January 2013

You’re Stupid And I Hate You.

by Lori Dwyer on January 31, 2013 · 23 comments

I write posts like this… then I hesitate. I toss and turn things over, tumbling like rough rocks in my mind until they’re smooth and their edges don’t draw blood.

I tumble and test the weight of the memory of a dead person and what it means to respect that. I struggle with the bulk of adding to a stigma that already heavily clouds suicide and men’s mental health.

I guess I recognize that while I have this voice, read by many… the man who used to be my husband has none. And that is certainly not entirely fair.

But then I balance that against an email I received, from a women whose husband survived his own suited attempt, asking– would I have been angry with Tony, had he lived? And the answer is… of course. I’m furious with him, and he died. Had he lived and that anger been less tempered by guilt… he would have been lucky had I not killed him myself.

And I shuffle that email up against the very justified, very real anger my children will probably feel toward their father one day. And how I want them to know that’s OK– the light and the dark can coexist. You can love somebody and hate them, too.

And somehow that all gets too confusing and I think f*ck it, I’ll just tell the truth.

Because if this blog is never anything but the story of a suicide’s aftermath, then let it be the whole story. With every emotion labelled ‘okay’.

And eventually, logically… I have to hate him.


For Tony…

You’re stupid and I hate you and I miss you still and I wish you were here. Not for me… I’m OK, for the first time in a long time.

But for your son. For your little boy who starts school this week who needed you and loved you and misses you still. Who looked at your picture on his bedroom wall today and told you I love you Daddy, I miss you!” and then insisted I do the same. Because he felt your absence far more than I did in this school preparation we’ve been doing he last few days. I wonder if he can picture in his mind, the way I can in mine, exactly how you would acted and what you would have said.

I don’t know if I hope he can conjure a mental image of you like that… or not. If it’s going to hurt him more or less as he grows older, remembering you.

Your daughter (my daughter…) doesn’t remember you, not at all. And again, I’m stuck between an emotional rock and a hard place. And not just for my sweet precious fairy girl, but, in some twisted way, for you too.

Because part of me, the part that’s viciously angry and is finally screaming with a mother’s instinct at how you hurt my babies, how dare you… That part of me hopes, spitefully, that wherever you might be you are watching this, regretting what you’ve missed out on, wincing in pain every time you hear the phrase My Daddy died. That it hurts you to watch them grow them up without a father as much as it hurts me.

I think decided, long ago, that dead people don’t feel anything at all. Because I loved you once, very much. And I don’t like to think of you, of anyone, hurting like that.

But you should be here, and my God I am so f*cking furious that if you were here I’d scream and punch and kick at you until I finally made it hurt. Because what happens this morning– my son walking into his first day of school with just his mum, when most kids have two parents by their side… it’s the height of disgusting unfairness.

And right now I don’t blame the universe.

I. Blame. You.

I don’t know what else to write, what else to say to you… as if you’re listening at all. It’s a psychologically accepted fact, Charlie the shrink tells me, that you continue to have a relationship with a dead person. It’s just that its one sided.

Every so often, I talk to you, the way I have done all along. But now it’s different… it always seems to be about the kids. The tone of it is lighter… I rarely cry at you anymore. I was starting to think to that, maybe, myself and the memory of you… we could be friends.

Except for the fact that right now, I can’t f*cking stand you. I think of what you did and its not about me, not right now. It’s about my son and his big wide blue eyes and the look on his face when he sees another kid playing with their father.

Right now… I just hate you for that.



The Chop Does Big School- Part One

by Lori Dwyer on January 30, 2013 · 12 comments

The Chop starts Big School this Thursday.

He’s delighted, more excited than I’ve ever seen him. Ready, in fact, to go off and catch the school bus alone, should I let him (not likely…).

I’m… OK with it. I doubt very much that I’ll be one of the mums–in–tears. I’m not sure my emotional state even allows for that level of sensitivity, or I’d be a mess every single freaking day.

But there’s certainly something poignant and bittersweet and happy–sad about it. I’m so infinitely proud of my mature, kind, practical, sensible, inquisitive little boy.

The First Day of Big School rushed in quickly after seeming to dawdle for months, frustrating both myself and my son with how very far away it seemed. And now that its here, I’m slightly terrified by the reality of it. How did this happen so quickly? Why did it take me until now to realize that this is it– he will no longer have me to shepherd him through treacherous social situations. And it’s the social side that scares me… he’s just a baby, really.

And, of course, he’s my baby.

So I worry. Have I taught him enough…? In all that time that I was living in my own scorching, repeating reality; did I talk enough, show him love and affection…?

I know the answer to that is– I didn’t. And I’ve no doubt that made him tougher, made him grow up faster than he should have. But whether it led to a crumbling, spongy self esteem on the inside… I’m never sure.

And the best I can do about it is make up for lost time. Tell him, now a hundred times a day that I love him, I adore him, that he’s awesome. And cross my fingers that I’ve taught him enough, in terms of what he’ll need for now, going out into the Big Wide World without me, five days a week, six hours a day, without the close supervision of daycare and the familiarity that exists there.

Me and my big boy

Me and my big boy

I hope I be taught him to speak up when he needs to, to make himself be heard if its important. I hope I’ve taught him to use good manners as his default setting, to show other people he respects them without having to say it out loud. I hope I’ve taught him to be kind and friendly, to see the funny side of things. I hope I’ve taught that some people are just not nice, and its best to ignore them as much as you can. And I hope I’ve taught to deal with those situations that eventuate, that will always eventuate– the ones where everyone else is making Fathers Day cards. The times other kids tease him with “You don’t have a dad”. (”You do have a dad…” I tell him and his sister, after he revealed it to me one afternoon, months ago. “You do have a dad. But he died and he’s in Heaven. He would be here, if he could be, and he loves you very much.”)

And, of course… it’s that one that scares me most.

And that’s the over–riding feeling here. It’s not missing Tony, wishing he was here. I used to imagine how sad I’d be, without Tony here to watch our little boy begin his Real, Big Adult Life for the first time. But there is part of me– that deep, simmering anger that’s still pissed off, mostly on my children’s behalf, at my husband for leaving– that is rejoicing, tuning cartwheels of happiness at having this day, my son’s First Day of Big School, as my own. Because I’ve done this, over the last two years– the awesome little person he is, is mainly due to my influence.

I just hope that its been influence enough. Because when it does up, his dad and the simple fact that he’s not here anymore, I want my little boy to have the answers and emotional armor and ammunition he’s going to need to deal with it.

Fingers, well and truly crossed. And only time will tell.



Because you’ve all been very, very well behaved and a lot of you have completed your mission for last weekend; I think its time for a giveaway. Or two. And a vlog. Here- in fact, have these…

Just like the video says- you can win the awesome Logitech HD TV Cam that the Chop and I were showing off on YouTube. It’s all set up and ready to go for Skype- it’s actually easier than using it on the computer. And it’s perfect for those of you who Skype with relatives- it’s just like talking to them sitting in your lounge room, without the sterility of staring at a computer screen.

Logitech TV Cam HD

If you’d like to own this one, just fill out the entry form below…

In addition to that, I’ve had something of an epiphany over the last few weeks. It’s something I’m sure I knew, a long time ago- that being in love makes you feel pretty. And I’ve had much less use for the make up mask I’ve been wearing for a while now. Not that dressing myself up isn’t still awesome fun… it’s just I feel just as pretty with a clean fresh face and no make up.

I know. It’s all a bit ridiculous and feel like a teenager and it’s lovely.

Anyway- to celebrate the New Year and fresh looking skin and feeling awesome, I’ve also got six Olay Total Effects packs valued at RRP$45.48, each with an Olay Total Effects Day Cream Gentle SPF15 (RRP $32.49 and an Olay Total Effects Cream Cleanser (RRP $12.99).

You want? Fill out the entry form below…

Total Effects Day Cream Gentle Bottle 3DTotal Effects Cream Cleanser

Happy form-filling-out!