Friday, July 24, 2009


The days between the 13th of July and the 10th of August are always long days for me but this year has been the worst.
Anger and repressed memories clamouring to be allowed screaming room.
An hour can go by and I realize I've been staring out of the window with nothing in my mind but tears on my face.
Watching that small coffin at Geelong today set me off again. Poor child, to be so hounded that dying was better than living.
I hate cemetaries. They serve no use at all, there's no comfort there just concrete and dirt.
I hate these 28 days of winter.
He started dying on the full moon of July and stopped living at the full moon of August.
And every year the questions pour out.
Was I there enough?
Was there anything I could have done?
Was there one thing in his life that made him happy to be my son?
I'll never know now.


antikva said...


R.H. said...

I've actually been called shit on some blogs but you've been too kind to do it. Your tolerance is unusual: I know, I've tested it.

Stop the questioning. No mother was more loved.

I'm certain of it.

Jayne said...


Ann oDyne said...


bloody winter.
I prescribe chocolate, to be taken without guilt.
X X X Dr O'Dyne

(well a better one than BrendanNelson anyhow)

Middle Child said...

I am in the same place you are feeling the same...the nights are far too long and I prefer isolation to making and moves to get rid of it.

I can't imagine that you were anything but filled with love for him and he would have known that matter what.

I wish I could make it all better...its a bugger of a thing to feel like this. Take care okay

River said...

Hugs and kisses, friend.

And vanilla slices.

Link said...

Tell the demons of sadness to go find someone else to hang out with. Your son is fine . . more than fine. He would be heartbroken to know how sad you are and he might wonder why, a bit, because he's never felt better.

He loves you more clearly, more profoundly more wholeheartedly with every passing day.

JahTeh said...

Caroline, I know he's somewhere good with no pain. Sometime between now and the 10th I'll receive something purple or a sunflower. He never fails.

River, a grand idea, I'll put up that delicious vanilla slice you sent me as desktop wallpaper.

Therese, so much harder for you but there be grandchildren on the far horizon, just you wait.

Thank you Dr. O'Dyne, tea was peanut butter on pumpkin seed bread and a block of rum/raisin chocolate. I think I need a repeat script.

Jayne, hugs from you just won't cut it, send Alan Rickman or Tom Selleck. See how I've aged, I'm into the mature age crumpet bracket.

Robbert, you make me laugh even when you're shooting yourself in the foot or someone else is ripping your appendages from your body. Henry VIII's tolerance for his Court Jester was legendary.

Antika, no hugging. The state we're in we could break several bones in both our bodies.

Kath Lockett said...

Oh.... Don't beat yourself up about, please don't. He was in pain; and it's the kind of pain that is within yourself, not you. Never you and don't ever think it.

R.H. said...

No one has got my main appendage from me yet, you big funny outrageous woman. Sorrow from you is real sorrow, there'd be nothing more serious.

Davo said...

Sweet heart. Would you believe that I think i live at the speed of light. Each second is an hour, each hour is a week; each week, an eternity.

And yet, looking backwards, my life has vanished with less than the blink of an eye.

JahTeh said...

Davo, I know what you mean. Just when we need all the time in the world, it speeds up.

Kath, that's the saddest thing about his death. He had no brain damage and could have spoken but the pain was so great he had to be put in an induced coma.

Robbert, I should have been your mother. You would have been Prime Minister and given me a huge rise in my pension.

phil said...

I prescribe beer, it cures damn near anything.

All the best.


Anonymous said...


Helen said...

Oh, that was me, sorry :-)

Not some creepy anonymous stalker

Ozfemme said...

Thinking of you x x x