Romance

She has a romantic heart
Not flowers and chocolates
The romance of music wafting through the air
The sounds of bird roosting in the evening
Warm spring breezes and cool summer streams

Romance is dying they say
But to her it was barely beginning
The feel of her child hands on her skin
Sipping good wine after a cold day
The way the city ebbs and flows

From the outside her life would seem bland, almost to dull to bear but she so often saw the romance in the world, her heart would fill and tears of love would roll down her cheeks.

Romance is where you see it
And she saw it everywhere

She was Lonely

The more she thought about it the more she had to admit she was lonely, not in the common sense of the word, she went to work and talked to customers and collegues, but that's what they were, just customers and collegues nothing more than light banter through the day.

Of course she had him, he walked in the door at the end of the day and she felt herself explode at him with everything that those professional relationships left unsaid, her thoughts, her feelings, her heart thrown out in words that barely made sense. They were said with a desperate need to share those parts of herself that she kept for people who were safe, she felt she could see him reeling sometimes as the words came out sounding like machine gun fire, rat a tat a tat a tat.

So she wrote blog post after blog post letting those feeling and thoughts have somewhere else to live, than squarely on his shoulders, ever aware that her big personality could not comfortably be carried by one person, no matter how much he loved her. Comments came and went and they reminded her that sometimes her thoughts were being shared with others and it helped, but it was not the same, and she longed for others to talk to, to share with and to have them share with her, more than the bore of the day or the next thing on the never ending list of items to tick off the to do lists.

She had family and they took some of her, they took the bits that you can normally share with family, and inside she quietly thanked them. Sometimes after a long week she could see the weight of her bearing down upon him, almost visibly feeling heavy with her emotions. But sometimes you can't talk to family about somethings and even if you can the phone is not always the best way to really share and listen.

Because that was the point, as much as the dominant feeling was wanting to share, she also wanted to be shared with, she wanted to give her ear, her shoulder and her brain to others. He was so wonderfully simple in his feelings and as much as that makes a good partner it leaves a hole ... A hole that only a good friend can fill.

She recalls friends from the past, some who moved away, others who's lives took different directions and a small few who had left her, or whom she had left in the midst of some sort of growth, emotional turmoil, or just bad timing. She missed them all sometimes, she missed the warm banter, having people to call on saturdays when she was home alone, she missed good friends, everyday friends, best friends.

It wasn't like she wasn't trying, but getting idle chit chat to turn into less idle chit chat, turn into something resembling friendship was hard. So she kept chatting, and hoping that someday she would find some people who would see her, accept her, maybe even love her in the way friends do.

Then one day some chit chat, turned into going home for tea, she remembered that you need to be brave and courageous in life and never more than when you are showing people who you are and hoping that they accept you. Chit chat, turned into talking, which turned into deep talking, and then friend begat friends and before she knew it, friends they were, good friends, loved friends.

She is not so lonely anymore, she has people to call, people who take some of the weight of her, he mentions that he feels lighter and she quietly thanks them under her breath, and she wonders if they know and know that she is sharing the weight of them as well, she wonders if she should tell them ... But decides to blog about it instead :)

Conversations

She walks into the room, unsure what she will find. He lays quietly in the bed, at first she is unsure that he is awake, but as she slowly moves further in she sees he is watching TV, unable to focus enough to read anymore, she clears her throat to announce her arrival, but instead of the usual beaming smile to welcome her she catches his eye and sees a glassiness, she becomes aware how much the situation has changed in just a few days.

She thinks back to the father of her childhood. From the beginning beyond their dark features there was no doubt that she was her fathers daughter. You could see it in the way they both rested their head in their hands the same way, both clicked their toes unthinkingly as they watched television, both were openly affectionate, and they both knew the feeling of kissing someone hello only to realise that the recipient was not comfortable with the kiss. As people often say, the things you find annoying in others are often things you don't like much in yourself, so they had also had their fair share of father daughter disputes, but they had happily survived and grown and found a new admiration for each other as adults. They were able to talk for hours, about things that both of them knew no body else would understand, at least not in the way they understood each other, and although their lives kept them from seeing each other often, they always thought that there would be time after her children grew and his work subsided that they would once again be able to sit together and ponder the universe. But life has a way of making you slow down ... Even when you think there isn't enough time.

Bad news always seemed to come to her in a phone call, that job she didn't get, the boy that broke her heart, it was her father than had called her all those years ago to tell her her mother had died, and then there was the phone call from him years later to tell her that they had found a mass, so small that you would barely think it could cause so much trouble, but it was inoperable and they told him he probably only had a few months to live.

They were wrong, it had been three years, since that tiny lump in his brain was discovered, and in that time she had decided that time was the one thing that they could no longer take for granted. So she shared his journey, as much as one can when the path is leading someone towards the end of life. She amazed over the peace he acquired and the strength that he showed everyone one around him, she cried often after their talks wondering which one would be their last, who would understand her once he was gone? She came to see him often and watched as the conversations slowly got more muddled and he became the shadow of his former self, she helped him eat when he was unable, took him to the toilet, helped him brush his teeth, but even this pale version of him, could still laugh with her, rant with her and worry for her, because within it all he was still her father.

She looked at him again lying on the bed, his knees curled up, looking older and more fragile than she had ever seen him before, the nurses told her that he was fading but she was still surprised. She walked over smiling, sat on the bed and wrapped her arms around him knees.

"Hey sweetheart, how are you?" she asked, he looked at her and some of the glassiness lifted .... There he was, faded as he may be, in his eyes there was the father she knew. He told her he wasn't feeling well and when she asked "what's going on" he said faintly, "honey, I don't think I have long left" she let out a wretched sob, "I know" she said softly and saw tears welling up in his eyes, she stumbled over her words, but managed to say "are you scared?" and was relieved when his answer was no.

And so she held his knees tightly and they talked about what was to come, for her and for him, it was a quiet, intensely sad conversation and one that she will remember for the rest of her life, after all it was the last they ever had.

The Rainbow Blanket

She lies in bed and pulls the blanket around her shoulders. It drapes heavily over her and her child, shielding them from the winter chill.

She looks down at its myriad of colours and remembers watching her mother knit square, after square, after square.  Her mother asked her to put the 100 squares into sets of four, picking combinations of colours that bounced off each other in a way that pleased her, then she asked what colour she would like the edge ... It was a different time, these days she would have answered green, but she was so much younger then and she asked for black.  And so night after night that winter she watched as her mother knitted those squares together to make a bedspread to big for her childhood bed, and wondered if it had been an accident that there were so many squares.

She looks at it again feeling its weight warming her and her child, and wonders now if her mother made it without knowing but somehow knowing that after she was long gone, her daughter would spread that magnificent rainbow blanket on her bed on cold winters nights and it would warm her and the grandchild she would never meet ... And they would both remember that she loves them.

Bedtime Embrace

He wakes gently, sitting upright with a smile.  He looks over and sees me laying here watching him as he stirs.  We catch each others gaze, sleepy, soft and warm.  He gets out of bed and tiptoes over to me climbs under the covers and holds me for a moment caressing my back with his warm hands.  It has become a nightly ritual and one I look forward to every night, quietly I whisper into his ear 'I love you' eyes closed he murmurs back 'I love you to mumma'

He doesn't know the time, to him it may have only been moments since I tucked him in to bed, but I know it has been hours and every night I am reminded of those times when he was small enough to fit in my lap and how I would wait impatiently, filled with awe of this new love, for him to wake so I could kiss him again.

He opens his eyes and kisses me then crawls out of my bed and back into his.  If only I could bottle these perfect moments of motherhood, love and soft nightly embraces.

She Did Not Wear White

She is standing at the doors of the chapel, looking down past the pews filled with people, at him waiting for her.  Her son is holding her arm, ready to walk her down the isle, she looks at him and thinks about how handsome he looks in his suit.  She is glad that he doesn't look like his father, she can look at him and not remember the hard years she spent with the wrong man.  She is not wearing white, he is not her first, but she believes that he will be her last.

She has been thinking about this day for months, maybe even years. She walks slowly and dares to look at the faces staring at her in the crowd, friends and family and people she barely knows.  She thinks about the choice of flowers, about the words she is going to say and she looks at him, waiting for her.

He always waited for her, even within the arguments that would raise the roof, he was slow to rise and easy to placate and as she stormed and ranted he sat quietly and waited for a break in the storm, where he could come and kiss away her anger and fears.

She walked slowly, and the fear set in, in her mind she thought over the what if's, and the how to's, she wondered if she could change her mind, if she could bargain her way out, but then she looked, and saw him and knew that her heart was waiting before her, she had loved him for many years and would love him for the rest of her life.

She let go of her sons hand, walked towards him and gently placed her hand on him, then she walked to the podium and looked at the crowd and said simply, with tears rolling down her cheeks;

"There is so much I could say, but time will not allow the retelling of a life lived to the full, so I will simply say, I'll miss you all the days of my life, I love you, drive safely my love"

Withdrawal

We sit here, waiting .......
The noise buzzing and shuffling around us
While we sit here, waiting .......
Strange, delightful and disturbing smells drift pass
The occasional bang or clamor from down the hall
But like cattle in a stall we are waiting ........

For our coffee

Quietly Smiling

It snowed on the day you died,
The world quietly mourning too,
Heavily we manage a smile, that day
Amid the chaos and grief
Your much further away now
Smiles come often and easy
Though under, I feel the emptiness you left
Within that space and as time passes
There is new strength, and warmth
Life hold more wonders and beauty than ever
Although I miss you always
I know these days, I can always smile

The Moleskin

It sits on my shelf with its soft black leather cover, filled with clotted cream pages, all with rounded corners.  There is nothing sharp about it, its purpose is to lull you into it, to welcome you warmly to its pages and urge you forward.

It has graced a thousand artists satchels, lay crumpled and wine stained in a thousand musicians back pockets, and held a million ideas or stories, songs or sketches.

Mostly they stay inside as its owner gratefully empties their ideas into it just glad to have somewhere safe to unload their busy minds, but sometimes, all too rarely it shares a part of itself with the world.

People have fallen in love to its music, or been angered by its words, they have been moved by its pictures and have had to alter their perceptions with it's equations.  Who knows one day it could open its pages and share something that will change the world.

Inside its soft leather cover, filled with perfectly unmarked clotted cream pages, all with rounded corners, there lies infinite possibilities.

Eulogy

I have been thinking about mum a lot so far this year.  It might be because I'm the same age mum was when she had me, or that in May this year it will be 10 years since she died, or that it would be her 65th birthday this friday, or maybe just time in the cycle of life for her to be more prominent in my thoughts.

Today for the first time in years I reread the eulogy that I gave at mums funeral, other than a few parts (which now feel young, but I guess I was) it still sums up how I feel about mum and who she was in my life.  So I am going to post it to the blog, I guess its a weird thing to post, but it feels like time to put out to the cosmos how loved she was.  

It is unedited, except for spelling;

Firstly I would like to thank everybody for coming, not just to pay there respects to mum, but also to show our family how much love there is out there for mum, I feel so much pride to see how many hearts mum must have touched.

I really felt I needed it get up here today, again not so much for mum but for me, so that I could stand up here in front of all the people that loved her, and tell them how grateful I am that I was blessed with such a special person for my mum.

When I was younger I used to keep a diary, mum would constantly joke that she was going to get me a stamp made saying “my mum is wonderful” and I was to stamp it at the top of each page, at the time I told her to get a life and stop being such a dork, like most rebellious 14 year olds, but when I was 16 mum had a close call in hospital and we didn’t think that she would be coming home to us, it was then that I realised that there are no second chances to tell people how you feel and I had a lot to tell mum including how wonderful I thought she was.  That, was until recently the worst time of my life, at the same time thought it made our relationship richer and closer, and I was able to say all the things that so many people often leave unsaid, I thanked her for being the best mum anyone could ever have.

A good friend of mine said recently that he never knew an adult to be so generous with three things first was her house, second her fridge, and third was her conversation.  I think that’s what a lot of the people that came to our house over the years thought, although the fridge might have been more relevant to all the males.

When I was growing up, mums place was always known as an open house, and to the select few people that knew about the secret entrance they know that’s literally what it was.  She always made everyone feel welcome and it was nothing for mum to get up at midnight and make the hoards of 6-foot males stomping through her house, a toasted sandwich.  She loved the fact that I always felt free to bring people home and that we would play music and laugh and make the house would come alive, even if it did interrupt her sleep quite frequently.

As an only child people ask me if I was spoilt and I used to say in only love, recently though I have realised that I was spoilt in much more than that, she spoilt me in respect, in laughter, in freedom and in letting me learn to be an individual, in loving my friends and making them feel welcome, in picking me up from the pub at 4.00am, in letting me make the house our home not her just hers, in just giving a sigh when I brought home yet another stray, in letting boys sleep over much to the horror of other parents, in sticking up for me even when I was wrong, in staying away from me when I had PMT, in making me breakfast before school even though I used to hide it under the bed, in almost believing the dog was the one who pulled the clothes line down, in laughing with me when I got drunk at that Christmas party at 16, in hugs, in conversation, in rubbing talcum powder on my back on hot nights, in letting me sleep in her bed after watching too much Dr Who, in teaching me to have my own opinions, in loving and respecting my dad and listing my stepmother as one of her dearest friends, in being open about her life,  and  treating me like an adult, all of those things helped make me into the person that I am today. 

In fact her liberal parenting made more than one of the parents surrounding her cringe but in the end no child has ever had more respect for a parent and no child has ever been able to share more with a parent than I have with mum.

Mum had a strong sense of family so much so that it extended out to the people closet to her she had so much love to give that her friends, my friends and her workmates were all part of her extended family and she loved us all.

She will always be with all of us in our hearts and in our memories standing beside us in the hard times and rejoicing with us in the good times I know this without a doubt, mostly because that was one of mums strongest beliefs but also because she could be a stubborn old cow when she wanted to be, and nothing not even death would get in the way of her watching out for all of us.

I will miss mum for the rest of my life, she was the best friend I could ever have but I will try to spend my time celebrating her life not mourning her death because I know that is exactly what she would have wanted.

Preschool Days

Life passing faster than my feet
Watching you grow, and mature
Beyond my years
I will see you pass me, If I do my job well
Grow fast and strong and perfect
Building you life away from us
I will never leave you
As you will never leave my heart
So my loves fly away,(slowly)
on wings grown strong in our arms

(Not quiet poetry)

Mothering Myself

It comes to me that I am
The hardest part of mothering
To give of myself
My patience and love
My time and body
To learn, to forget and relearn again
To find paths down hard roads
See goodness as it is
To believe that I am enough
And to forgive my own mistakes
And so I learn slowly
To give and take with myself
To mother me as I a mother them
Maybe I will raise myself as well

Not a Poem ........

Driving alone, I still
Feel your feet
On the back of my chair
Like a missing arm
So a part of me
I feel you even when
You are not near

Jammed

Cars rush hurriedly along busy roads
Beeping and winding
Bobbing in and out of traffic
Never seeing what they pass
Then quiet unexpectedly
It stops
To a slower pace
In our metal boxes we are prisoners
Is it the universe
Getting us to slow
Hoping our minds will follow
But there are no rose to stop and smell
On the motor way
Except in my mind

Sunrise in the City

Quietly in this big city
The sun rises
Its a new day,
People walk their dogs
A baby is born
Shopping to be done
Someone dies
Life turns
The city wakes
Dragging us into the throng

Til Death

She knows he is dying
Standing strong by his side
Hysteria tearing at her insides
He looks at her
With his soft grey eyes
Wishing he could take it away
Hoping she will stay
This is their life, their journey
No one knows how it will end
Except that she will stay
And he will not

Quietly Thinking

Sitting quietly, thinking and planning

Who will I be?

What will I do?

Not quiet I'm only two

What is this thing?

Where is my mum?

How am I going to fill my tum?

I should got to bed :)

Rain Rain go Away

Rainy days with red boots on
Puddle splashing, faces smiling,
I don't like rainy days
But I like some of the things
That happen on them

As you sleep

And as you sleep, i will dream

of times to come

and that have been

wondering aloud who will we be?

with spirits high and with voices free

Follow ...

Follow the path she said
Where to we replied
Follow the path and you will see
And we followed and we saw
And we knew she was right

This time ......