Grief and Homecoming

May 16, 2015May 17, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

11225864_963162780384234_420360280_n — Today was your birthday

The 15th May was your birthday, Serena. You would have turned 41. This time last year, I was wrapping your gift, and my daughter was writing in your 40th birthday card. Tonight, we were getting ready to take you out for dinner with the kids. There was no indication that you were sick at all. Six months later, you were gone. I wish I had told you how much I loved you, how valued you were. I hope you knew. What would we do differently if we had known? I was grateful that my daughter had a science workshop. It meant getting up early, and taking a train and bus to Balmain. It meant escaping.

We had breakfast in a dear little café.

I had wilted spinach and mushrooms on sourdough bread. It was spectacular. Serena, you loved Balmain. You loved the city. I took my daughter to her workshop, run by a wondrous educator called Luisa. Dr Karl Kruszelnicki was going to answer the kid’s pressing questions. My daughter gave me this look, as she ushered me out.

I was left to wander the streets of Rozelle and Balmain. It is such a happy place, filled with beloved dogs, families, musicians and art. When I was eighteen, I lived here, in an old stable. I lived close to the wharf, and remembered my first home fondly. There I was, living in a stable, and my landlord was named Moses. I wondered what it was like now? I walked down Darling St, until I came to the series of stables.

11253828_963042190396293_403813207_n — A beautiful idea for the base of a tree in Rozelle.

I moved one cold winter night into Balmain, and our neighbours greeted me the next morning with coffee and toast. They leant me furniture, and were so very thoughtful. I shuddered when I thought of the neighbour who had died after I moved out. She had been sitting up in bed, playing a computer game, when a person unknown had shot her through the window. I was devastated when I learnt of her passing. She had loved Balmain, been there all her life. She was her husband’s sweetheart, and he unabashedly told everyone he met. Grief, there it was again. Sorrow as I looked at the home in front of the stables, where she had lived for twenty years in a quiet street in a leafy suburb. She left a lasting impression with her kindness and warmth. I have told my daughter about you. Another neighbour, Sid, had hidden about ten wild cats in his stable, despite the fact we weren’t allowed pets. He gave me a television set he had fixed up because I was kind to his felines.

I wondered why I had ever left this gorgeous place. It still feels like home. I was uncovering parts of myself when I lived here, my fingernails cracked and dirty after digging through shattered fragments of my psyche. I remembered when I sat in the park, elated, after having gone to the shops by myself. It was a very big deal. Living in this little village had made me brave. I walked for hours, up and down Darling St, and through laneways groaning with greenery and flowers. I was trying to escape the heaviness in my chest. I knew it was only a matter of time before the heavy clouds released their burden.

Joy

May 16, 2015May 21, 2015 raphaela99Leave a comment

We went on a tour of our town’s annual art show. It was a thrill to see the names of friend’s amongst the talented artists. My little girl was buoyant. She has settled into the new regime of home schooling superbly, and her confidence has been lifted. To be able to do things in her own time means so much for a dyslexic kid. The pressure has lifted. She ran in to find me that morning, squealing that we had new baby guinea pigs. We certainly did! Five in all.

They are a bit cute!

Snowball is the father. Here he is munching on a corn cob. He broke into the girl's hutch, hence the surprise conception! — Snowball is the father. Here he is munching on a corn cob. He broke into the girl’s hutch, hence the surprise conception!

My little girl, I love hearing you read. I love feeling your joy when you “get” a word. I look forward to seeing what you are going to do in this world. I know guinea pigs, music and art will feature throughout your life, as well as birds and trees! I am delighted that you are coming into your own. You aren’t dyslexic. Rather, you have dyslexia. It is extraordinary how much music and art, compassion and strength can be found in one little girl. I am sad about the times you felt alone, frustrated and exhausted from the dyslexia. I will do everything in my power to make sure that is never the case again. We are able to sound out words, and spell them in a song. If you go to a workshop and are struggling, the teacher lets you use symbols rather than words. It is working.

Controversy

May 13, 2015May 15, 2015 raphaela992 Comments

You want to know what the most controversial post I put on Facebook was? It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t about religion, politics nor mothering. It was about…Punch bowls! I will give you a moment to digest that.

I found a marvellous photo on Pinterest about how to repurpose your old punch bowls, seeing as they rarely get used these days. Turn ’em into birdbaths! Brilliant! I excitedly shared this idea, only to be shouted down. “I would never do such a thing to a family heirloom! How dare you!” I was astonished by the replies. When I scrolled back to my post, there was a vigorous debate going on. I was fascinated, and thought about the storm whirring above my head. I came to the conclusion that the reaction wasn’t really about punch bowls. That would be silly. It was about stress and pressure and exhaustion. Misplaced cries carried in the wind.

Remember the grief after Princess Diana died? There were people weeping in the streets, inconsolable. The grief was certainly for her and her boys, but also for the individual person. The tears that they hadn’t been able to spill prior over the loss of loved ones… It gave people permission to console, reach out and sob. Now we have the internet, we have thousands of tunnels into the deep recesses of our minds. Anger, fear, grief and sorrow are syphoned out into the light. It isn’t just about punch bowls. When somebody becomes outraged at a seemingly innocuous post, remind yourself of that. Tread gently, with compassion.

I became a model

May 12, 2015May 13, 2015 raphaela995 Comments

I was asked to model at a Pink Lipstick function to benefit the excellent Mater Dei School. The clothes were exquisite, from a darling little shop called Sarita’s, A Collective Emporium. I immediately said “yes!” I then freaked out for about five minutes. The usual suspects of intruding thoughts rapped on my head. “Oi you! How very dare you think you can be a model! You are a short old boiler with a limp and cane! Sure, you eat your veggies (we know you are a vegetarian, duh), but you also drink wine, eat chocolate and have a penchant for salt and vinegar chips! How very dare you!” I told the usual suspects to bugger off. I was doing it.

11216328_958944317472747_1157159951_n — Salt and vinegar chips

My daughter cheered at the rehearsal, enthralled and proud of her mum. If I want to set a good example for her, I have to live it, and not let silly thoughts dampen my life. The day came, and I went to the function centre with a fellow model.

11245167_960511850649327_1163865281_n — Sharon’s Photography

The Green Room was filled with women of all shapes and ages. They all looked glorious. They were all celebrated. I felt myself tearing up when they walked onto the stage to rapturous applause. I was on three times. I tripped over at first, then got confused and instead of scooting around to the back of the stage, I ended up in the kitchen! Flustered, I eventually found my way. I had my own fan club in the audience, and was met with hollers of “go Raphie!” I didn’t know where to look, so did the model thing of gazing into the distance intently.

It was nerve-wracking, and a great deal of fun combined. I had to get over myself; celebrate who I am and the gorgeous hats, vests and cardigans I had been clothed in. It’s as easy and as hard as that. Nobody was commenting that I had a cheek, being on the stage. The critics weren’t shouting ‘how very dare she!’ So what if they were? It shouldn’t affect me, nor alter my world in the slightest. If I want my daughter to walk with her shoulders back and head raised, I need to lead the way. Even if it means leaving a trail of chips.

Making Time

April 24, 2015 raphaela992 Comments

Sometimes, it feels like there is no time. Racing from one appointment and activity to the next. Friends come into your mind, and you determine to get in touch. The day ends, and by the time you remember (usually late at night), it is too late. I hadn’t seen a group of friends for well over a year. I used to go to a meditation on an old train carriage, placed in a friend’s garden. The foliage around it was moist, and frogs would hop onto you as you slid open the door. You would be treated to ambient music and twinkling lights as you arranged yourself in a chair. We would laugh together and tell stories. They cheered for me when I was going through IVF, and celebrated when I fell pregnant. When my daughter arrived, they cooed over her.

It was time for a reunion. It was overdue. We met at a glorious place on the way to the Southern Highlands, hugging and chatting as though we had never been apart. Over a lazy Sunday brunch, eight women caught up, and then went to a yurt, owned by one of the ladies. There we sang, and laughed some more. We determined that there weren’t to be any more long intervals between catch-ups in future.

I have another group of friends who were my rock through the early days of endometriosis and infertility. We are all scattered about the city, and we remark often that it is best for society that we aren’t able to see each other frequently. We are noisy, cheeky and quite hilarious when together. Anything can happen, and usually does.

I love them more than all the stars in the sky, so impressed am I with their irreverence and spunk. We went to a high-end jewellery store to inquire about the cleaning of a necklace, and were treated with a look of distaste. One of the ladies below became impertinent, which provoked more giggles. These are the sort of people who encourage an environment where you don’t have to watch what you say. In fact, the ruder your train of thought, the better. Light relief in a world so heavy and grey.

They haven’t had it easy, but then again, no true heroine ever has. It has propelled them to be funnier, try harder, have more empathy than your average woman.
I broke three umbrella’s in the storms that deluged Sydney earlier this week. My daughter started Term 2 of home schooling, and it was back to our hectic schedule.

So far, we have made a volcano erupt, worked with clay, attended workshops and kids meditation and she has completed several online lessons. Trying to find balance is ever-challenging. I am working on it, and if I hit upon the secret to organization, I will let you know! One thing I do get, is that maintaining a social life is a necessity. Organizing catch-ups isn’t in spite of the hectic schedules we all have, rather it is so we can keep enduring them.

Self-Acceptance

April 14, 2015April 14, 2015 raphaela996 Comments

I have had my weight remarked on twice in the past week. “Have you lost weight? You look like you have.” It was meant to commend me, most likely on an imaginary stringent diet and ruthless exercise regime. It had the opposite effect. Was I considered overweight before? Not as acceptable? My weight is like the tide, it fluctuates. I don’t weigh myself, nor focus on my weight. I couldn’t give a flying fig, frankly. I need to walk and do weight’s to combat insulin resistance and fragile bones. That is all.

I am a busy lady, and any available head space is filled with other concerns. I think of my friend with liver disease, who is doing everything in her power to keep well. The friend undergoing chemotherapy. So many friends enduring pain and illness. I think of friendship and shared meals and toasting with a good drop of wine. Weight is rarely stable for anyone. Surgery, illness, puberty, pregnancy, infertility treatments, menopause and a perfect storm of endocrine issues sees to that. My aim is to live and do it well. I remember being an adolescent, and feeling empowered by how underweight I was. Filling myself with water before the dreaded weigh-in, eating a dreadful concoction for breakfast that the other girls insisted set like cement and filled you up for the day. Walks were treks of pain, lasting hours. I can’t recall noticing anything of beauty on these hikes. That wasn’t the purpose of undergoing them.

Time has changed everything. I walk with my little girl, holding her hand. I actually take deep, fresh pockets of air into my lungs. I notice beauty. If I were to focus on my weight, I wouldn’t have time to live. I have been there, taking my pocket calorie counter to the shops, weighing and examining everything I encountered. I ended up sick and depressed. It was the opposite of life.

Seeking Movement and Colour and Life (part 2)

April 9, 2015 raphaela993 Comments

Easter Monday, I needed to escape all the jobs that needed doing. I needed to watch my child have fun, and for her to carry me along in her whimsy. My friend Annette, and her son, were coming along for the ride. At the station I met another friend and her son.

It is like no time has passed when you meet old friends.

This lady is a professional dancer, and doesn’t walk through life, she saunters. The horticulturist, dancer and writer boarded the train with their kids, and struck up a conversation with these delightful people.

One of the ladies was a pharmacist from Missouri. I asked where these friends had met, and it turned out it was on a Pandora cruise! Seeing my puzzlement, my new friend Brenda handed us several precious bracelets.

Her late fiancée had bought quite a few pieces for her collection. They were holy. They weren’t inanimate objects, but relayed stories of times past and dreams yet to be fulfilled. Each bead held a piece of her soul, and were embedded with his devotion. We shared details of our lives. There was laughter and connectedness. My dancer friend departed with her son, as did Brenda and her friends.

This was on a stall in the ladies' at Museum Station — This was on a stall in the ladies’ at Museum Station. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life! Live!’

11136791_943793848987794_145063382_n — At Hyde Park, munchkin wanted to prove how strong she was.

We also met 'I am basketball man' — We also met ‘I am basketball man’

We couldn't resist purchasing some delicacies from this chocolate shop — We couldn’t resist purchasing some delicacies from this chocolate shop

Walking up to Susannah Place, we stopped at many wondrous shops, and admired the architecture along cobbled streets.

We had ice cream and saw more beauty, more colour, more life than we could absorb. The whole day was unscripted. That is what made it so glorious. There are more good people in the world than bad, and more wonder than you can possibly imagine. I love seeing Sydney through a child’s eyes.

Seeking Movement and Colour and Life (Part 1)

April 7, 2015 raphaela993 Comments

I was meant to see Rod Stewart last week but due to circumstances out of my control, I couldn’t go. I put my granny knickers back in the drawer, and purchased two tickets to a charity screening of Cinderella instead. Saffron from Kid About and Kaity are two local businesswomen who joined forces to raise money for Kids of Macarthur Health Foundation . They put together a magnificent event, resplendent with face painting, photo props and raffles. My little girl and I went beforehand to Coco Cubano and shared a platter. Munchkin had a mango drink and I had a Mojito. We had endured a crazy schedule that day, starting off at drama lessons. Now to get there, we have to catch a train through the suburb where I fell. The building is right near the railway line, and visible in all its glory. Every week, I hold my breath, and shudder with conflicting emotions. Gratitude that I am alive two decades after the event. A feeling of absurdity that I am taking my daughter to her activities past the building which held the ledge which held the villain…A feeling of defiance. ‘Up yours! I am still here!’ A feeling of sorrow. ‘I was so little…’ I took this grainy picture and somehow it seemed fitting. The scratches upon the train window are evident. It is grainy as the building whizzed by, much like my life on that particular evening.

Anyway, we had been to drama and then guitar lessons. Mummy’s spine was beyond agonizing. I leant over toward the seat in front for some relief on the bus. Mummy needed a Mojito by the time we got to our pre-movie café.

11082435_291413370982468_8271569592284370652_o — I met many familiar faces at the movies, including Nicci, our cupcake aficionado.

I didn’t know what to expect with this retelling of Cinderella and it was beyond my imaginings. It held all the little girls spellbound, and the ladies gasped at the visual feast on-screen. The settings were beautiful. The villains were beyond contemptible; vile and bitter. Fortunately, they didn’t take Cinderella’s light. She didn’t end up a twisted old bat, wounding others as she had been. She became more of who she was inside. May that be the case with us all. I am so glad we went, to support our friends and the wonderful organization who was benefitting, and to see Cinderella come into her own.

What do you see?

March 13, 2015March 13, 2015 raphaela9911 Comments

I have been noticing all the judgement out there because of photographs. Some are of toddlers eating a cookie, others are of someone posing arms outstretched, smiling on their holiday. Photos can tell so much, but sometimes the story is concealed. I have been dismayed by those judged and blasted on social media because of a photo. The cookie was controversial; another photo was blasted because someone you don’t get along with was in the picture. The list goes on. I have only had one set of photos done professionally, when my daughter was 18 months of age. They tell a story but not in its entirety. They don’t tell of the events leading up to them being taken, nor of how sick I would get shortly afterward.

In the following pictures, I look polished. I wonder what they speak of? Let me take you behind the scene. I had lost one of my best friend’s, and limped into the new year. I was planning on home schooling my daughter and wondered if I could do it. I felt like rubbish. Deflated and plunging into depression. I hadn’t had my hair done at a hairdresser’s in a very long time. On the eve of the new school year, I ventured into a salon on a whim. Yes, they could fit me in. I asked for my long splintered hair to be shorn, and colour to be put through. “Do you want a quote before we start?” I was asked. I thought, ‘gee, if I need a quote, this is gonna be expensive!’ “That would be lovely,” I smiled. $270 was the quote! I opted to just have my hair shorn, and purchase a bottle of $6 violet dye afterward. I had just heard that a dear friend had been diagnosed with cancer, and another with a compromised liver. As the locks fell, I felt myself come out of my melancholic cocoon. I had to be strong for them, for myself, my daughter and our new venture. When I was done, I was delighted. I felt free of memories, pain and 2014… I knew I would never be able to replicate the blow dry I received in the salon, and so I took a series of pics with my phone. There was no posing, no professional photography. Just me. A facet of who I am. So, next time you see the holiday pics, the pictures on a blog, or on the web, remember that all is not as it seems. There is more than one facet to a diamond. So it is with people. I bet that toddler doesn’t eat cookies for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and did you know that the smiling lady in the holiday snap has just completed treatment for cancer? A photo tells a story, though can’t include all the books in a person’s library. This haircut helped me regroup, as silly as it may sound. I gathered the detritus of 2014, and continued on my way into 2015. Ask what was happening in a person’s life at the time a photo was taken. It is an important question, and the person will be glad you cared enough to hear the back-story.

Stained Glass Wolves

March 7, 2015 raphaela996 Comments

In my travels, I met an extraordinary young lady called Celia. She started Stained Glass Wolves on Facebook. It is for ‘victims and survivors of abuse, homelessness, domestic violence and the people who support them.’ There are two projects on the hop at the moment, Basic Love Packs and Knitting to Spread the Love and Warmth. The mascot is The Mistress of Awesomeness and she certainly is! Apart from everything else she does, she is also a singer-songwriter.

Celia is 28, and lives in Sydney. She is currently an AIN, working in a nursing home, and is also studying nursing at university. She believes in true equality, love, loyalty, compassion,truth, genuineness, dignity and justice. She has three specific missions in life:
1. To run her charity, Stained Glass Wolves, and reach out to the broken.
2. To sing and write.
3. To be a qualified nurse educator specialising in brain trauma and also making specific care plans for individuals; working with families, carer’s and the client to make a manageable plan to give that person the best quality of life.

Celia has qualifications in mechanics, and in the hospitality industry. There is nothing she can’t do, teaching herself to knit via YouTube. As a child, she was abused in every way a young girl can be, and was told that she was worthless. She refused to believe it. How she healed, and what she has done, are truly inspirational. She has suffered depression, nightmares and flashbacks, but miraculously survived. The heart seared with great suffering often becomes the heart with the greatest capacity for love and compassion. Nobody came and rescued her from the thatch of thorns where she lay. She retrieved herself.

She found her calling in nursing after encountering a 104 year old lady in a nursing home who inspired her. She applied to study, and a letter arrived from the ACU. She reluctantly opened it, thinking it was a rejection letter. They instead wanted to know why she hadn’t accepted her placement. She checked her spam, and there was an acceptance email! Check your spam, people! At university, she noticed there was a scheme, offering placement overseas to the student with the highest mark. She applied and was accepted! She went to Cambodia, volunteering in health camps, and also travelled to Georgia College in Atlanta. Like I said, inspiring. She is the rainbow after the darkness dissipates. A survivor in every sense. If you would like to learn more, visit Stained Glass Wolves.