Category: Friendship.

Dolly

raphaela994 Comments

My heart broke when I saw the tribute (featured below),on the Akubra Hats Facebook page to Dolly. Dolly was a  girl whom had featured in their Christmas ads in years past…

This is not an easy post to write. We were shocked and distressed to hear of the passing of “Dolly” – the young girl many of you will recognise from our past Christmas adverts. This beautiful photo was taken 8 years ago.

Dolly chose to end her life last week due to bullying. She was not even 15 years old.

To think that anyone could feel so overwhelmed and that this was their only option is unfathomable. Bullying of any type is unacceptable. It is up to us to stand up when we see any kind of bullying behaviour. Dolly could be anyone’s daughter, sister, friend. We need to make sure that anyone in crisis knows there is always someone to talk to. Be a friend, check up on your mates.

Our hearts go out to her family and friends.

“Dolly” Amy Jayne Everett 1.5.2003-3.1.2018

#stopbullyingnow #doitfordolly #justbekind

Edit: We would like to remind everyone that this is not the place to speculate, question, lay blame or call for repercussions. Please keep your comments respectful. We will delete any comments that are not fitting for this page and post. Right now is the time to pull together and show support for Dolly’s family.

If you need someone to talk to:

Lifeline: 13 11 14

Suicide Call Back Service: 1300 659 467

MensLine Australia: 1300 78 99 78

beyondblue: 1300 22 46 36

Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800

I can only hope that 2018 shall see a kinder society take shape, a world where Dolly and every other kid on the planet feels valued, respected and has kindness bestowed on them, rather than cruelty. I have tried to teach my daughter to listen to what her peers say. Do they make cutting jibes about others, putting it under the heading, ‘just joking?’ Do they want to get their own way without compromise, and display anger and silence when it doesn’t go their way? Do they exclude? All can be red flags of trouble to come within that friendship. I have tried to teach my daughter to be kind but firm in return. If somebody treats you in such a way, and is hot and cold toward you, walk away. Your emotional health is not worth the friendship, and it is certainly not worth your precious life. Dolly’s beautiful family  are grieving deeply, and even through their despair, they have reached out via social media. They want this bullying to stop. They want to educate. They want kindness to take the place of cruelty. In Dolly’s name, may it be so.

Looking Back on 2017

raphaela99Leave a comment

As I look back on 2017, images and memes peek out at me.

There were fireworks over Sydney Harbour, a celebration with 1.6 million people.

There was exhaustion on every level, and grief for a young lady who passed before her time. Conversations have been more open as a result, and many a brave demeanour has slipped. It is time for us all to be transparent, and to let it be known when we find it hard to face another day. It has rattled me to the core, the falling of people who can seemingly do anything, face anything and survive anything. We have our limits. It is time to practice self-care. This can often mean rebelling against that which we feel primed to do. Isolate? Seek out company instead. Depression is a liar, please remember that.

There has been wildlife and adventures, and extraordinary days that I am glad I survived to see.

There was this extraordinary daughter of mine. I knew when I had her that I had been given a luminous gift. Some days when I find it hard to conjure energy for myself, I find it for her.

There was Sydney and marriage equality.

There was my  home town and traveling to NZ to be at my beautiful friend’s wedding.

There was grieving our friend, the bird-watcher; changes in image, and getting up close with Meerkats.

There were Wuthering Heights enactments…

There was glorious Melbourne.

There were Memes. How can something so small, say so much?

 

Falling, Heights and Pemberton

raphaela992 Comments

I have always had a fear of heights. I would have nightmares about those I loved being thrown off balconies as a child, and wake up crying. I refused to walk over the Sydney Harbour Bridge on a school excursion, as well as the footbridge at Darling Harbour. I have never liked open escalators and glass lifts either. Staying on the ground was the only choice I allowed myself. It was a cruel irony then, that when I was abducted at fifteen, I was made to climb a staircase and set on a balcony. It is a cruel irony that I was thrown off said balcony. I had many surgeries to put my body back together. My fear of heights is still with me (understandably), though I can tackle staircases and some footbridges now.

Fast-forward a decade, and I now have an adventurous daughter. She is unafraid of anything, and has a love of climbing. I have had to put my own fears aside to applaud as she ascends to the sky, doing stunts along the way. I have had to reassure tourists throughout Sydney that she is fine, and knows what she is doing. She is happiest sitting in the canopy of a tree. I have had to remain silent on many occasions, resisting the urge to let out an audible gasp or holler out to “be careful.” This kid knows what she is doing; she always has. The most challenging time was still to come…

She was asked to accompany her friend to Western Australia for a holiday. The family was going to visit the Quokkas on Rottnest Island, snorkel and climb a trio of trees in Pemberton, the tallest at 75 metres. Here is an apt description of these beauties. Apparently, only one in three tourists make it to the top. My daughter was determined, and started training immediately. I was filled with trepidation, and had to resist the urge to say no. In my heart, I knew she could do it, and that it would provide an important life lesson. The more goals a kid can kick and the more challenges they accomplish, the better. It provides a great foundation for their lives. Afterall, if you can do something hard, it proves you can do anything! I wasn’t going to let my fears stand in her way.

Imagine my delight when she Face-timed me from the top! The look of absolute joy on her and her friend’s faces said it all. They can do hard things. I must say, allowing her to climb an apex has been one of my hardest parenting moments. To encourage, rather than daub her skin with my phobia has been challenging. I am so proud of both these girls!

I was struck by two recent incidents when writing this piece:

#1 A fellow serving us at an inner-city coffee shop watched as my daughter performed a back-bend and other tricks. He told me that he had been a trapeze artist for the past 19 years, travelling the world with his wife, until a shoulder injury rendered the demise of his career. He urged me to put her in a school where she can learn more, and said she would never be a day without work when older if she pursued her love of climbing, such as is the demand for these skills.

#2 An older man watched as she joyfully climbed a tree near Sydney Harbour. He glared at me, and remarked that I was “a reckless parent.” My heart sank. The friend I was with urged me to not pay any mind to this stranger, but I still hurt. He had no idea that I suffer anxiety so severe that it rendered me house-bound before I had her. He had no idea that I had fallen from a height, and have had to work hard to applaud my child as she ascends. My grandmother was a very nervous person. She would holler to “be careful! Don’t fall!” as we climbed down her concrete back steps. Sure enough, we would be so alarmed at her hollering that we would indeed fall. It takes everything you have to not do it.

When I saw the look of pride and joy on my girl’s face, I knew it had been the absolute right thing to celebrate with her, rather than douse her enthusiasm in my own fears. As I said to her at the time, “you did this amazing thing; can you see that you will do anything you set your mind to?”

Christmas and Stress

raphaela998 Comments

I recently lost a young friend, unexpectedly and in the most shocking of ways. It shook everyone to their core, including those whom never had the pleasure of knowing her. There seemed to be a collective sigh as masks fell, revealing the truth behind the smiling Instagram pics and depictions of lives filled to the brim. Life is part joy, and part sorrow. Social media accounts don’t necessarily lie, but rather they tell the polished version of lives. We don’t want to burden others with the challenges and pain. Throughout the past month, I have had many people apologize for telling me that they are doing it tough, and I have insisted that ‘burden’ be reframed as ‘sharing.’ We have to share. Spells are broken when we speak aloud, and we hear our voice speaking that which was hidden. I came into December feeling that I knew more about my friends. Even strangers on the bus have become more than acquaintances through the act of sharing. What people had once kept hidden astounded me. No wonder the smile slipped on occasion, and indications of anxiety peeped through!

People have told of the challenges of having two separate Christmas celebrations for children, of estranged family members whom they have to see separately. They have told of poverty and housing stress, ill-health and exhaustion. Trying to hold it together when inside, everything is falling apart. I was diagnosed with a neurological condition a short while ago, an extraordinarily painful chronic illness. I can’t even pretend to have it together at the moment, and the relief is palpable! My daughter is in WA with dear friends of mine. The mum and I did IVF together, and we ended up with daughters, who have been best friends since they were babes. I minded this little girl earlier this year, and I had tears when I heard the girls discussing how they knew they were wanted because their mums went through so much to have them. The understanding of how we longed for them shall hold them in good stead, even when the world tries to beat them down. It is a wondrous foundation to have!

My little girl has climbed the tallest tree in Australia; she has been snorkelling and visited Quokkas. In case you don’t know what a quokka is, here is a picture.

Cute, aren’t they?!

I am trying to manage my pain, in the midst of writing a book and organizing Christmas. There is much I have had to let go of for the sake of my sanity. I have ordered a few gifts online, but for the most part, have had to go easy on myself. I won’t be up until midnight, writing out cards for everyone, as much as I would love to. I simply can’t. Events have been planned in advance, and preparations for everything from travel to what I need to bring have been arranged into bullet points on a notepad. Christmas to me is all about connections rather than gifts, and I am hoping to be up to visiting people next week to check in on them. I had been planning to catch up with a group of ladies whom I haven’t managed to see all year, and invited them around for afternoon tea. I bought some fresh fruit and a little platter of cheeses and mineral water. We had a lovely time, and it cost less than $20. Christmas doesn’t have to mean expense and maxed-out credit cards. I have known many homeless folks, and those without family connections, and believe me, being invited to a Christmas lunch is worth more than gold. The best gift is being seen and heard.

One lady apologized for how harried she felt, for complaining about the stress leading up to the main event, and felt bad for her anger. I told her to stop apologizing! “Anger; unadulterated rage, kept me going in the early years after my fall,” I told her. “It can be a way of saying that a situation isn’t right, nor is it fair. It spurred me on, to work hard on my rehabilitation.” We are allowed to be angry, particularly when too much is expected of us. I love the saying, ‘If you present as strong and together all the time, much is expected of you, and then you have nowhere to go.’ People assume you will say yes to their demands, not realizing that you too have a breaking point.  We may want to retreat and that is okay too. I know many folks who take themselves away at Christmas time, to avoid unnecessary stress.  We have this notion that the Christmas season should see us morph into someone larger than life; a version of us on steroids, where we need to find more money, time and energy than in the other eleven months of the year. Not only is this unrealistic, but impossible, without burning ourselves out.

My daughter and I have a tradition of going into Sydney on the last day of November. We walk around, taking in the decorations and sights. We hardly spend anything, just take festive pictures, talk to strangers and listen to pianist’s play on the Grand Piano in the Queen Victoria Building. We come home feeling as though the veil has been lifted between the hum drum of the rest of the year and the heralding of the festive season. We walk around neighbourhoods admiring light shows at night. We sing along to Christmas carols and watch Christmas movies. It is a wonderful season, when you turn down the volume on expectations and what you should do and feel. Open calls to the beach and swimming pools, taking along a picnic hamper and catching up with friends. Reviewing the year past and planning for the fresh year ahead. Allow yourself to feel what is brewing inside your mind and soul. Allow yourself at least five minutes of peace each day. If we are open and honest with one another, we will find it easier to cope. Look for the beauty around at Christmas time. It costs nothing, and brings such joy.

I am honest about the challenges I face regarding this season. There is grief for those lost, sorrow for what has come to pass, and pain for expectations unfulfilled. There is also light; a belief that the best is yet to come. There are friendships and invitations to sit at people’s tables. There is tinsel and pool parties, hugs and carols. There is reflection and gratitude. I own each in equal measure. My fervent wish is that you have a blessed Christmas, and please, be kind to yourself!

Depression, Grief, Animals and Butterflies

raphaela993 Comments

I saw my bus coming, and stepped aside so an elderly woman could climb down. She paused at the door to compliment the driver on his thoughtfulness and driving ability. A conversation began between two older ladies, both of whom reiterated that he was a safe driver, steering the bus smoothly. He said goodbye to his passengers down the road at changeover, giving a cheeky wink to these two, and the ladies gushed some more over his impeccable manners. One of the women was born in Portugal, the other, Italy. Both had lost children in road accidents when the kids were seventeen years old. The people responsible were each handed a suspended sentence. The shared horror saw the women sit in stunned silence at their chance meeting, until the other lady departed the bus at a shopping centre. The Italian lady’s daughter was a girl called Lisa, and she had died alongside a young friend. Lisa’s father, overcome by grief, took his life shortly after her death. Her friend’s mother also took her life a few years later. The Italian lady, Rosa, felt she had to keep going for her other children. She knew she couldn’t do it alone, and found help with the aid of counselling and medication. I was so moved by her openess, her courage and quiet dignity. I squeezed her hand as we said our goodbyes. I thought of her Lisa at the train station, and how astounding it was that Rosa had survived that dreadful volume of tragedy. At that moment, a Monarch butterfly fluttered down to my daughter and I, resting on the bench beside us.

We were on our way to a special event, the vision of which was spurred by a young war widow whose husband had sadly taken his life. We were going to sing; to gather for these families, and all service men and women, past and present. I posted photos that evening, and a particular friend liked them on social media. I smiled, knowing that we would be seeing each other soon at a mutual friend’s get-together.

The next morning, I was alarmed to find what read as a farewell on her Facebook. A group of loved ones were beside themselves as her phone rang out. We were all eager to hold her, to talk her through the crisis. To simply be there… Tragically, we received word that she had taken her life. The events, people and conversations of those couple of days seemed intertwined. Grief and depression, butterflies, PTSD, remembrance…

Depression is a filthy liar. It wants us to believe that we are alone, isolated. It tells us that nobody can help us, that nobody cares. It assures us that strength is only found in standing alone, keeping our pain to ourselves, and sharing with nobody. It says that we are a burden, an unsightly stain on otherwise blissful lives. It is a liar.

Rosa and the lady from Portugal gave me a gift when they talked of their lives and their grief. I now know these women at a profound level, and look forward to many more conversations, deepening the friendships on our bus journeys. I know about the children they lost, and shall keep them in remembrance. The young war widow who inspired a new way of honouring our soldiers has spurred needed conversations about PTSD and the care of our men and women. A woman in her seventies talked to me-a stranger-about her husband’s suicide and her subsequent deep depression. We need to keep talking, reaching out and sharing. Whenever I see butterflies, my thoughts shall turn to those whom we have lost to the insideous scourge of depression and PTSD. Keep the conversation going; visit those whom are struggling. Make contact with those who seem to have retreated. We are not islands, nor were we ever designed to be. My suicide attempts were serious indeed, and quite frankly, it is a mystery as to why I am still here. All I know is I’m thankful beyond measure that I am.

I sat by the river near my home yesterday, filled with sorrow. Tears pooled in my eyes, and slipped down my face. Within moments, a duck had waddled up, sitting at my feet, quacking away as though it were telling me the secrets of the universe in duck language.

It was soon joined by a dragonfly, a willy wagtail  and then this guy.

Wiping tears from my eyes, I smiled at the motley crew assembled. It had been the first time I had left my house in several days. I had finally remembered my own advice to others, that whatever depression and grief urges you do, you must do the opposite. I no sooner desired to go for a walk than I craved root canal surgery, but I knew that was what I had to do. I would never have met my erstwhile friends had I not. Keep reaching out, keep talking, and know that life simply wouldnt be as grand without you. You are wanted, you are loved and you are needed.

Peace Project, Bondi Beach and RSL Commemorative Youth Choir

raphaela99Leave a comment

 

On the 11th November, we attended a special event at Bondi Beach. We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day. The RSL Commemorative Youth Choir sang with the Army Band for an hour,  before we walked onto the beach.
Sunrise filmed the event, and it was also shown on the nightly news. It was a very special morning, displaying to military families that we care and that they matter. Afterwards, the choir kids plunged into the ocean. A new form of remembrance was born, and these young people are leading with love. Next year shall be bigger and better than ever. We will never forget.

 

Christmas starts early here…

raphaela996 Comments

I once rejected the idea of putting up the Christmas tree and decorations before December 1st. That was until I met a group of ladies in an IVF support group twelve years ago. We went through it all, from pregnancy loss, and losing much-loved babies to enduring cycle after cycle with no result. Christmas felt like a mockery, a sneering group event that we weren’t invited to, and we dreaded the lead-in to the festive season. Somebody suggested emblazoning our environments early (starting in October), as a way of cheering ourselves and also to state that we were all still here, surviving. To ensure we did as promised, we sent pictures to the group. The joy was contagious, and a tradition was born. Through the ensuing years, some have had a bub, others have adopted and some have reimagined their lives, bringing new dreams forth. We  still all put our trees up early. My daughter loves hearing about my friends, and how we supported one another. She also loves this tradition! Hey, the earlier we start celebrating the better to a kid! Each decoration is symbolic of a time and place. Some baubles were made for us, and hold a special place in our hearts. We played Christmas carols and did karaoke. As we switched on the lights, it felt like Christmas had really begun. The frenetic energy of shopping centres and the demands and exhaustion (only adults feel), was replaced with the truth that life is to be celebrated, here and now. No matter what my friend’s endured, they made sure those trees were up, and the house wrapped in tinsel and fairy lights. I think of each and every one as we fulfil this tradition, and I still post photos as evidence that we are celebrating early.

My Daughter and the Encounter at the Park

raphaela993 Comments

A new park was created around the corner from our home last year, and my daughter couldn’t wait to explore once it opened. An avid climber, it had a viewing post from a pirate ship, flying fox and much more. She spent many a happy hour there with local kids, mostly girls. Friendships were formed, secrets told, and fun was had. Oh, to be a kid again! Just before her eleventh birthday, she came to me, and incredulously stated that a boy had asked her out, not once, but three times. He wanted her to be his girlfriend! She was astonished and said that she had no intention of being anyone’s girlfriend, but that she was happy to be his friend. At that, his buddies put the pressure on. “Why wont you go out with him? C’mon!” She ignored the wheedling and came home. The next day, one of this boy’s friends sidled up to her (he was 11), and said that she wasn’t a pretty nor sexy eleven year old, and how dare she turn down his pal. He waited for a reaction, hoping for tears, shame or even anger. My incredible daughter just shrugged, said she didn’t give a flying fig what he thought, and left him gob-smacked.

I was outraged when she relayed the reason why she doesn’t want to return to the park. She has many friends that are boys; good respectful young fellas, who wouldn’t dream of treating any girl in such a manner. It made this behaviour all the more shocking; neither she nor I had any prior experience with her being harassed. She asserted herself at the time, but these encounters made the park feel unsafe and she hasn’t returned. It has made me sad and incredibly angry. We are talking ten and eleven year old boys! Asking girls out, and if they are turned down, turning nasty. It sends shivers through my bones, the thought of their behaviour escalating as they get older. I had to talk to my daughter about harassment, and how boys and men behave at times. I hated that I had to talk to my girl, still so young, about the dangers out there, as close as her local park. I told her I had been through it, cat-called, harassed, and put down when I asserted myself. I explained that when people put you down, it’s because they have nothing inside to lift them up. Thus, they attempt to demean you. She understood, and we talked into the night. We came up with action plans and action steps if she ever encounters this again. Little girls should be able to climb to the apex of viewing towers, and zoom through the air on flying foxes unabated. She worries for her friends, the girls she used to meet at the park, some of whom may not be able to stand up to these boys as she did.  It is a conundrum she shouldn’t have to face at eleven. It is a conundrum she shouldn’t have to face ever.

Rotorua, Sulphur, Mini Golf and Flemish Rabbits!

raphaela991 Comment

My daughter and I travelled to Auckland airport from Sydney to attend a wedding in Rotorua. It was our first international flight, so we were excited! We left home at 5am, and got to our lodgings after 8pm. Fortunately, I had prepared my spine -full of arthritis, spondylosis, etc- for this epic adventure, and after a hot shower, crawled into bed.

The trip to Rotorua. This van was in front of us for a few hours.

The next day, I needed a good walk, so we went into Rotorua, and had a marvellous time looking in shops (which are markedly different to ours), and talking to the locals. The cost of living is a lot higher here, which was evident in the price of petrol and food. Over half  the population exist on the minimum wage, and rents are high. I worried about the local people, and how they manage.

My friends were married at the Black Swan Boutique Hotel, a stunning place overlooking Lake Rotorua. Black swans glided by as the vows were exchanged, and the grey skies cleared and sunbeams touched our skin. The bride was absolutely stunning, and I loved how we were invited to hold the rings, placing our love and hopes for the couple into them before they were exchanged. The reception was exquisite, as were our attempts at dancing afterward!

My vegetarian meal!

We left the Black Swan at midnight, collapsing into bed, and woke early the next morning for breakfast with everyone. The bride and groom were glowing and ever so happy. It filled me with joy. We decided to head to the Polynesian Baths to partake of a sulphur spa, naturally heated to 40 degrees. I lost track of time as my body relaxed and I floated with my daughter, and it was only when we went to get dressed that we noted the sign stating that you shouldn’t stay in longer than 15 minutes! Oops! We drank lots of water afterward, to avoid dehydration, and I went to have a nap, my pained spine temporarily eased.

 

As I slumbered in our Airbnb, my daughter uncovered what she called a fairyland, Mini Golf NZ, ironically on Fairy Springs Rd. The manager, Fiona MacGregor was an angel, she said, and I just had to go and see for myself. On the way, we stopped at the local shops for a takeaway dinner, and met many homeless youth. The weather had turned nasty, and a bitter wind whipped through their thin clothing. We gave them some of our NZ money, so they could at least get something to eat. This is the hidden face of any country, concealed behind the tourist attractions and natural beauty. The operators rake in the cash, but the poor see barely a cent.

I was already entranced by the music, bubbles and fairy lighting I could see outside of the mini golf centre, but when I went in, I was captivated! Flemish rabbits bounded up to us for cuddles and pats, and were very involved as we worked our way around the course.

There was also a tame dove and a rainbow lorikeet! I was in heaven! Fiona has been here a long while, and has not only raised her own kids, but looked after many others. She is very aware of how the community is struggling, and organizes canned-food drives and Christmas hampers for organizations like Food Bank to distribute. Fiona is a good woman with a huge heart. There was something very special about her and this place. She was here for love, an essence that shimmered like gossamer around this slight woman.

Fiona and her Rainbow lorikeet

We met a lot of  Maori’s, and they expressed concern about lack of  job opportunities, homelessness, housing affordability and much more. I admire the local community organizations, who have set up linked charities to tackle the major issues. One of the major ingredients has to be a sense of hope; that things can turn around. If that is lost, mental illness creeps in, aided by alcohol and drugs. As long as hope and good people like Fiona abound, communities and their whanau shall prevail. The rest of our trip was spent in quiet contemplation and thankfulness that we had seen our friends marry, and that we had met Fiona. If you are ever in Rotorua, go see her!

The gorgeous bride and I

Vale, the Birdwatcher

raphaela993 Comments

We received an email from a lovely friend, courageously explaining that she had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She also mentioned she would be starting treatment at Chris O’Brien’s Lifehouse, which may gift her more time. We saw her shortly afterward, and my daughter wrapped her arms around the diminutive Scot. This lady knew that her days were numbered, and prepared those she loved. She showed her husband where everything in the house could be found, and planned her funeral. Her dearest wish was to die at home, and we were very grateful that she was able to do so. The petite bushwalker, social justice advocate, swimmer and birdwatcher fell into slumber last Monday, and yesterday, we celebrated her life. She had enjoyed a crisp glass of wine (or whiskey), films and music, as well as the company of children and animals. A life well-lived. After refreshments were served, my daughter and I went for a stroll, and came across the most magnificent bird mural. “It’s a sign,” she said, and I truly believed it was. Our friend was adaptable, moving countries and going on adventures as others might change clothes. She was also reliable and a meticulous planner. Her traits held her in good stead, as well as those of us whom admired them and hoped to emulate them. The Kingfisher is a member of the Australian Kookaburra family, and is a promise of peace, abundance and love. How apt that we stumbled upon a wall filled with such symbolism?