Never forget, little Sun.
You are so loved.
Never forget, little Sun.
You are so loved.
I tear again.
The ache of a mother
remembering her ducklings, sweet.
It’s a long, long road to the deep end of a soul.
And some days ripple and crash
more than other days do.
The rain falls inside.
Darling is the little boy that cannot sleep.
‘I think I need a bandaid, Mum. Mum? I think I need a bandaid.’
They start their tricks young, these beautiful tiny humans, don’t they.
She was just one of those people everyone loved.
Darling, through and through.
When she was good, she was like an orange wind, laced with mint and strawberry sweet. She was kind, but not in a: ‘Hi, how are you?’ sort of way. She was kind in a: ‘Let me hold your soul for you,’ sort of way.
Of course, she had her demonic side, as we all do from time to time on the ever puffing human train. But her darling side far outweighed any dark side of the moon nonsense circling her sky.
She was the first non-doctor to hold my tiny human body, before even my Mum.
She was also the first to hold my soul, and really truly keep it home.
And so today’s darling day is for you, Nan.
I hope you look down and smile every time I do the ‘Nan dance’ on the porch or cartwheel alongside the car to wish my babies the happiest of goodbyes. I learned all of that silly beautiful from you. And as long as I live, I’ll be proud that most of me is made from the love you gave me.
I now share that love with the world, because it’s the only thing that feels truly right to me—so thank you, Nan.
Thank you for teaching me what true love is.
Always in my heart, sweet lady.
Every darling day of mine.
She wobbled along, the little darling on wheels.
Two wheels (which seemed to be the problem.)
Mum balanced her own bike between her legs, guiding her duckling as best she could, until at last:
there was flight.
As I strolled along behind the two,
occasionally glancing into the shedding trees,
the Mum within me hoped.
Please let the little duckling balance.
Please let the little duckling fly.
After a while, the two disappeared and I forgot the darling struggle.
Forgot the invisible cord that attached my empathy to the shake, wobble, roll.
Once again, I was lost.
Within the bliss-filled world of me,
I was lost.
Until I was no longer lost,
but right back where I began.
Face to face
Everything within me wished to reach for her.
To hold her for a while.
To look into her eyes, and have her understand
that without the fall…
the true beauty of flight
would never be known to her.
Darling was the little duckling
that stole my heart on this darling day of May.
Darling was how hard she tried.
And darling was the invisible cord of life
that connected us.
We’re heading into winter in Australia, and I’m feeling the resistance rising already.
I’ve come to dread winter for the internal obstacles it brings. Sunny days charge my batteries and fill my joy pots to a state of ‘just so’, and yet here comes winter to tear my joy pots apart once more.
The problem lies not only in the darkness that will inevitably replace the beautiful streams of sunlight that flood my lounge room, daily, but also the lack of choice that will come attached to the forthcoming rainy days. So, kids. I guess it’s a stay inside again, kind of day, today. That sort of thing.
My children are three and six years old. And I have been in training to be their Mum my whole life because, essentially, I’ve done it all before, being the much older sibling to my two brothers and sister (now adults, where does time go? I’ll always be amazed.)
The thing is: winter makes me feel as though I might not be as wonderful at this ‘Mum thing’ as I always dreamed I’d be. Winter melts me into a bit of a tizz, to put it lightly, because the truth is: there are only so many hours of yes in my Mum tank to keep these little ones (and myself) happy in the face of a rainy day.
And so I’m really quite frightened at what’s to come. Especially this winter, now that I don’t have a partner in crime to lighten the load every second week when the children are with me.
The bright side of this admission is this— I am doing an excellent job at being human. I am seeing the reality of my limitations and admit that I just may need a little bit of extra help this time around.
I’m tired. I’m so tired of lying to myself, pretending that the things, situations, people, scenarios that I’m not entirely okay with…are all sunshine and rainbows. They are not. Dark clouds have existed since the beginning of time. They do not disappear simply because I insist upon looking to the sky and telling everyone around me that they are white.
I wish I wasn’t dreading winter. I wish I wasn’t sometimes afraid that I might break my children—the latter is something I am particularly scared of. My Mum was diagnosed with Bi-Polar disorder in my early teenage years, and I am still trying to pick up all the pieces of her broken within me.
I do know I will be okay, and I do know my beautiful babies will be okay, too. I am a beautiful Mother (if I don’t say so myself) and I don’t need a sunny day to tell me the love I bring to my babies’ lives is filling their spirits with all the lovely things.
Winter is the mountain that lay ahead of me. But this awareness is, at least, a good thing because it gives me time to gather my climbing tools and prepare for the climb. Life can be so hard, sometimes, but there has never been a day of it that has not been worth the struggle.
Because I am me, and I am Mum.
How beautiful to be able to hold those titles with such love, and pride, and grace.
Tonight I miss my childhood.
I miss the way my Nan dipped onto to her knees and told me how precious I was to her. With her entire body, especially her eyes.
I miss the way my Mum held me when I cried. I miss the feeling of our two aches melting into one, and somehow just knowing that was a beautiful, beautiful thing.
I’ve never missed the safe pieces of childhood before—at least not consciously, and I’d imagine it’s because most adults become adults and assume that the word adult means: ‘safe enough’ and ‘responsible enough’.
Well, I’m here to tell you…no.
I believe that adult means: whoever and whatever you are, when you are it.
And what I am right now, is aching for the child I once was, and the beautiful world of love that enveloped her during her younger years.
I ache to be emotionally held. Because that’s how it all began for me.
Of course I miss it.
I’ve learned to meditate and open my heart, and thank-goodness for that because it fills me with all the lovely things, including the beautiful feeling of being held in the way I so often feel I need to be.
Still, I miss the feeling of being emotionally held by another, without judgement.
I just do, I miss it.
And so I miss my childhood.
I also know it’s okay that I miss my childhood.
That part, I think, might be the beautiful silver lining of this grey story.
I’ll fly to the moon.
I’ll finally realise
I’ve been on the moon
I spend so many hours,
my sweet babes,
wishing I could lift for you.
If only I would remember
that the path of the butterfly
is never a straight one.
That there are dips and turns in life,
and times of complete stillness, too.
May this be a reminder.
That my love for you is the constant.
Precious and true
in high flight
and in low.
And that, my darlings,
is the sweetest of all knowings.
There is a little boy in this world who began his life within my body.
He turned six today.
I often think of the way his slippery little body looked as it squiggled into the world at my feet. Those are the times I go to his little mop of hair and whisper: I love you. My goodness, I love you, little man.
Sometimes I hope that I don’t break him with my jagged edges; my angry moments, my sad moments, my imperfect human moments—the ones I can’t hide no matter how hard I try. And he is six, so I hear all about the moments.
But none of them really matter because: love.
Mine for him, his for me.
He is six, today.
My baby blue-eyed boy is six.