Categories
Poetry

Beautiful Tears

In the shadow of love

is the aching

of fear.

And I hold you,

love.

I hold you

and your beautiful tears.

Categories
Poetry

Bright New Day

I send my heart

to those in pain.

Let me sit beside you in the dark.

Let me remind you:

darkness is the ship

to a bright new day.

Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

And So We Rise

And so we rise.

And so we gather all hope and find our way to peace again.

We think we have broken, we think we have lost our way.

Such beauty lies beyond that which we call failure.

Such strength waits for us patiently beneath the rubble.

Do not be fooled by the darkness.

It is only there so that we may know the light.

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Day Three. And a new day begins. xx
Categories
Poetry

Sadness

How small we are in the largeness of it all.

Our tiny cries barely heard over roaring humanity.

But we each have a sadness, each of us, true.

Of your sadness, I say: I hear it.

I see it, as clearly as I see you.

And you must know that in my ears

it is as loud as it always has been to you.

It is as loud as it needs to be for my heart

to mend it for you.

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Categories
Life

The Moment Divine

A brief note before my story begins. A note to the mothers, a note to the fathers. To those who have birthed live children, and those whose young ones were taken too soon. This story— my story, our story—may be distressing to some, particularly those who’ve experienced the birth of a sweet babe, born sleeping.

If this is you, darling human, please feel free to leave this post here, taking all my love and comfort with you. To those who wish to stay, thank you for holding my heart during these moments. It is a gift to share the depths of my humanity. It is a gift to know my heart has been seen, held and loved.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.

C.S Lewis

***

I’ve asked if my baby has died and no one is saying a thing.

The midwife moves the doppler across my stomach as I stare at the wall lit by dim orange light (my favourite kind.) There is no sound, no heart beat. There are no voices. There is silence, loud as thunder.

I ask again. Has my baby died? Still, no one says a thing. There are three midwives there. Not one of them has said a thing.

My body begins to push, and once again I am taken by the strength of the contractions. If my baby has died, I think, then I need them to take this pain away. But it’s too late for pain relief, I know that. I’m already pushing. I am on my own, no matter what is happening here.

There is a stillness in the room that wasn’t there before, and I know it is the feeling of sorrow. My sister is across the room, and so is my husband; the sadness is theirs and mine, and maybe the midwives’, mixed together with an odd cocktail of hope and confusion. Is the baby alive? Why on earth won’t they say anything?

Finally I am asked to change positions. They want me to push. Finally they have found a heart beat. A little slow, they carefully tell me, but a heart beat, thank goodness. I will need to give a great big push, they say, and I am okay with that because the midwife has said the only words I have wanted to hear. ‘Brooke. Your baby is okay.’

At least two minutes.

That is how long I thought the very worst.

Now, we move on.

As I breathe between contractions— between pushes—my eyes fall upon the midwife’s necklace, a butterfly on a thin, silver chain. It makes me think of the angel chain in my sisters hand, the one I’ve given her to hold, so Nan can be with me. It had been Nan’s right before she died. I had given it to her. Now it was mine.

And there is the stillness again. In the butterfly, in the thought of my Nan’s chain.

Another moment divine.

***

I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl, that night.

She is perfect, and was so from the moment she was born.

I will never forget those moments of indescribable togetherness and comfort.

Was there a divine presence in the room? I’ll never know.

But I will always remember.

I will always be amazed.

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Categories
Poetry

In The Wind

I saw her when I closed my eyes,

I felt her in the wind.

And I knew I had to tell her

how tired I am,

and how I never imagined

life would be so hard.

I had to tell her

how I am in love

with them, and with life.

But how tired I am, and how I miss her.

Oh, how I miss her,

oh, how I do.

I saw her when I closed my eyes.

I felt her in the wind.

Categories
Life

The Perfection of Life

The perfection of life is beyond the boundaries of good and bad, sad or happy.

2015. My fourth miscarriage. The loss of pregnancy at ten weeks.

The doctor looked into my soul and told me, ‘I know the obstetrician for you. Here are his details. If this was happening to my sister, I would be telling her the very same thing. Go to this man. He will treat you beautifully.’

Love.

Held by a stranger, through pain.

Never be afraid of the fullness of life.

Never be afraid to love beyond it all.

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Categories
Poetry

Forever Home

Sorrow is quiet and soft.

How strange, that during the saddest times, the quiet is the loudest voice of all.

Tonight, I send my voice into the stillness.

To honour the love and the sorrow that lingers when we lose our most precious hearts.

Quiet, the place where unconditional love floats free.

Peace. Our soft and gentle, forever home.

Categories
Poetry

Rainbow

In my softness I hold this gift, for you.

A small slice of home,

and a tiny sun to shine

only on you, sweet friend.

This rain will pass,

it will pass on through the air.

And in your eyes I will find

the joy

lingering,

calling from the horizon of you.

And in my eyes, the shine of knowing.

Knowing that rain built the very rainbow

that now shields you, for life.

Knowing you always were okay.

Every moment.

Safe.

Loved.

And on your way.

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Categories
Life

Goodbye

No one would have seen it coming, least of all me. His death was inevitable: that part we all knew was coming.

But no one would have foreseen my reaction to it. Not the way it happened, not the way the emotional slideshow of me slowly played out like a blocked garden-hose building in pressure, waiting for the almighty explosion that eventually would come.

My Dad told me: ‘Aaron’s died.’ We were on our way home from our shared workplace, an hour and ten minute drive from the city to the country, where we lived. He did a good job, my Dad. Quiet. Calm. Matter of fact, but caring. My Aunty was the one that received the news. He’d been ill, which on top of the cystic fibrosis had finally proven too much for his already fragile body to handle. Someone should tell Brooke.

I’m not sure why Dad chose an hour long car ride to do it. Perhaps he and Mum felt it would allow me time to let it wash over me, I’m really not sure what they had expected. But one thing I do imagine they expected were tears.

There were none.

Not a single one.

When he’d broken up with me, I’d constructed a wall about a million miles high, and equally as wide to protect me from both the feeling of being rejected without proper means, and the feeling of loss I’d surely feel in the face of losing him. We both still cared for each other very much. Very much. Though, for family reasons that are a little too personal to share, here, he felt it best he protect his final years as best he could. By saying goodbye to me. I understood. Still, it hurt.

On New Years Eve (his very last one, as it would turn out) he called me at my Aunties house, where I’d escaped the boring walls of home for a much needed holiday. ‘Is Chookie there?’ he asked, to my Aunties amusement. I took the phone, smiled at my Aunty, and fell into our world, again. He’d missed me. I’d missed him, too. We laughed and chatted for a bit. Finally, we said goodbye.

A few months later, Aaron was gone. He was about twenty, from memory: I was eighteen. And I didn’t care at all that he was gone, and I absolutely would not be attending his funeral, so they could all just go on and forget about that, ridiculous nonsense.

The day of the funeral came. I got up, as usual, and made the long trip in with my Dad where I began my daily routine. Pick, pack, tape up the box. Pick, pack, tape up the box. I’m not sure what part of the work induced the explosion. Perhaps it was the ripping sound the tape makes when it whirls off the tape gun, or perhaps it was simply the fact that I was at work, in the first place. All anybody knew was that one moment I was fine. The next, I was wailing. Sobbing in the most out of control fashion I could muster.

My Dad took me to the train station. If I caught the early train, I should make it to the funeral on time, and so I boarded the V-Line back to the country and off I went to say my last goodbye to Aaron. Technically, not my Aaron, anymore. But, according to my heart…still very much, my Aaron, apparently.

The train ride was interesting. The poor lady across from me did her very best to pretend my dark sunglasses hid my tears (and quietened the accidental sob that sometimes escaped me. Meep.) The dusty town I arrived in was quiet, too. No one would notice as I wandered along the streets, searching for a church I’d never been to before, in a town I’d never been to before.

I wouldn’t ask for directions, either. More accurately, I couldn’t ask for directions, on account of me being that odd girl: too shy to talk to any human outside of her comfort zone. So I asked the universe for directions. My plan was (and this is no joke) to follow whichever direction my hair blew in the wind, because certainly whatever higher forces I was connected to would get me to the funeral. Bonus points if they got me there on time.

I walked. And walked. And walked.

Finally, and with no thanks at all to my hair, I found the church. A little late, but early enough. The funeral had just begun.

‘Chookie,’ Aaron’s beautiful Mum said, after the service, as she wrapped me in her arms, and thanked me for coming to say goodbye to her baby boy. She seemed happy to see me (really, really happy) and in that moment…I knew the explosion of me was meant to happen, that I was meant to be there. For Aaron, but for his beautiful family, too.

They may not have noticed my absence if I’d not gone: the church was overflowing with hundreds, all of whom, apparently, Aaron had touched with his cheekiness, joy and boundless wisdom, too.

But I was there. And his family did notice.

I was grateful.

Grateful the morning had brought about the most unexpected emotional explosion, ever to have rocked my world.

And grateful my inner walls had crumbled.

Right in the nick of time.

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