2015 is here!

January 4, 2015 raphaela995 Comments

I went out New Year’s Eve, to where a beautiful gathering took place. Children having fun, and friend’s talking about their dreams. New Year’s Day, I needed to go to the ocean. Sit by it, bathe in it. Wash myself clean. Last year, I had no time. My day’s consisted of working, educating a loved one, keeping someone else out of hospital and alive. The year consisted of helping friends and the community, listening and trying to be there. I have thin bones, and a large section from the side of my teeth broke off three months ago. I have had no time to get to a dentist, nor to a hairdresser, nor to my specialists. No time to meditate regularly as I desperately wanted and needed to do. Why have I put myself last? Why do any of us? We are full of good intent, and determined to see these things through. There is always something pulling at us, and we follow. I tried to iron the other day, and was in bed for two days afterward. Now, ironing is horrid, and should be banned for everyone, but when one is fused from the shoulder’s down, it is excruciating. I took stock of my life as I lay in bed, my body wracked with pain.

There are things I have to do each day to keep myself healthy, to stave off the risk of complications to my health. As I look to the future, I yearn to be as fit as I can be, and out of a wheelchair for as long as I can. In the hectic manner of everyday life, I lost sight of the fact that it’s what is done everyday that produces the building blocks for the future. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that not only did I not make myself and my health a priority, but they weren’t even on the list. Having thirty minutes to be in silence each day is now factored in, as are repairs to this physical vessel I call home. Some invitations I will be able to accept, and others I won’t. I lost my friend/sister a little over a month ago. I need time. My mind is overflowing with grand plans for this year, and secret fears. I really don’t think I can fit anything more in there! That is, unless my mind is given the opportunity to expand. It can only do so by being carefree, having fun, and opting out occasionally. That is where refreshment lays.

I took my little girl to the Art Gallery of NSW, to the POP Art exhibition. We explored, we talked and we played. We went to Myer and her Godmum bought her a Cabbage Patch Doll, which she adores. We even got to walk up George St, not a car in sight, as it was undergoing repairs.

We didn’t need to talk, just soak in the experience. I think we all need more of that. Just to stop and be. So I am going to go see my dentist in the next month, have a haircut, and visit my specialist. I hope you also take the time to do what you need to for yourself. You need to undergo maintenance if you want to give 2015 all you have!

She had written 'I love U' in pink texta on her arm. — She had written ‘I love U’ in pink texta on her arm.

Happy New Year! 2014 in Review

December 30, 2014 raphaela992 Comments

I thought I would recap some of the posts on Hummingbird Redemption this year.

I have to start off with Serena

DV is a post I wish I hadn’t had to write.

Hold On

Endo to end all Endo’s

Winter
24 Hours
Raphaela’s Companions-Nicci Peverill

Revising Life

Never Again
Good Vibes
I Love my Face
Personality

My Best Physical Feature
Pink is the New Black
The Old Married Couple
Community

Lizzie’s Art
It’s a Wonderful Life
Never Assume
No Time to Scratch
The Story Behind my Book

Finally, we finish with Christmas Greetings

Happy New Year, beautiful people. I look forward to sharing 2015 with you. xxx

Christmas Greetings.

December 23, 2014 raphaela991 Comment

I just reached for my phone, to text Serena. I am going to go see Christmas lights with my little girl, and Serena would usually come too. I had to remember that she is gone, past the clouds, blistering sun and brooding moon. I remain. What to do with the rest of my life? How about I learn from Serena? Her curiosity was outstanding, and led to her taking snippets from this resource and that. She had a tower of clipping’s by life’s end. I promise to be adventurous and travel far and wide. Not to discover myself, but rather to uncover more. You taught me that.

This Christmas is both challenging and miraculous. A friend of mine who works in welfare brought me this Christmas cake she had baked.

I took it down to the Exodus Foundation, where I am sure it will be enjoyed. Kindness takes your breath away. It is unprompted and seeks nothing of itself. The people of Sydney are kind. Strangers were handing out tissues yesterday at Martin Place. Nobody was jostling in the long line of people wanting (and needing), to pay their respects. We cried and held each other.

We then took the children to a department store, where they discovered cheeky cards in the stationery aisle.

Children laugh spontaneously. Adults laugh in spite of it all.

Admiring window displays and decorations… We partake in this annual ritual to syphon colour out of a kaleidoscope, taking those we have loved and lost along for the journey. I have made a pledge with a friend of mine to partake in more whimsical gatherings in the new year. “The world needs more whimsy; we all do,” she stated. Being silly for the hell of it. Why not? Fond memories to look back on.

This year has been tragic, strange and everything in between. Like all years. We have to leave some of our beloved’s in 2014, for time on this earth has frozen for them. I will always remember this Christmas as the year Sydney stood strong. We were comforted by strangers and the sweet smell of flowers drifted through the city. I was personally grieving one of my best friends, comforted by her strong mother, and my daughter. My daughter; brave and empathic and brimming with love. I will remember this Christmas as the time when another dear friend saved her own life. She had no symptoms, but insisted on a mammogram. She was $30 out-of-pocket after her rebate. “Best $30 I ever spent,” she said, after they discovered she had breast cancer. She had surgery last week, and is recovering, her plucky sense of humour intact. Her messages on the net have been guided by some pretty powerful painkillers, her spirit delighting us all. I let go of a lot of silly expectations I had of myself. The hundreds of cards I expected to write, the numerous gifts I expected to post… My loved ones understood. As they showed compassion to a harried mum who is grieving, I decided to do thus. They still love me, and they know I love them. You can let extraneous stuff go this Christmas and get back to basics. You will still be loved. My friends, there is pain and pleasure in abundance, and certainly throughout this Christmas. They sit ill at ease with one another, though they manage to mingle. May your Christmas be peaceful. Perhaps joy is too much to expect, but I pray it comes your way. Many people have come to my door, mourning the loss of their marriage, career or health. Christmas brings up a lot, especially if your life can’t compete with the commercials. I haven’t met anyone whose life can, no matter how it looks on Facebook. We are all just clumsily doing this thing called life together. Hold on until the new year. I have a feeling that 2015 will burn bright. xxx

Heaviness and Light.

December 17, 2014 raphaela997 Comments

This Christmas season feels so heavy. I am listening to a passing couple arguing outside my home. Dear friends have been ill, discovered that they have had cancer, have had their worlds irretrievably alter in various forms. Dear friends have passed away… One friend was a hundred when he shuffled back to whence he came. Another was forty. I am desperate to make a difference to these dear ones. To let them know how much I love them. When you accept help or an overture from a friend, you are giving them a gift. You are taking the burden of feeling powerless from their shoulders. They feel as if they can do something, anything, to assist you at your darkest time. I know it is hard to accept an offer of help. I know.

My beautiful city is in mourning. Darkness descended on Sydney Monday morning. Strangers are saying prayers and laying flowers, writing in condolence books and reaching out to one another. We need to do something, anything. When a friend bakes for your family, minds your children, cleans your home and runs errands, you are giving them a gift. They feel needed, and their children get to witness what a community actually means. When I presented the tributes at Serena’s funeral, I felt as though I was doing something in the midst of the paralysing anguish. I was powerless to stop her leaving this earth, but I could at least ensure she had a beautiful farewell. We need to do something, anything. In this spirit, please ask for help if and when you need it. Take the hand being offered to you. This Christmas, we need magnanimous gestures more than ever. This is the spirit of Christmas.

No time to scratch.

November 26, 2014November 26, 2014 raphaela992 Comments

I learnt that a friend lined up for quite some time in her bank, and became exasperated. “Finally!” she thought, when she got to the teller. Only, it wasn’t her bank. I decided she and I must be separated at birth. That is something I would do (have done). I want to let you into my world. A world filled with flitting around like a disoriented moth, a world of silliness and walking into glass doors.

A lady I know invited me over to her place a few months ago. She divulged that she was worried about her job security and was wondering what I thought of an idea she had. She was thinking of importing a certain type of 19 inch doll. Now, when she said 19 inch, she did so with her index fingers raised, as though she were captioning this important measurement. I thought to myself, ‘its not my cup of tea, but I will encourage her.’ I thought about a lady on my street who owns an online store, selling all kinds of racy things. When I went to her house and looked on her computer, I couldn’t believe my eyes! I suggested this woman get in touch with my entrepreneurial neighbour, and then went into a spiel about what she sold. The woman’s eyes widened in horror, and she exclaimed, “I was talking about a child’s toy, that you might find at Toys ‘R Us!” Awkward silence ensued. That’s me. I get carried away. Full of good intentions.

The past fortnight, I have been racing around, flitting from project to project, without time to scratch myself, literally. My beautiful friend Cherie is a beautician, and owns her own holistic salon, The Yewen Clinic. She is graceful and all things ladylike.

She came to pick up my daughter and I for singing practice, and once we had parked, she looked intently at my blonde hair. “Bugs are attracted to you,” she smiled, as she grabbed a black item from my head. We went inside, and as the girls were singing, she grabbed another bug, then another. Intrigued, she checked my scalp. Yes, I had head lice. “Werent you itchy?” she asked. “I haven’t had time to scratch myself!” I replied mortified. It was true. I literally haven’t had time to scratch myself. I was so glad it was my beautiful friend who uncovered my nits. Being into all things metaphysical, she looked up why I might have contracted them. People getting under my skin, too many commitments. Spot on! $50 and a thorough wash of all linen and towels, the nits have left the building. I literally had to be sent a plague. These are but two examples of awkward encounters and happenings in my world. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

PTSD in the Police Force.

November 16, 2014 raphaela997 Comments

I have just watched a story on PTSD regarding the police force on Sunday Night
I thought about every police officer who came into my life as a child. The ones who took weapons off my brother and escorted him to psychiatric hospitals, who entered the family home to encounter blood, shattered glass and screaming. The ones who took me in their arms, and comforted me. The ones who tried to make it all better. They attended our home over fifty times. I think of the Sergeant who found me the night I was pushed. I was broken, in and out of consciousness and spitting up blood. He knelt beside me, stroking my hair. As the paramedics assembled the spinal board, he wept. I tried to comfort him, this beautiful bear of a man. He stayed by my side in emergency. My parents weren’t there, this angel was. He tried everything in his power to get the monster immediately charged in a bedside hearing. What has become of all these men and women who stepped into such violent and horrific scenes, not only in my life, but so many others? I think of them often, pray for them, and hope that they are still intact, in spite of it all.

I have PTSD, and when it is active, it is a living hell. Months can pass and all will be well, but then a newspaper article, song or harmless comment will open the gates. The sooner you get proper help, the better your outcome. I wasn’t allowed to talk about what went on in the year I was away from home. I was told to “forget about it.” The worst advice you can ever receive. You shut down, and try to drown out the memories in any way possible. This entices the memories to fight for breath, becoming more determined. These officers need immediate assistance, not to be stalled by red tape. Insurance companies dealing with their claims need a complete overhaul. Financial help needs to be offered immediately. It is long overdue. It is time. To be demeaned, and have your distress questioned is obscene. These officers see more during a shift than most people would in their lifetime. Give them what they are due, and do it now.

Grandparents Day.

November 14, 2014 raphaela993 Comments

Each year at school, we have gone through a ritual called Grandparents Day. I remember when my little girl was in kindergarten, my heart sank when I retrieved the handwritten invitation from her schoolbag. It was assumed that all the kids had grandparents, active in their lives. Last year, there was a huge sign in the doorway to the classroom. This year, an invite was again sent home, and it was made clear that it was for grandparents only. I know many children whose grandparents have passed away, live overseas, are unwell, or are not in their grandchildren’s lives by way of necessary estrangement. Every year my child asks questions and as the day approaches, the pain escalates. They learn songs and dances to perform for the visitors. Each year, we run away with a group of kids and parents who want to shield their sons and daughters from the pain of exclusion. I wish it was termed Family and Friends day, but it’s not, and the thought of my child alone at her desk, watching grandparents fawn over their grandkids is intolerable. This year we went to a beautiful spot, a short ferry ride from Circular Quay.

Munchkin travelled in with her preschool friend, and they argued as to why they weren’t like brother and sister as the mother’s laughed. Both stubborn, feisty, full of energy with a love of daring feats and water. Begrudgingly they were heard to admit that they liked each other’s company. We watched them play at the Bath’s whilst we ate hot chips sprinkled with paprika. More mums and kids joined us, and we were all glad to have an alternative to the festivities at school. Some things you can’t shield your child from, no matter how much you want to. Occasions like this, you can.

We devoured white mulberries, shaken out of my friend’s tree that morning, and finished with gelato. The kids took turns playing games on the ferry on the way home. I have been shut out of a school formal, and celebrations marking milestones. I know the sting of exclusion. I have learnt to look for alternatives when that feeling comes.

10751990_855524427814737_508262317_n — White Mulberries.

These children felt a part of a community, as did the mothers. I love the saying, ‘Go where you are celebrated, not merely tolerated.’ We did just that.

Pink is the new black.

October 29, 2014October 30, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

Most people are surprised to hear that I am a hermit at heart. A solitary creature, who is used to keeping her own counsel. I made the distinction between needing “a fix” of people, to electing to enjoy their company. There is a difference. Usually when I enter a room, I feel awkward, and either stumble over my feet and walking stick, or blurt out something random, and unconnected to the conversation. On this occasion, I instantly felt at home. My friend Lisa is a nurse, and one of the gentlest and ethereal women I have had the privilege of knowing. Her beloved mother-in-law passed from breast cancer, and every year she organizes a high tea in her honour.

Colourful people arrive and donate goods, and money is raised to crush this disease. This year, the very talented Hannah Erika Crichton kindly donated her talents and time to sing for us. We were in a hall with women who had been through dark night’s of the soul, mind and body. I loathed the colour pink before having my daughter. I preferred black. I preferred anonymity. I now view pink as a colour of strength, of dreams and power. A colour you underestimate, until it knocks you to the ground with its force of will.

The women in the hall were strong, gutsy, plucky. I stood for a moment, and looked around. The ladies smiled amongst the easy banter at the tables. Bliss was produced with my friend Nicci’s cupcakes and Lisa’s divine soy candles. Pink, I loathed you for what you seemed to expect of me. I apologise in full. It was not you, but my culture that insisted I be demure, pandering and agreeable (at all times). Rather, you have always viewed women as strong, filled with vigour, a powerful voice, a buoyant heart and creative hands. I have had you all wrong. These women, cloaked in pink, have proven that to me.

Photos by Sharon’s Photography.

Anastasia Amour

October 22, 2014 raphaela992 Comments

Anastasia Amour (pseudonym Stardust), sent me a little package of affirmative stickers. My daughter was very excited when I said Stardust had sent us a gift. Her little face fell when she searched the empty envelope. “Where is the stardust?” she pouted. I told her it was invisible, imbued on the stickers.

Words have such power. You know, these days its cool to be disaffected and sarcastic, caustic and negative. Its easy to cut the groove in the rotating vinyl record inside your head. Doing Anastasia’s ProjectPositive changed my world. I felt connected to a vibrant group of people doing life, endeavouring to work out the snags. I learnt that I am worthy of love just as I am. I examined what beauty and self-love actually is, and what it isn’t. I was humbled and my self-talk was certainly transformed. Not only are her sticker’s embedded with Stardust, but Anastasia is as well. www.anastasiaamour.com

Camping.

October 6, 2014 raphaela99Leave a comment

P1090151 — In our tent, a little alert and alarmed!

Little miss and I were invited to spend the long weekend camping with friends. As a child, I joined the GFS (Girls Friendly Society). I didn’t last long. Those chicks participated in sedentary activities, mostly indoors. I quit, and enlisted in CEBS (Church of England Boys Society). There was concern about having a girl along at the camp’s, but they couldn’t find an actual rule that forbade my becoming involved. The boys were mostly wounded soldiers, involved in familial wars via conscription. One young boy came from such a fractious family that they were featured on 60 Minutes. We were comrades. From nine years of age through to adolescence, I would join the boys on camps. We camped in the Australian outback, didn’t wash for a week and dug our own toilets. I would pitch my little tent besides the boy’s large canopy shelter, and raid the supply tent in the middle of the night. After my back was snapped, I never went on another camp.

I tossed up my friend’s invitation, and was indecisive for a while. I was concerned about my spine. Would I be so crippled with pain that I wouldn’t be able to move? There wouldn’t be reception where we were headed. There are other health issues going on, that need attending to in the next few weeks. I felt anxiety about being away from my comforts, and wondered how I would cope. I was surprised that the idea of going bush conjured up so much fear, where it once provided such joy. The deciding factor’s were the people I was going to join, and the enthusiasm of my little girl. My friends would look out for us, and my daughter was excited about sleeping in a tent, her first experience! A part of my life which had been comatose since my fall, was awakened, and I felt freedom and wildness and trust that I hadn’t felt in such a long time.

The generator was turned off, and we retreated to our tents. My little girl and I cuddled down and relayed stories, then she fell asleep. I read for a bit then drifted off. We woke with a start by the feel of possums pressing on us through the roof of the tent. A whole family of them were twittering. “What is that mummy?!” little miss asked. “Just possums,” I hoped. I had never seen Wolf Creek, and was very glad that I am not into horror movies. When you are laying in a camping ground in the pitch black, your imagination is active enough. We both needed the loo, and unable to stand it any longer, we crept out to the port-a-loo. “Look up!” my companion gasped, and I had my breath pulled from my lungs. The stars were incredible, as though the angels had poked delicate fingers through the navy crepe paper of the sky and allowed us a tease of heaven’s sparkle. We stood there for several minutes, looking up. Finding our way back via a fading torch proved fun, and we both giggled. I am so glad that we ticked a goal off our bucket list. I am so glad that the fear of pain; of being in agony far away from home was quashed. If you have never heard the cacophony of birds waking at the break of dawn in the Australian Bush, you need to. It was the purest and sweetest sound I can recall. I came home tired, grubby, in pain but replenished. I learnt never to limit myself, nor talk myself out of doing something that is unfamiliar or out of my comfort zone. That is often where the best experiences lay in wait.