes a heartbeat, a sentiment that threads itself throughout my entire day… “This time last year, we were doing this… This time last year, we were doing that.” It’s pointless and painful and it feels like biting on a rotten tooth over and over again but I just can’t seem to help it.
I am a ghost, and I exist here only for my children, to give them a Christmas they deserve. I float through the day, from place to place, house to house, family to family. I take deep breaths and try to keep that concrete numbness, because today it feels better than heart ache. Time passes, as it always does, and the day runs along like lava, flowing and bumping into itself, leaving ugly hills of dried gunk behind it. I am so glad when we are home, back were we belong. When our duties are done, our presents unwrapped, my children’s tiny souls filled to the brim with peppermint striped Christmas happiness… when this first horrible, lonely Christmas is over.
I try not to think, I try not to remember, and still I am unable to help it. This time last year, Christmas Day after the sun went down… Drinking with my husband, laughing over our children, sitting on his lap in our purple backyard courtyard as the dark settled and the stars came out.
This Christmas is over, thank goodness, it’s done and I don’t have to do it for the first time again… December has been quick and pleasant and easy. And December-ridiculous month, all show and pomp and bluster and busyness- is done with now, it’s just two more weeks and I will have made one year. And I never have to do those ’firsts’ again.
I make it almost until the end of December. The panic attacks, the one I didn’t think I could have anymore… They start then, and they don’t let up for days.
I am drowning, screaming, sobbing, a mess of emotions and heartache and despair and guilt. I knew this was coming, I knew it would happen.. It doesn’t make it any easier doesn’t make it hurts any less. The ferocity of the pain surprises even me… Aren’t we over this, this racking, sobbing, heart clenching grief, are we not over it already? It seems not. I thought I could roll through the one year mark much easier than this… it’s just another one of those things where I should have known better, and didn’t. It’s just reality, smacking me in the face again. Because I keep forgetting, somehow, how painful this can be.
Leave a Comment
{ 22 comments… read them below or add one }
- January 6, 2012 at 6:06 am
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oh my love *massive hugs* god I wish I could take that pain away.
Well done, for making it through.
- January 3, 2012 at 2:20 pm
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Oh Lori, I'd been thinking of you and wondering how you fared on this toughest first Christmas. This week will no doubt be coloured with terrible memories and anxiety but know this: you have taken one step at a time to come this far and it will never be as rough as it was that spitefully tough first year. You will gain even more strength and wisdom as you go onwards, even if it is just small steps at a time. You still rock my world as the bravest chick I know online x
- January 3, 2012 at 9:51 am
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It's taken me 17 years and still I struggle. The firsts are the worst lovely. Thinking of you all xx
- January 3, 2012 at 7:04 am
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Miss Pink said it so well. You DO get used to the extra weight of it…
We're all still here for you Lori XO - January 3, 2012 at 3:49 am
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Oh Lori. Dear, sweet, strong Lori. Just hold on. You never have to do this again. Each time a little less horrible, I hope and pray. You are amazing. Strong. Powerful. Just hold on. Lots of love.
- January 3, 2012 at 2:55 am
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sending love your way, sweet girl.
- January 2, 2012 at 10:48 pm
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What can I say? Just sending you love really. I can't properly understand because I've never been in your situation but I really really feel for you and everyone else who has to go through what you're facing. It sounds like you just need ride that wave – accept whatever emotion comes to you and ride it out without trying to fight it. Thinking of you xxxxxx
- January 2, 2012 at 10:01 pm
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Oh, sweet Lori. There is absolutely nothing that I or anyone else can say to you that will make you feel any better or take your pain away. So I won't even try. Just know that I am here with open arms giving you a great big hug. To be perfectly honest Lori, I would be concerned if you didn't feel the way in which you are feeling now babe. I know it's hard (especially as seeing as I don't know what its like to lose a partner, but I have lost some people extremely close to me) please try not to give yourself such huge expectations. And allow yourself to feel sad or hurt, or scared. To alot of people 1 year might seem like a long time. But it really isn't hun. It's not by any means. Feel what you need to feel Lori, and when you feel strong enough to face the day with that quirkiness that we all love, we will be here for you Lori. Through the shit times and the good, you know we're all here championing you on. Much love and light to you xo
- January 2, 2012 at 8:42 pm
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You have come this far Lori, you can get through all of the firsts… ALL of them. You can, you will. x
- January 2, 2012 at 8:41 pm
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Thinking of you so often, Lori. I don't comment muchbut I read every single one of your posts. I think of you most days and feel for you so very, very much. You have made it through an incredibly painful, traumatic year. It's done. Thank God! Now for the next year to be – may it be gentler and kinder and may it have some sort of glitter and sparkle for your lovely family. Goodnessknows, you deserve it. x
Kindest wishes to you and your kidlets
Kim x - January 2, 2012 at 8:25 pm
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Hugs
xxx - January 2, 2012 at 4:07 pm
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Its been 11 years but Christmas always comes at you like a hungry, happiness thief…we all get sucked in to obey…but deep down its never been ok for me since….miss you little brother 12/12/00…know that we can do it Lori its just different. Much love xxx
- January 2, 2012 at 3:33 pm
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The first was the worst here…. mind you, the second wasn't much better, but at least my house wasn't also flooding this year.
hugs. - January 2, 2012 at 3:27 pm
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You've done it Lori, you've made it through the first of the most horrible times of the year for those who are greiving. Of course you were a mess, that's expected, but you did it. Next year will be better, and the year after better again. Grieving is horrendous, but it will dull. Big hugs and love, Linda x
- January 2, 2012 at 2:32 pm
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I've been playing catch-up with you today. As I read your early December posts, where you said you were enjoying the Christmas stuff, I felt optimistic that you'd cruise right through the Holidays, and dare I say, enjoy them.
But of course it couldn't be that easy. How naive of me to think it could be.
But I think you're awesome for doing all you did for your kids' sake. and I know you'll make it through these coming week, somehow.
XX
- January 2, 2012 at 11:14 am
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I think it would be scarey for you to feel unaffected by these times. For the shock to have gone completely.
I don't think what you're feeling will fade, it's just that you will get used to the extra weight of it.You have a wrold rallying around you, still a year on, and I know it isn't the one person that you want, but it's second best.
- January 2, 2012 at 11:14 am
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I think it would be scarey for you to feel unaffected by these times. For the shock to have gone completely.
I don't think what you're feeling will fade, it's just that you will get used to the extra weight of it.You have a wrold rallying around you, still a year on, and I know it isn't the one person that you want, but it's second best.
- January 2, 2012 at 9:23 pm
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It never gets 'Better' because the facts are the facts (brutal, cold, ugly and unchangeable) but you will get better at understanding yourself and understanding your emotions about those hard facts. You will get much better at this new normal over time. I am so sorry this is your journey. Much love to you this January.
- January 2, 2012 at 10:03 am
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The year of firsts. Biting on a rotten tooth over and over is a very good analogy. If nothing else, please try not to beat yourself up for beating yourself up over the "firsts". Just know that it is quite typical to do it. The shock of the first year of firsts will fade. My heart is with you, dear Lori. xx
- January 2, 2012 at 9:41 am
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I wish there was something I could say to make the pain even a little bit less, but I'm sure if there was, one of us would have said it by now. Time dulls, slowly and gradually. Take care xox
- January 2, 2012 at 9:16 am
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It still hits me 20 years on, don't beat yourself up over it. The first is the worst – I'm feeling for you.
- January 2, 2012 at 1:44 pm
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Bigs hugs Lorixx I wish there was something i could say that would help but just know there is so many people thinking of you and wishing they could take away your pain. You got through Christmas, i know it must have been incredibly painful for you. It was my first Christmas without my daughter and i was dreading it, actually i was a mess for about a week before but on the actual day i was ok. The 1st anniversary (of when she died) is looming – late January. Not sure what ill do yet but ill be getting away somewhere by the sea.
Take care & be gentle on yourself Xx
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Shut Up and Drive. – RRSAHM
Shut Up and Drive.
This month, RedBalloon sent me stunt driving in a Mini S Cooper at the Sydney DragWay. Because scaring the wits out of me is, apparently, totally the way we do things around here.
So many language warnings for this video- it’s probably not a good one to watch with kidlets around. Forgive me. It’s difficult not to swear when the car is doing 360′s and you’re at the wheel.
In other news- Happy Valentine’s Day, jellybeans. I do hope you’re all getting more action than I am today.
Thanks to the team at Digital Parents Collective for inviting me to be a part of the RedBalloon Experience Program. Stay tuned- more awesomeness over the next few months. As always, all opinions are my own (because no one else would want them…?) however the experiences are complimentary.
And, to assist you even further,
there’s a special offer for RRSAHM readers- Spend $79 or more on any RedBalloon experience, and receive $20 off.
To redeem: Visit www.redballoon.com.au and enter the promo code
REDBLOG14 at the checkout to receive your discount.
Terms and Conditions: Offer valid until 30/06/2014. Promotional Code can
only be used once
per person. All purchases are subject to Red Balloon T’s and C’s.
per person. All purchases are subject to Red Balloon T’s and C’s.
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
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February 22, 2013 at 8:53 pm -
Driving in two wheels was crazy! It’s an extreme experience and allowed only for professionals.
Amy recently posted…Areas around Wisconsin experience traffic disturbances due to slippery roads, snowfall -
February 15, 2013 at 5:31 pm -
LOVE it! We sent my Dad to a stunt driving course for his 50th a few years back and I know I had a great time just watching him. Definitely something I want to do down the track.
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February 15, 2013 at 1:36 pm -
Holey Moley! That was brilliant!!!
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February 14, 2013 at 9:13 am -
Oh my god, you are so brave! You would ahve a hard time getting me in that car…but if I did, I’d probably turn into a foul-mouthed, stunt-driving monster too!
- February 15, 2013 at 10:36 am
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Honestly Molly, it was so much fun and heaps less intimidating than I thought it would be!
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February 14, 2013 at 8:51 am -
That looks awesome!!! Nice one, and your swore less than I would have!
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{ 33 comments… read them below or add one }
yay for people with the gentlness in their soul to show you a cabbage patch full of lady bugs
awwww. I like this. where is the like button?
Well, you know you have my blessings. The twin is a gentleman.
Three grand essentials to happiness in this life are something to do, something to love, and something to hope for. – Joseph Addison
Awwww! So nice!
Your blog often brings me to tears, but today my eyes are shedding happy tears for you. What a beautiful story. I'm glad for you to have some happiness, safety, and peace with an old friend.
Oh Lori, beautifully written and I'm so very happy you have a strong hand to hold. xox
Oh hun.. That is simply beautiful a held hand can give us so much strength hold on when you need to hun theres no shame in that
xxx
That is wonderful news! Enjoy a new connection
Wow, this gives me the warm and fuzzys and im smiling for you, safe is good Lori, even if only for a little while. xxx
I love that Mr LadyBugs is there to help you feel safe
Sounds like a little piece from a fairytale
Maybe paradise really is just that. And, maybe all you've had to go through, as horrible as it is, was to get you to this very point.
Hold hands..
The connection is definitely good for you.
Cheers.
That's so nice!
What a lovely story.
Oooh, safe is good. So good.
Oh that is a beautiful post and I am smiling having read the last couple of paragraphs.
I am so happy for you. I hope he can bring a smile to your children's faces as well and that, even if it never progresses past this point, at least he is a person that the 3 of you can trust and feel safe with. Special friends are hard to find, hold on tight to this one!
Yay
You grab that bit of safety and comfort and don't let go 
PS you are beautiful – love the new 'do.
What a beautiful, beautiful post, Lori. I can picture you so clearly, walking that scary street with your five year old feet. And I am completely delighted you have found this man, this old friend, who is a safe haven. Best news I've heard today xxx
And how eloquently you put it!
I'm thrilled to bits. Beaming a smile that if I didn't have ears it would go ALL the way around my head.
I don't think I could even ride a bike when I was 5.
My heart just sang a little song knowing that you have someone around who can bring a little safety to your world xxxx
I have only very recently stumbled across your blog and my heart has been aching for you and your children…you are never far from my thoughts and hopes. I am overwhelmed with joy to read today's post. You absolutely deserve this safe, beautiful, shiny, somewhat comfortable and NEW realm of experiences. I wish you, Chop and the Bump so much love and kindness Lori.
Its nice to have a safety net sometimes, whomever it may be. I'm glad you've found one Lori – it might give you someplace to fall, if and when you need to….
very cute
Safe is nice. I hope he has big strong man hands
What a wonderful memory
beautiful post xo
This is sweet Lori. Old memories and friendships renewed. I'm glad you feel safe.
The Universe places ppl in our lives for a reason, season or lifetime I believe. I have a really good feeling about this. Makes me smile on the inside :]
This is one of the reasons I was so glad you went 'home'. I didn't want you to be so alone. But away, for a while, from the people you were surrounded by.
But in Paradise, you get to renew oldl connections. People who knew you "before". I'm glad he makes you feel safe.
Nice to find someone safe…. And ladybugs…
I love this. I love that you have this person, this someone. A safe place.
How wonderful for you to have someone with whom you feel safe and familiar close by your new home village. Is he good with the kids too, I hope…
Grab each bit of happiness as it comes by.
Awww, sweet! I'm happy for you, Lori. It's always nice, reconnecting with childhood friends…
Oh Lori. You so deserve to feel safe.