Shelby needs to have an example of what a caring, devoted man, father, and husband should be. She is a mere 8 years old, but I believe most readers here will understand when I state that, well, I might not be here by the time she’s 18. It’s a cold, hard truth that should never be swept under the rug or glossed over, and I can unfortunately…
widowed parenting
Another Year Over
Another number away from the “2012” in which Ian died. One thing I read late last year was people doing a ‘word’ for the year, not New Years Resolutions, which seemed a far more sensible way to go than dragging out the perennial resolution that never gets stuck to. The word that stuck out to me at the beginning of the year was Faith. Not religious…
Attempt at a Christmas Tradition
Sunday marked two and a half years without Ian. The first year, I decided to mark the date with a visit to a iconic local Christmas light display – do something nice with John on the day that we’d done with Ian. It’s something we’ve done each Christmas since. Well, attempted to. This year’s attempt was not as disastrous as last year, but not…
Mummy, Why is Pup Crying?
For today’s post I’m not really writing wearing my ‘widow’ hat, but my ‘mother of young boy’ hat. But I probably wouldn’t have the same perspective on this situation if I were not widowed. This past week a young Australian sportsman, a cricketer, was injured on the field and passed away from a rare brain injury caused by the impact of the…
I hate to ask…. again
Saturday morning I woke up with a 103 temperature. So as soon as a reasonable hour hit, I called my parents, asking if they could look after John for the day. On short notice.Again.Yet another thing I hate about widowhood. That sometimes you need to call on assistance to the point where you KNOW it’s impacting others. Maybe asking…
Lost Time
John’s hospital stay threw me out of sync. Not just in terms of the stress that came out of that situation with the additional health implication for him because of Daddy’s illness, but I’ve lost another week of time in my brain… I still feel like I lost a year. Over the weekend our church community celebrated the marriage of two members,…
Not again…
I didn’t get to write last week… I was with my son in our local children’s hospital after he developed an autoimmune thingy. First while being assessed in emergency after some four hours of the usual waiting and it’s 2am, the doctors tell me even though he isn’t a typical presentation they suspect something called Kawasaki’s Disease, and the…
Hello Year Three
I’m struggling writing this week. I know the general gist of what I want to say, but some of it keeps seeming harsh, uncaring, like I’m an insensitive bitch. Because it’s about the relief and positivity I’ve figured out I find in Ian’s death anniversary. This past weekend was the second anniversary of Ian’s passing. And although it may sound…
Routnine. Junior Edition
I’ve written before about how my personal routines went out the window after Ian died. John was only 13 months when Ian got sick, and 16 months when he died. Getting him into a bedtime routine, let alone to going down at a regular time just never got re-established after the initial “everything gone haywire” period. We both developed bad…
The Holidays are Over
Australian children have just come back from their 6-week summer holidays. So have their teachers…. The first year after Greg died, I dreaded the Christmas holidays. All those long weeks of just me and the kids. NO trips away (every holiday doubles in price during the holidays as we all know). No will to do more than walk the tracks to the…
Year Three Fear
I’m heading into the run of second anniversaries that begin in February and run for about 4 months – his surgery; the complications hitting and the roller-coaster of his illness; him dying. Something I’m acutely aware of. In my journey, the big anniversary for me is the March “complications hitting” anniversary. That’s the day from which…
I’m A Professional…
…… Griever. No kidding. It seems that I can reach into someone’s deep, dark and cold grief and speak to them. I can tell them what I see in that blackness, which is really telling them what I see. Or more precisely, what I saw. I know that I’m not the only one who can do this. I’ve seen, and read, many of you doing it for others, too.