Words from a friend

A card arrived in my letterbox today, and since it says so much of what I lack the fortitude to express, I have asked (and been granted) permission to share the words here.

I did my first exam today, and expect that I will do OK – no HD, but ok considering the pathetic amount of work I did this semester. And frankly, this semester has coincided with me being a bit more functional – more socially functional, and more importantly, more capable as a mother. So I’ve been focussing my energies on being a great mama to the best kid in the world, and I have no regrets, no matter what results I get.

On Monday, on our way to swimming class, Inigo said, “Mama, if I get sad or scared in the pool today, I’ll wave at you, and you can make me feel better”. “OK Squish”, said I, not really paying attention (as I was driving).

“And if the other kids are sad, I’ll get you too”.

“Oh, baby, if the other kids are sad, they will want their own mamas”.

“No”, says he, “their mamas aren’t as nice as you”.

I think Credits will be fine this semester 🙂

———

6.11.11

Dear Lara,

heavy heart. Grief, shock, regret, memory. I think of you at the mercy of your body, the medical “help”. I think of you as Mama, the hours of Archie’s life going while you are unable to hold, touch, comfort him. I can’t help but think of Archie, and that is what kills me, because we could never explain, never reassure any cries with cuddles, soothing words.

What you experienced that day alone leaves me pathetically repeating myself: I cannot begin to imagine what you must feel – how a Mama can live through that.

And what Archie went through will always cause me so much pain, as everyone tried to help save him, the wee vulnerable mite. Not the gentle entrance to the world you first began to dream of during your pregnancy with Iggy.

And Iggy. If you had lost Archie and Aubrey and not had Iggy, how totally different your grief would have been. Never known the smiles from the booby boy, the relief of sleeping babies, the awesome pride in all the mountains of growth and understanding; and then the speech and personality that soon overtakes you and takes you constantly by surprise. Iggy ecstatic to share something, Iggy seeking comfort, Iggy testing your every ounce of personhood – beautiful Inigo, who has taught you motherhood. I grieve for you and also for your beloved boy as I hear my two in crazy giggles on the floor, as I cradle them both for a story, as I see M (little brother) so comforted by O’s (big brother) kisses, touch, songs, simple presence – and as I see O’s development in his role as big brother. Iggy would have been beautiful. I fantasise these relationships sometimes. I know his life is full of love, but no one else is his brother.

Last year, your life changed, and you changed. You will never be the pre A&A Lara again. Your boys you will take in your heart, in your body, to the grave.

Lara, my darling friend, I will always be here to stand by you and salute and support you, MOTHER OF THREE.

Tears,

Your friend Jx
Mo2
xxx

Use the mobile

If youre trying to call me today, use the mobile. Im at home, but apparently Optus is no longer talking to anyone in Granville. So no Optus customers in Granville can take online exams, or use online study tools, or email lecturers, except via mobile devices.

I am sure this is not a global conspiracy designed to mess with my fragile mental health, and I am doing my best to keep breathing.

Thank you A&R

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A million years ago, when I first worked in an Apple reseller, I met a cool guy called “A”. Recently, Mark and I decided to buy a NAS, and I rang him to talk turkey. Not only was he still in the computer hardware business, he was also about to get married.

At the registry office.

Nothing wrong with that, but it does lack a certain personal touch. I told him I was a celebrant, and suggested that he might consider getting married at the party celebrating the marriage, instead of before the party or after the party. “But I’m going to be dressed as a taco”, he said.

“And?”, said I.

So today, in front of their nearest and dearest, instead of having speeches and cake to represent a commitment, we had a wedding. He dressed as a taco, she as an Egyptian goddess. Me, a Catholic nun.

It was an impossibly joyful ceremony, the bride and groom were emotional and proud, and so excited to be able to declare their commitment in front of their friends and families without the weight of expectation that usually accompanies weddings.

The ceremony went off perfectly, the crowd were surprised, thrilled, and very supportive. And Mark, Inigo and I had a wonderful day, surrounded with love and positivity.

Archie and Aubrey weren’t forgotten, they were with us every second. Yesterday I remembered their birth, and today, the anniversary of the day Archie died, I celebrated life.

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On the appearance of mental health

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Today is my first full day of exam panic. It also coincides with being 364 days after Archie and Aubrey were born, and my ability to put one foot in front of the other (as a figure of speech) feels pretty damn compromised.

I’m still weeks and weeks behind in my exam preparation, which means that if I knuckle down and concentrate for the next 6 days, I might pass. But if I keep wanting to scream hysterically, weep hopelessly, and rage against the sick twist of fate that robbed me of my babies, then I don’t even think I’ll be able to complete the exam.

I can’t see what the rest of the world thinks of me, but I get the impression that I look ok. The kid gets fed, and cuddled, his clothes are mostly clean, the bills are paid, the house is as good as it gets. And I am torn between the feeling that it is enough, that the appearance of a functional life is about as good as I can expect of myself for now, and wondering if I am just so broken that I won’t ever really be normal again.

And that is just way too much head stuff going on when I should be thinking about school.

The real kicker? The topic i have been studying for the past few days is about psychological disorders. Triggers anyone?

For the first time ever,

I didn’t have a bet on the Melbourne Cup. I am ethically opposed to horse racing, but growing up, my dad used to take me to the races, and he usually puts on a bet for me.

Today I was driving home from an appointment with a wedding couple when the race was on, and I didn’t have time to put on a bet. Pick a number, I thought to myself, just before the race started.

Squishy and I have been playing “guess the number” on long car trips, so I immediately thought of him, and how my little guy wasn’t going to be three for much longer.

“Three”, I said to myself.

It was much, much later that I realised that the winner was actually number three!