pukekochic

Shelley's Birthday

2012-01-27T13:18:00.000+13:00

Today is our darling Shelley’s birthday. She would have been 33years old.

Heartbeat

My heart is broken

never to be repaired

you can live

with a broken heart

(a different type of living)

today, I will take all the joy

Shelley brought into our lives

and hold it close

as I hold her close

every day

Love always and forever

from all your family,

KG

XX

7/7 Fifth Anniversary

2010-07-07T10:28:00.000+12:00

Today is the fifth anniversary of the 7/7 London bombings. At approximately 0850 hrs 52 people were murdered, including my daughter, Shelley Marie Mather, and over 700 injured. I place these words for her and all the families of all the victims.

WE WILL NEVER FORGET AND HOLD YOU IN OUR HEARTS

EVERY DAY

TIME HEALS

(so they say)

five years on

the sun rises and sets

the moon stands guard

watching over us

the daily grind goes on

they say

time heals

this bears no resemblance

to my reality

a chaplin said

it will get better with time

bollocks

these words are like staples

into the soft tissue of my brain

they jolt and scar

shoot like poisons

into the open wounds of my heart

fly like vultures

into the cavernous ravines

of my soul

each second, each hour

each day, month and year

is simply a marker

of your absence in my life

of your senseless murder

of my utter despair

Arohanui
Kia kaha

KG
XX

Annie Lennox fingernail MOON

2009-12-25T09:46:00.001+13:00

In honour of all our loved ones. Nothing I could say would be as good as this amazing song. Long reign the moon and Annie Lennox!!! Much love, KG XX

CATS RULE THE ROOST!!

2009-12-09T18:52:00.000+13:00

CATS AND DOGS

mind shift

to the point

of contemplating

having a pet

the never again

having been slowly

wittled away

by the empty spaces

we have experimented

with dogs

having them as visitors

or house guests even

but deep down

we are cat people

catwomen

Misty and Sparkey

took some of our hearts

but maybe

just maybe

there are two kittens

looking to live

with us

As of last Saturday, the two kittens below live with us. Our resistance finally worn away, we
have opened ourselves up to the disarray and joy of having pets again.

SMUDGE on the left, and his brother SOOTY on the right, came to us from a dear friend at work.

YAY!!
Arohanui

KG
XX

To be or not to be....a recluse?

2009-11-27T09:38:00.002+13:00

That is indeed the question of the moment. My HB & I have just come back from four days at my big sister’s place at Amberly Beach. There are only about 80 houses
there and a wonderful wild and stony beach that stretches all the way back to Christchurch on one end and the outlying peninsula on the other.

Each morning I went down to the beach for a walk along the stony beach, then over the road to walk back through the marshland walkway and pine forest. Each day, I was the only person on the beach. For that time it was my beach, alone.

It was magnificent. Such solitude speaks to my soul and my heart. Nature seeps into places that I avoid, most of the time - the deep pockets of grief and anger that bubble away all of the time, like a dormant volcano. I find I can’t hide, when confronted by nature on the scale of such a wild and deserted beach. It becomes a journey of it’s own. At first I peek into the abyss, then find I am able to take a step forward, to feel the roughness of the stones, the cold wet of the sea. My emotions and thoughts walk step in step with this process of nature and take me to a place of insight and strength. A clarity of thought which again gives me back my voice, well at least my ability to write. My written words are my power. I have returned energized and focused on my writing.

Day one at home: a morning walk in Auckland, sucking in the carbon dioxide emissions from passing cars, and walking up a hill so that I can get at least some sense of expansion. A glimpse of the city-scape. I can see the sky tower, (who can’t!), the monument on one tree hill and a bit of the sea. It is not the same but I focus on being appreciative of what it has to offer, of my place, our haven home, in this landscape.

A trip to the movies, still maintaining the sense of calm and focus, until some idiot (and I am being kind here!) screams into the back of our car while we are stopped at a red light. He works for an insurance company ha ha!!

Two days on: My darling little car, which I love, may cost more to repair than it is worth. I am still waiting on the final verdict from the assessor. I will be devastated if it is not salvageable, after all how much can it cost to fix a caved in boot and two sets of lights sticking out like floppy dog ears? I will have to wait and see.

I had to venture into the city, Auckland city itself this afternoon. Back into the hustle and bustle, of the full of traffic with fuckwits and idiots everywhere. I worked even harder to maintain my sense of calmness in the face of all of this and while driving the complete pile of shit POS, that is the courtesy car from the panel beaters. It was so courteous that it allowed me to put air in the tyres, which were nearly all flat, brush the cobweb off the side mirror and clean the windscreen. It has a red light, he said, that will come on, on the dash. I am not to worry about it, just ignore it. I didn’t tell him I was Ms ultra calm at the moment, so that’s what I will do – ignore it. He did tell me if anything happened to it while I had it, this pile of shit, that there was $750 excess!! Now that is funny. If I was a pessimist and not so calm, I would not even take it out of driveway. Then again I don’t wish to push my luck, maybe I will wait for the call from the assessor before I venture out in the POS again.

At the end of this second day home, the recluse debate is still just that. We could, my HB and I, run away to the Beach, even to that particular Beach. We could live quite comfortably in a small batch/crib and manage our income to suit this change. There would be some costs greater than here, like heating in the middle of winter. They even had snow at the beach last year. But it would be running away and I think a temporary reprieve. I think instead, I/we will continue to at least dip our toes into the big city life. It is after all where my darling FBS, SBS & his SH dwell. It is where we have a tight and loving group of amazing friends, our second whanau. There are many things yet to evolve in the lives of my loved ones and I like being in the same city at least. That’s how it is at present.

Three days on: Good news, my car is fixable!! Yay!

I am venturing out to the plant shop shortly and will come back and spend some time in the spring sun which is shining brightly today. There are also two pairs of Tuis who sing their beautiful solitary, three note call to each other. It is magnificent and it is all in my own back yard. Yay again!

Second piece of good news: My gardening efforts were rewarded by the finding of a special ring I lost three weeks ago, gardening!! It was my last task for the day transplanting a lavender shrub, as I struggled to get its unwieldy shape into the container, I looked down and there it was. The ring, restored now to its rightful finger. Yay again.!!

Arohanui

KG
XX

7/7 Conspiracy Theorists

2009-09-28T11:54:00.001+13:00

Here it is September already. The year has flown by at a great rate. Winter is on the turn and hints of spring flash out from the blossom trees in the street, the roses starting to bud and best of all, our avocado tree is flowering!!

The tree was a present from SBS & his SH, the first Christmas we spent in this, our new home. He said it took at least 7 years to bear fruit and that meant we had to stay here, for at least that long. It is a slow process, tree growing. He need have no fear that we would move; this home is it for us. There will not be another move.

FBS, SBS & his SH and her dog, have moved in together into a lovely old villa in Central Auckland. It is a great home for them, plenty of room and good grounds for the dog to run around. It is also within walking distance to all their places of work. I can now pop in and see all of them at once, and it makes catching up that much easier. We all work shift work and it is a matter of some planning for us all to be in the same place at the same time, but it sure is worth it.

I have been thinking, as I frequently do, of the process of grief. I watched the 9/11 programme that held the voice messages of loved ones to their families. These were grueling to listen too as most of them knew they would not make it. The protocols of the dying and of those left behind, means that there is no preferable way to come to the end of a loving relationship. Many of those who spoke, took comfort from hearing the voice of their loved one. For me, it was the panic of unanswered messages to her cell phone, of hearing her voice on the recorded message, saying, to leave a message and she would get back to me. She never did of course, and that was the point that it really sank in, that I might never hear from her again.

I kept ringing her cell phone, even after we had returned to Auckland, just to hear her voice. I am not sure where her phone was, maybe in amongst the thousand of items collected by the police investigators; I don’t know. I just know that I rang it and she spoke. I knew it would end sometime, but it was horrific when I rang it maybe some 6 months after the event, and got the standard message that this number is either out of range or no longer available.

Update 28/09: Last night on the “Sunday” programme they ran a story about the 7/7 Conspiracy theorists. These are people who firmly believe that the 7/7 bombings were undertaking by the British Government. The story they ran was from a British documentary, which we knew had screened prior to7/7 this year. It was not available over here at the time and it was sheer chance that we happened to catch it on TV last night, one of the benefits of channel surfing I guess.

I have to say my blood was boiling through most of the programme. It wasn’t until the final segment, when they exposed the stupidity of the conspiraloons that I managed to calm down. These people are complete nutters with an agenda of proving themselves right. They don’t have all the information and are not directly involved in the situation. They are driven by some kind of desire to show that governments lie and deceive all the time and their own egomaniacal personalities.

Personally I find their actions despicable. They don’t care about the dead and injured from such events. They don’t care about logic or facts. They embarked on an active hate and threat campaign against Rachel North, one of the most amazing young women I have met in my life. She was also on the programme and as usual, spoke with a voice of reason.

Perhaps the most worrying effect of these fuckwits, is that the Muslim community in London, or should I say some of the Muslim community, believe everything they say. This may of course have to do with such crap putting them in the role of victim as opposed to aggressors. It was horrifying to hear a Muslim leader at the Birmingham Mosque say the things that he did say.

From the minute Shelley’s Dad and I set foot in London on 9/9/2005, we were briefed by the head of the security services. We had frequent meetings with them over this time. These men were devastated by this act of terror and there is no way they would have been able to be as they were, if they had been party to this act of terror.

On my return to London on the first anniversary, my HB & I meet with the same officials at Scotland Yard. They showed us information that is not generally available to the wider public, and were also still restrained by what they could reveal to us, due to the upcoming trials relating to 7/7.

One of the stories the conspiraloons keep saying is that the bombs were underneath the trains and the 4 Muslim men were patsies, set up by the secret service. Don’t ask me how.

I saw photographic evidence of the impact of the bombs. The belief that the explosion was underneath the carriage is based on the fact the floor of the carriage appeared to have exploded upwards and inwards. The facts are, the bombs were exploded on the trains, by these young men. Due to the location of the Kings Cross train, at the time, the bomb exploded internally then due to the confined space, a secondary blast occurred as the fallout had no where else to go. For these fuckwits to keep opening their mouths with such drivel is not only extremely disrespectful but also shows them to be more idiotic than we already know them to be.

The survivors and the forensic investigations have pieced together the real story of the 7/7 bombings. Those who need to know, know the facts. Nothing anyone else can say will change these truths. It would be great if these idiots just shut the fuck up and let those involved try to keep on building their lives, as best they can.

Kia kaha,

KGX

London Bombings Inquiry

2009-07-12T12:00:00.002+12:00

There is progress ahead in the push for an inquiry into 7/7. Rachel North has a detailed update on her blogsite http://www.rachelnorthlondon.blogspot.com/ entry Wednesday July 08, 2009.

I have supported this move, not because it will change anything for me, or my family, but because there are questions to be asked and answered, if we hope to successfully avoid further incidents, such as 7/7.

The series of investigations so far, come to the conclusion, that given the way the Intelligence Services work, given the funding and staffing resources they have, other than hindsight, there was little else they could do to counter the plans of the four successful suicide bombers.

This may or may not be the case, and hindsight, as we all know plays little part in analyzing such brutal events. Yes, maybe they could have put the pieces together better, maybe they should have been aware of the intensity and purpose of these four suspects and their alleged, though proven not guilty conspirators (Operation Theseus Trial).

Changes have been made, both to way the Security and Intelligence services work together and the way the Emergency Response services work together. This is all good and hopefully, will lead to a more co-ordinated, speedier response to multiple scene events and overwhelming numbers of those requiring assistance. I hope so.

This does not devalue the point of a full Ministerial Inquiry. There are such matters as the delineation of policed areas and the lack of the sharing of information. This is horrific to me and completely nonsensical. Why do the powers that be not view the whole country as one and set up data bases that make readily accessible all the tit bits of information about various individuals? Is it a matter of guarding your own power base? I am certainly left wondering how logic does not win this argument.

I would like to see a fair and just system that does not take away the rights of the individual but also does not squander information and render useless, the purpose of the Security and Intelligence services.

The use of torture abhors me, and I have already made comment about George W Bush, having the audacity to claim the support of families of the 7/7 dead and injured, to prop up disgusting practice.

17/02/2008 Pukekochic

As for Bush – I can’t believe he has used the 7/7 London bombings to prop up his support and justification for the torture process of “waterboarding”. How dare he use any of my family to prop up his argument. I do not condone torture nor do I appreciate his stating that he is sure families of the 7/7 victims would endorse or support this practice. He hasn’t even called me to ask me!! That’s is partly what I mean about media, making hay out of every possible scenario without any thought to the sensibilities of those he is invoking. Absolute rubbish and a disgrace. I was going to email him but thought the SIS may descend on my paradise and throw me into a bath of water!! Coward I know but I really prefer showers. Maybe he will read this and send me an apology. Ha ha.

If we are calling this, the war on terror, then surely the tennents of the Geneva Convention and justice should prevail. Persons should be detained in humane settings, faced with evidence and the right to defend themselves judicially speaking, and deal with the consequences. The processes should be transparent, not clandestine nor should they add to, man’s inhumanity to man.

Rendition should not be enacted in anyone’s name.

Enough said for now.
Arohanui

KG
XX

Shelley 7/7 2009

2009-07-07T08:41:00.004+12:00

Shelley,

I look in the mirror
and see a person
that may be me

she
looks like me

somewhat older
working on being thinner
an ex drinker
(ah but still a smoker
well I am not a saint!)

I do not understand
who I am anymore

part of my soul
has been ripped out
by your murder

I think
maybe
you have
a piece of my soul
with your soul

maybe
it is something you
can wrap around yourself
and know
you are loved

it is a comfort

I will think of it like that
I can live with that

in my half shadow world

with a piece missing

XX always

7/7 Fourth Anniversary

2009-07-07T08:33:00.003+12:00

The 7th July dawns in NZ, one day ahead of London.

Today, we will huddle, as Shelley’s small family, linked by the love and friendships
Shelley created on her life’s journey.

Tomorrow in London, at the Hyde Park unveiling, an amazing group of people will stand, in Shelley’s name, to honour Shelley and all those murdered on 7/7.

I could not be more proud or humbled by the love shared and displayed.

My thoughts and love are will all those present, and of course, with all the families of the 51 murdered and the hundreds of survivors and injured.

The special friends we have made, will know who they are, and are in our hearts today as always.

Much love
Kia kaha

KG

Interlude

2009-06-20T16:34:00.001+12:00

I bet you didn’t even know we had left the country! Well we are back now, my HB & I. We had 10 days in Oz, and no, we aren’t oinking or sniffling with the swine flu. We just made it out of there before their somewhat lax procedures got a wake up call and they realized that, yes, there is a problem.

We were in Brisbane about the time the debacle over the cruise ship passengers took place. Thankfully they were sent out to quarantine off shore til we departed the country.

It was a time for family catch up in both Perth & Brisbane and suffice to say it was fantastic with plenty of stories to be told. We went for my best friend’s son’s wedding. Well second wedding ceremony to be exact. The first one was up in Karijini, which is in the middle of nowhere but spectacular. The second celebration was for the slightly less adventurous family members, and was held at a surf club in Perth. It was wonderful to be able to share in this celebration. In Brisbane we had a family reunion, with my two sisters and partners. One lives in Brisbane and the other one who had come from Christchurch for the weekend. We also caught up with Shelley’s dear friend J in Brisbane, and that is, as always, very special.

Before we left NZ there was much to organize for the 7/7 Fourth Anniversary this year when an amazing steel structure will be unveiled in Hyde Park. There are 52 columns representing all those murdered on that day. There will be a plaque with names on, in a garden by the sculpture. It is designed so that you can walk around, between the towers. I think it will give an incredible sense of the individual and collective number of loved ones lost. We will get to stand there but not this year.

Through no actions on mine, and again through the amazing network of friends Shelley made, I deputized our wonderful LM and he undertook to be our man in London. He has since got a list of names of about a dozen friends who will be standing in that place on the 7th July. The govt department organizing the event has been incredibly helpful and so real in their communications with myself, and now our Man in London. If there is a sensitive and caring way to do these things, they sure have got that sussed.

There are not sufficient words to express how incredible and true this amazing group is. They were there for us from the morning of the 7th, when they knew Shelley had not got to work. They drove all over London, to all the hospitals looking for her, giving her photo to policemen on the street. They were by our sides from the minute her dad and I got to London on the 9th and have stood with us ever since.

Many of them will reunite on the 7th along with two of our Auckland friends who happen to be in London, and who were there for the 1st Anniversay and our two amazing Police Liaison Officers, who we now count as friends.

On the home front, the winter has set in. We have had 2degrees at night and thick white frosts in the morning. My two hibiscus plants look like cooked spinach and I am hoping they will revive in the spring.

SBS & his SH and their dog are staying with us for a while. They came to house sit and then get sorted to find a new flat closer to their work places. It is lovely having a full house. It is hilarious trying to keep up with the comings and goings as all for of us, (excluding the dog!) work shift work. It is the funniest household; there is usually someone sleeping, someone cooking and someone heading off to work. We have totally confused any prospective burglars, which can’t be bad.

FBS is also wanting to move out of his work/home so he will become part of the new set up once they find a house that they all three, plus the dog, like. FBS will keep working at the same place, but the time for living and working there has now past. It will be great for them to be all together.

Today is the first of my four days off and I am feeling energetic and looking forward to getting some things done around the house and to do some more writing.

There is a lot going on in my head, believe it or not!! I hope to be able to sift through the murk and get some focus for my writing.

Keep well, keep strong,
Arohanui

KG

Terrorist Trial London Bombings

2009-05-03T12:43:00.002+12:00

There is a second trial happening in London, for three men Waheed Ali, 25, Sadeer Saleem, 28, and Mohammed Shakil, 32, all of Beeston, Leeds. The first trial ended with a hung jury. These three men are charged with “consipiracy to cause an explosion.” The jury had been told that Ali, Saleem, and Shakil, visited a series of locations on December 16 and 17, 2004, which bore a "striking similarity" to where the bombs were detonated on July 7 the following year.

Suicide bombers Mohammed Siddique Khan, Shezhad Tanweer, Hasib Hussain and Jermaine Lindsay detonated rucksack devices packed with explosives on three tube trains and a bus killing 52 people (including my daughter, Shelley), and injuring up to a thousand more.

The trial heard that the three defendants travelled from Leeds to London with Hussain, who later detonated his bomb on the No 30 bus in Tavistock Square claiming 13 lives.

There they also met Jermaine Lindsay, who killed 26 people on a Piccadilly Line underground train, and the group stayed overnight in a hostel. The prosecution alleged that the trip was "an essential preparatory step in the plan to bring death and destruction to the heart of the UK".
The jury in the second trial, retired to consider the information on April 18th. We are all waiting with baited breath, for their decision.

It is an agonising process for those bereaved families, and those who survived the bombings. A “hung jury”, is perhaps the worst outcome possible. If these men, were involved in any way, then they should be held accountable. If they are not, that should be the end of it.
The impact of the trial is manyfold, in that the inquests into the deaths cannot proceed until the trial is completed, which includes the jury being able to make a decision.

It also puts on hold, calls for an inquiry in the 7/7 bombings and the actions or inactions of the Security Services. The reason for this is that some information is said to be sub judice.
There has been a tremendous amount of work undertaken by members of the 7/7 Inquiry Group made up of survivors and families of the bereaved.

I do not know if these men are guilty or not. I do know that there are some serious flaws in the actions/inactions of those groups charged with monitoring the potential threat to Londoners.
It is well documented that the 7/7 bombers where not in fact “clean skins” as first claimed by the powers that be. In fact there was video survelliance of them long before 7/7. Taped conversations and observations which, you would think, should have raised a few alarm bells.
The drive and determination to get some answers, is from a place of ensuring that no such errors, if that is what they are, occur again. That the separate groups monitoring persons perceived to be threats, communicate with each other; that pre-emptive actions be taken.
That no other persons have to go through what the bereaved families and survivors have gone through – especially if it could have been prevented.

UPDATE: April 28, 2009: The jury is back and all three were acquited of the main charges “conspiracy to cause an explostion. Two Ali and Shakil, were however, convicted of conspiracty to attend a place used for terrorist training. They were about to board a flight to Pakistan when they were arrested in 2007.

So four years on, two trials later and the result is in. There will be no more trials in relation to the 7/7 bombings.

I am not sure what I think as a result of all this, The police must have been confident to undertake a second trial, at such huge expense in money terms and resources. They may have hoped for a more certain outcome, though it seems lots of the evidence is circumstantial. On reading some of it, as a lay person, there is still sufficient doubt in my mind about the reasons they went to the places they did, the association they had with the bombers, that I am not fully convinced their intentions were innocent. However, that is that.

It is not unreasonable for me to say, that I am at least glad the terrorists who detonated the bombs, killed themselves. That is what they wanted to do so I guess they are satisfied.
I will wait for my thoughts to settle before adding any more.

Arohanui
KG
XX

47 Seconds

2009-04-12T14:07:00.001+12:00

It’s movie kind of weather, still slightly summery with a touch of autumn chill. The nights are cool and dewy with the days dawning clear and sunny. It is refreshing not to be in constant heat. You can taste the freshness of the air on your lips as the coolness caresses them and you suck in the air. A sweet autumn kiss, that holds with it a sense of renewal, a change.

The evenings are good for snuggling into the sofa and watching dvds, knowing it is getting cooler outside while you have all the creature comforts and some distraction, inside.

I watched “Across the Universe” and initially wondered if I would be able to stick with it. Thank goodness I did. It is an amazing, totally absorbing commentary on life as seen through a compilation of characters, music and events from the 70’s. Fabulous animated sections interwoven with the ongoing story line of the lives of young men and women from around the globe. The songs are interspersed throughout the movie and the characters burst into song at times that surprise and delight. It is not a musical as such but an extremely artistic and carefully constructed combination of story-telling and the significance of the music of the times. Highly recommended and one of those movies, you just don’t want to end. (Amazing singing by Dana Fuchs – another one to go onto my cd list.)

At the other end of the scale, though no less compelling was “The Bridge.” A documentary film about the Golden Gate Bridge and its claim to fame as the most sought after suicide spot on the planet.

It takes 47 seconds to make the plunge into the waters below the bridge. A body reaches the speed of 120 miles per hour before impact.

In 2004 twenty-four people successfully ended their lives in this manner, at this place.

The film carried stories of the families and friends of those who had died in this manner. It wasn’t macabre. It was compassionate and deeply moving.
All of the dead were loved, if not by family, then by friends, who were left frustrated, sad and sometimes angry. The documentary showed clips of people taking the leap, of others being talked back over the ledge and of one woman who was hauled back over by a passing stranger.

One young man, who had taken the leap, survived. He spoke of changing his mind at the point that his feet left the ledge. He somehow managed to effect and entry into the water, feet first which was the saving factor. He suffered from a mental illness that requires him to be medicated for the rest of his life. He was 24 when the documentary was made. He now just wants to be seen as normal but that is not so easy for his parents, who live in fear of his death.

His father spoke well and said he had told him that if he had cancer, he wouldn’t have a choice but that with medication, he could control his illness and live his life, while limited by that fact, to his fullest potential.

The young man spoke of the experience of something brushing up against his body when he was in the water. He commented that he thought having survived the fall, he was now going to be consumed by a shark!! It wasn’t a shark, it was a seal that circled him and kept him buoyant in the water, which facilitated his rescue. He said this seal was god.

Another young man who had been suicidal all his life, made an agreement with a friend not to kill himself while his mother was alive. He also agreed to put this friends name is a sealed plastic envelope on his person so that she could be told of his death and also promised to phone her to say goodbye.

He kept to those agreements and the woman, who would have been in her 60’s spoke most wisely of the conflict this young man had lived in his life and of the effect this had on her. She spoke with compassion and honesty but like all of us, didn’t have any answers.

The father of another young man who had killed himself, said that he felt his son had been imprisoned in his body and that death was the only way he had of being free.

Both movies exploring the human dilemma of life and death, of happiness versus despair, of coping or not with what the hand of fate, god whatever, deals you.

In the context of my life experiences these movies have given me much food for thought. I doubt I would cope with a child of mine, taking their own life. I would hope there would be sufficient links established that he/she would not feel a plunge into the cold dark deep water was the only answer. As long as there is life there is always a moment of choice. How to accept that death was your child’s choice escapes me. It is another whole area of pain that, thankfully, I do not have to explore. I have the utmost respect and compassion for the familes of those so effected and their ability to make the best of the rest of their lives.

As the mother of a murdered child, I can speak about the death of my child when that choice has been taken away, made by some unknown person on their own secret mission.

I am extraordinarily angry that they felt they had a right to end my child’s life. That they thought this would somehow achieve something, other than the heartbreak and lifelong sentence of grief they have so uncaring inflicted upon myself, my family and anyone who knew and loved Shelley.

A grief that at times, has made me not care if I should die as opposed to making me want to end my life. A grief, that accompanies me every day of my life.

The futility of war and mankind’s inhumanity to man, is still a question with no obvious answers. There can be no answer, when we as peoples of the world, continue to live under the same beliefs that allow such actions to be taken. That someone is right, and therefore someone is wrong and must die, that as a nation, a religious group, a political entity we know best how some other nation or people should live; that we fail to care for or support our less well off members of society, our mentally unwell, our homeless or even our own kin.

There are seconds only, between life and death. Once the line is crossed, no matter by what means, there is no going back.

Kia kaha

KG
XX

Leonard Cohen - Anthem - Ahoy Rotterdam

2009-02-10T16:45:00.001+13:00

May the light get in. Much love.
KG
XX

Firestorm

2009-02-10T16:33:00.001+13:00

Humidity reigns. It is February and as usual, the humidity is running rife. The air is stifling and the temperature is also running at 27 to 28 degrees most days. We Aucklanders, or Jafas (Just another f @#$@%& Aucklander), as the rest of the country like to call us, find this intolerable.

After night shift this morning, when the day staff were all coming in moaning because it was 23 degrees at 6am, I made a comment that at least we weren’t fighting fires or floods or losing our lives because of the weather!! It pays to keep a little perspective I feel. My comment didn’t go down that well and so I guess it is all relative. If we go around with our heads up our own arses, of course, every little glitch gives justifialble grumbles. Well that’s how it seems to me.

Anyhow, I am grateful that I can breathe in the air, hot and sticky as it may be. I am grateful that no one in my family has been killed in the dreadful firestorms in Victoria, Australia or in the floods in Queensland, Australia.

I am totally devastated and horrified for all those families that have lost not one, but in some cases many of their family. Some have lost partners and children as well as all their worldly goods and pets as well.

What is even more horrifying is that in all likelihood, some of these fires have been the result of the acts of arsonists. It is indeed mass murder. No different to the terrorist bombing on the London tube, that killed Shelley and 51 other dear souls.

There is a lot of pain and distress for all these families in the days ahead. The process of identification of their loved ones, is a painstaking and lengthy one. They will want to scream, why can’t we just go and get them now. It is the most horrendous thing, having to wait to confirm what you already know in your heart, to be true.

My thoughts and feelings lie with all those families – waiting.

My HB and I went to see Leonard Cohen a couple of weeks ago. It was amazing, inspiring and as close to heaven as I can get from this earthly place. I have been listening to a lot of his music and find it fits so many emotional states and reaches into my soul and revives it.

I will place Anthym, courtesy of a You Tube clip, on the site, for all those suffering and for all of us as we sometimes despair at the horrors in this, our world. It is a song of hope, and I hope that the words resonate for others and that the light will get in.

If you feel so inclined, you can contribute to the relief fund, under the Red Cross web site. It is painless and may make a little difference. It is at least something, some action of caring.

Arohanui
KGXX

2009-01-27T09:59:00.003+13:00

Prelude to a birthday
(for Shelley 27-01-09)

I never know what to do

the knots in my stomach
start at least a week
before the day

a gut wrenching
sense of abject despair

of not wanting
to name it

of not wanting to say
it

that it is your birthday
(your 30th birthday)

today

I would like the sky
to light up
with magnificent lights
arcing around the world
with you name

I would like the world
to stop spinning on its axis
long enough to freeze frame

the moment of your birth
your first steps
your laughter
your 21st party
your visit home

our last hug

ii

your friends stay close

their lives have changed
since you were home last

most are parents now
some once
some twice over

we have met Ari
have photos of Jaimi Marie
(the Marie after you)

kids you never got to meet
kids that made us laugh

and if I allowed it
would have made me weep
and weep

I imagine
how your life might be
how you would be enjoying it

doing what?
I’m not sure
and I wouldn’t care

you could be a gypsy
a traveler as you were
a teacher of life
as you were

you could have kept
circumnavigating the world
spreading your joy
taking it all in

the possibilities were endless

iii

today
is your 30th birthday

I don’t need the sky
to light up
or the world to stop spinning
on its axis

I have the moments
all of them

freeze framed
in my soul

I have your laughter
tucked away
to make me smile
when it doesn’t hurt so much

I have you with me
every day

every day

I carry this
the loss of you

today
is your 30th birthday

I think it is going to rain
today

With all my love

KG
XX

It's a new day, it's a new dawn

2009-01-21T16:47:00.003+13:00

Three quotes from President Obama’s Inauguration address,
Thursday 21st January 0600 NZ time:

"We have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord,"

"America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more,"

"As for our common defence, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals."

Three quotes that made me glad I was awake at 6am NZ Time this morning.

Words that hold the promise of a paradigm shift from the traditional USA stance. The cowboy, the gunslinger, the bully; where the overriding factor seemed to be an eye for an eye and to hell with the rest of you. (“An eye for an eye makes the world go blind: - Ghandi – a quote one of Shelley’s friends has on the bottom of each of her emails.)

I have reason to hope that this fine, humble, man will hold true to his ideals and strive to forge new ways of being, as a leader nation, in this world of ours. That he will choose to lead his government with his people, on a path much less destructive. A path that will not ignore his own country’s poor and disadvantaged. A path that will transform helplessness into hope by finding ways to engage people in their own lives, no matter what their circumstances.

A path that will hopefully, mean less deaths among the sons and daughters of families around the world, no matter their race, religion or ideologies.

Such a shift in the psyche of the USA as a nation, has already taken shape. That is evident in the support Obama has had in his journey to the White House. It was evident on the faces of the million plus people that had physically made it to the Lincoln Memorial to be part of his swearing in. It was evident in the tears of joy that fell from many eyes as they participated in this moment in history.

The goodwill of the nation, and indeed the rest of the world, (mostly) is behind this President. It is no easy task that he takes on. There will always be extremists and radicals that place no value on the lives of others. There will always be those who seek to take lives in some deluded belief that they have a right to do so. There will be those for who power and greed makes the lives of others cheap.

Today though, I am reminded of the overwhelming wish of the majority to live lives of peace; to see their children grown into adults; to live in the expectation that they will not have to stand by the grave of a child killed in hatred. That maybe, just maybe, there is another way of seeking change and co-habiting as nations, as peoples of the world.

Today I wish this man well and have hope that change is indeed a possibility.

Arohanui,

KG

A Rose is Just a Rose

2008-12-12T18:22:00.006+13:00

I have again, been stumped by the process of finding words that portray my thought processes. I recognize that is my process of grief. I recognize that this process of grief, is my key life role, following Shelley’s murder.

The reason it is my key life role, is that failure to face up to, to look at, to feel, to breathe this grief will only succeed in limiting my life. That without doing so, I can’t claim, to have my life. If I don’t have my life, I don’t have anything to offer my family.

It is a catch 22. In order to be open to the good things in live, to take joy from the wonderful and joyous things that my life has to offer, I have to also walk hand in hand with my grief, hand in hand with my love and loss. It will be my companion, for the rest of my life.

The shape and form is like one of those liquid shapes in a glass ornament. The ones you turn upside down and watch as the coloured bubbles form and reform shapes, slowly coagulating into a full mass at the bottom of the container. At any time, you can flip it over and what once was, is no more, but is a new entity a new series of creations before it all settles again at the bottom of the container.

At least with such a thing, you are able to decide when to turn it over, when to shake it up, when to let it just be. Grief is not like that. It shakes you up, rattles you through and through, twists and turns at your insides, enrages, frustrates and saddens you beyond words. It is a constant and mysterious companion. You never know when it will hit you full force, or when it will appear as some very gentle sweet thought of some other time and place.

One of the hardest parts is that there is no choice in this scenario that is my life. Shelley had no chance and no choice. That was taken away by the murderer’s.

There is no how to do this task. No right way. Maybe a wrong way, I’m not sure. I do know that it is a unique task for each person effected by Shelley’s death. All of us who love and miss her, have different ways of coping, or not, with our grief. Each one of us at times has a melt down, and we, like the bubbles in the container, regroup and support one another. You never know whose turn is next. You just know that is ok to be however you have to be with it. I have learnt so much from my family, my HB and my sons throughout this process. I am humbled by their wisdom and insights and devastated by the rawness of their grief.

I have previously written about forgiveness. My thoughts and feelings on that haven’t changed. I will never forgive the murderer’s.

When I have been silent, I can say I am sad. The truth is though that anger also silences me. I think I clench my teeth in fear of letting out the rage. I am frightened to hear and see my own anger. I am not sure what it looks like but it is huge. It is difficult to know what to be angry at, which doesn’t help. I end up feeling like a child throwing a tantrum repeating, it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair, fix it, someone just fix it. But you know what? It can’t be fixed. That is where my real anger lies.

I have just watched two movies, in which the stories were of acts of revenge for the murder of a family member, or members. It is always a bit raw watching a movie where someone’s child or partner is murdered. It takes empathy to a whole new level.

Each of the two main characters, embarked on the task of personally killing those responsible for the murder of their loved ones. It was a violent and bloody path and they both achieved their goal. They obliterated the opposition. Total success you could say.

What was intriguing for me, was the personal process of unraveling each of these characters went through. The personal destruction of who they were, who they had seen themselves as I guess, was all encompasing.

The two endings were different. In one the character ended up killing the last person responsible, at the same time as he killed him. They both sat, bloody and battered for a minute or two before they croaked. The chilling words of the last baddie to the avenger, as they both took their last breaths, were “See what I have made you become. You are no different to me now.”

The second movie’s ending, involved the avenger surviving, through the help of an empathetic detective, who allowed her to shoot him, not fatally, and then stage the scene that the baddies had all died in some internal gang shoot out. So you could say, she had gotten away with it. But she too, was no longer the person she had been, how could she be after physically haven taken lives, even of arseholes.

I felt sick at the end of each of these movies, physically and emotionally. It is one thing to have anger, and a lurking rage that can intimidate your own soul. It is an entirely different matter to enact that anger.

Despite the fact that these two stories, were just that, stories in which we might empathise and detach from reality and perhaps have some inner voice saying, good on you, the reality for me is a sense of how wrong all this was.

I have at times felt that there must be something else, that I should be doing about Shelley’s murder. I have felt somehow that I should have been, should be able to shout loud enough so that the world takes notice, and changes the way we do business as human beings. You know, I can fix the world. Stop all the wars, all the injustices, all the imbalances of power, etc etc. You know what - and I know, that is not going to happen.

So I have come full circle, back to the start of this posting. My life task is to live my life as best as I can, as well as I can and to do no harm. I can honour Shelley by doing this, by embracing all that is good, by walking hand in hand with my grief, not being afraid of my feelings. This is my path.

"I would say that I’m a non-violent soldier.
In place of weapons of violence, you have to use your mind, your heart, your sense of humour; every faculty available to you because no one has the right to take the life of another human being.”

Joan Baez b 1941

Arohanui
KG

coldplay fix you

2008-11-24T11:53:00.001+13:00

Can't resist posing this. Saw it in the movie Young at Heart then discovered it was from a Coldplay album. Loved the movie, love this song. Enjoy.
More blogging to come.
KG
XX

All at Sea

2008-09-24T12:47:00.002+12:00

The spring has sprung and the grass has riz. The fresh new air of spring envelopes my world. I sit outside looking at the amazing native bush backdrop, across the vast lawn. The daisies have popped up all over the lawn, in no particular pattern. It is incredible to think that there are so many different types of green and here they are, displayed before me in all their glory.

The native bush is like a stage set providing a magnificent backdrop of shapes and colours. The interlaced branches of shrubs and trees make a magnificent canopy through which the light filters. Each puff of wind provides a light show of gentle flickers as the branches stretch and weave allowing the light to shine here and then there.

I have always wanted a house with sea views. The ultimate dream. But now, I wouldn’t swap this setting for that.

It is ever changing, like the sea; it sings and swirls, moves and shakes in high winds, like the sea; it presents an amazing show of shadows and light, like the sea; it is a living, whispering, ever changing entity, like the sea; it is home to many different living species, like the sea; it is magnificent, like the sea; it replenishes and refreshes me, like the sea; it caresses my spirit and mind, like the sea; it soothes my soul, like the sea; it somehow allows me to breathe deeply and fends off the panic and claustrophobia of living, like the sea.

I sit at the outdoor table under a magnificent green shade sail, looking out at this vast expanse of green sea. I am the captain of this house/ship, confident I can steer her through the sea of grasses and trees. I have my trusty wind rainbow sock, (from San Francisco) at the helm, to assist me. I am peaceful and confident I can make this journey.

Sometimes, when night has settled her blanket over the sky, I wake thinking that I can’t breathe, that I must get up early in the morning and head out to my favourite beach. Piha, the beach that had been my sanctuary, my salvation when it had become claustrophobic for me to be in the city, to be in my house. I feel like some land-stuck fish out of water, fending off the panic that there is not enough oxygen around me and that if only I can get to the sea, I will be able to breathe again. I drift off back to sleep with my plan for the early morning. When light starts the day again, I will run away to the sea. I will be fine, by the sea.

The morning arrives, I get up and go outside to my bush sea. I never do get into the car and drive to Piha. It just seems so far away now, and I don’t want to waste time getting there. So I sit viewing the vista at my own back door and I breathe easy.

Arohanui

KGXX

Razzle Dazzle Me

2008-09-03T15:53:00.007+12:00

Challenged by the blank paper, I have again been waiting to find the “perfect” words, realising all the time that there are no such words. And that this is becoming an obsession of mine!! So I have shaken of that particular prerequisite and am “just writing.”

I do think of amazing things, sometimes in the middle of the night and even go so far as to say to myself, “remember to put that in the blog in the morning.” Of course, you know it, come morning and it has gone. That thought, that snippet, that insight, those seemingly perfect words - evaporated into the place of dreams, left free to float uncaptured.

The essence of things is much the same.

The peacefulness that I now have from doing a job that I love. The knowing, that I can do it, and do it well. The growing confidence each time I go to work and the incorporating of a new peacefulness with this and the removal of fear of making a major fuck up. I still might I guess, but I never did before in those five and a half years, so I have decided not to waste negative energy worrying about something I do have control over. I just need to keep doing my best.

The parallel travelling companion of grief, like a tried yet unpredictable friend, is ever present. It accompanies the peacefulness, suprises me with a snippet of a thought, a gentle kiss on the cheek, a child’s hand tangible in my hand. It drags me back and forth in time, rerunning a memory, projecting a disaster. It enrages the monster within me, and I struggle to take the air back from around it.

The quest for the perfect words, the frustration at reading what I have written and not being satisfied that I have conveyed “it”, whatever that particular “it” might be at that particular time, has made me more aware of other people’s words, language. As I have mooched my way through some of the rainy four days off I have, every 10 days, I have observed much more keenly the use of language.

Some of these observations have been through watching the American election campaign on Fox TV, (forgive me from succumbing to the nauseous presenters but they come with the territory!! I am not sure, if they are meant to be taken seriously or not but I find them quite hilarious, caricatures in fact, of serious news presenters.) Anyway, I watched Hilary Clinton and Barack Obama’s speeches. I thought they did a good job. He has wonderful rhetoric, inspiring, motivational words delivered exquisitely. She said all the right things, and while I kept waiting for her to choke on her disappointment at not being the nominee, she didn’t. She appeared gracious and to be acting for the “greater good” of the Democratic Party. Well done those two. You are left wondering at the depth of substance and the ability for the actions to match the words.

One week has elapsed from the above start to this entry. I have just spent a little bit of time watching the Republican Convention. To be honest, I feel sick to my stomach. There was a video honouring a soldier, a Navy Seal, who had thrown himself on a grenade, to protect his fellow soldiers. He was an honourable young man, with a family, doing his job with commitment and passion. It cost him his life. His family now have to learn to live with his death, willingly entered into or not. It will make no difference to their grief.

What made my stomach churn was not the honouring of this man, but that his contribution and his death, was being used to prop up the Republican point that seems to me to be that they are better equipped to safeguard America. That a death in war for one’s country, is an acceptable cost and one that they as leaders, will not shy away from. The genuine gratitude and respect for the members of his family who were present at the convention, was I am sure sincere. It all just seemed too rah rah rah for me and while heart strings and patriotism was rampant, all I could see was that there would be more young men and women sent to their deaths, in the name of politics. The speakers, of course, do not themselves face these dangers or the reality of their decisions. They can stand there and make emotional speeches, squeeze a tear or two out of their eyes, say he/she will never be forgotten, but they are at risk, only on the political battlefield, where ego and power are the prizes.

Who will win the battle for President, is anybody’s guess.

Ah well. Other words that have taken me in, lifted my soul and my heart, have been in the Janet Frame book, “Toward Another Summer.” I began reading and was unable to put this book down, until I had finished it. A bittersweet achievement, in that I didn’t want the words to end, but was compelled to reach the end. Her words have the ability to say so much, to contain so many layers of insight, emotion, to reveal to you the reader, so much family history, to take you into her life as a child, a young woman and a writer. I was totally transfixed and in awe. She found the perfect words. I have been inspired to keep stuttering along in my own way.

Words frame our reality. Actions define our lives. My by line – and damn near perfect!

Arohanui,
KG
XX

More Shopping More Grief

2008-08-06T17:59:00.001+12:00

Still shopping today but the task is now complete. Three pairs of dress slacks, three more gorgeous shirts, (silk) and a fabulous black/charcoal silk tracksuit. The jacket is ideal for throwing over the top of the aforementioned shirts and slacks to wear at work, if the air conditioning is still temperamental. And not to forget, the two new pairs of shoes.

Tomorrow is my final day off before I get back into the 6 on, 4 off routine. I am going to read a book, write some poems and do some gardening. Oh and pick up my slacks which all had to be taken up a bit. I must be shrinking or else all the other fat people are taller than me!!

It has been a weird transition from one job to another. I feel like a real weight has been taken off my shoulders and that I can now resume to contribute in a meaningful way, to the society in which I live. I feel empowered and happy.

Happy is a word that doesn’t fit my skin all that well. But I can’t deny that I am – happy. There is a tandem movement going on, I am happy and at the same time there is room for the enduring sadness that is the missing of my darling Shelley. It runs along with everything. It is present in everything I do, say, feel and think. And guess what, I now know it can be parallel with my happiness.

To complicate matters even further, I am also angry. Angry that I have to deal with all these complicated emotions, angry that I really don’t know the best way of doing that. Angry, angry, angry, that Shelley was murdered. Angry, that the jury couldn’t reach a decision. Angry that July is loaded with so much joy and sorrow. Again tandem emotions. The births of my fabulous sons, their dad’s birthday and Shelley’s death day. Ah at least I know where the anger is coming from. So in July I have great cause to celebrate and great cause to be devastated. I honour both of these emotions as best I can.

I still go to see my counselor, here is a promo for her www.counselme.co.nz
Truly, if you ever need to speak with someone, I recommend this amazing woman. She has guided me and helped keep me sane, (ok but you know what I mean!) I have placed my life in her hands and am a stronger and better person for having done so.

I don’t want this blog to be seen as depressing or morbid. It is simply my recounting of where I am at. Grief is part of my life – I am not ashamed of that and it can’t be any other way. This is my story only and I bare my soul in the hope that it may give comfort to other people working through their grief. If it makes you depressed – don’t read it. I am a cheerful, happy, pretty much well adjusted human being living my life with my grief. I will not silence it nor will it overtake me (with help and the love and support of my family.) It just is.

This week I received the details of the planned Hyde Park Memorial for the 7/7 victims. I plan on being their next July7 for the unveiling of this mangnificent tribute and memorial to all those who died and all those who survived. I just wish it didn’t have to be there at all.

Arohanui,
KG
XX

Shock for a shopaphobic

2008-08-04T16:33:00.004+12:00

Fun and shopping are not two words that anyone who knows me, would associate with me!! But hey, I have just had fun shopping. Amazing. I can hardly believe it myself.

Having just left a uniformed job, (not a nice uniform but it certainly cuts time off your start to the day not having to think what to wear), and getting ready to start my new/old job on Friday, I had to get some new duds.

Being something of a shopaphobic I have done this task in two bites. A week or so ago I got up early, hit the mall before almost anyone else, and in two hours had purchased six great tops that I love. Yikes!! What is happening to me. Yes I love them. They are all great colours, soft and stretchy material and they even look nice on me.

New outfit topped off brilliantly - Yeah Right!

Having secured my top half I have felt a bit under pressure to make sure I got the bottom covered. No easy task I can assure you. So today, I kept to my winning strategy and hit the mall early and within not two, but one hour, I had purchased three fabulous pairs of dress slacks. Amazing.

I have since played dress ups, also most unlike me, with both the tops and the bottoms and you will never guess what? They all go together brilliantly. I can’t believe it.

So if any of you out there have suffered the same aversion to malls, and shopping and been like me, happy blobbing around in whatever is comfortable there is hope of a change. I put some of it down to watching the instant makeover programmes on the telly. I chose types of things I would not usually have chosen, took my time, (well not too much time obviously), and hey presto. I doubt I look 10 years younger in four hours but I certainly feel damn flash.

So a good news story for today.

Have fun and if you get bored – go shopping. Ha ha

Arohanui,

KG

PS. Opps, I still have the shoe challenge to go and only three days left!! A piece of cake!!

Hung Jury - 7/7 Trial

2008-08-03T10:34:00.002+12:00

On one level I haven’t given the trial much thought. I have received the daily updates from our Metropolitan Police Liaison officer, quickly skimmed through them and then just waited. I waited during the 7th July, then the dates in July that are Shelley’s two brothers birthdays, also her dad’s birthday and the date of her funeral service in NZ – all July dates.

I waited. maybe hoping for some kind of justice to strike the hearts of those alleged to have helped plan the murder or my daughter. Had they been found guilty, I expected to feel some kind of long distance satisfaction that the smirks had been wiped off their faces, and that their lives would now be drastically changed by having to spend their every breathing moment in a prison cell.

Had they been found innocent, strangely, I would have been relieved for them, knowing that a vigilant justice system had thrashed out all the details and reached a sound judgment.

I am surprised at the depth of my feeling at the non-result. I guess I wanted a decision, one way or another. To have no further clarity and the knowledge that it may well all start over again with a retrial, is quite simply devastating. It feels like the worst possible result. I am none the wiser as to whether they participated or not.

All the families of the dead have to wait for an outcome in this trial before a final inquest can be held, and families delivered the “official” findings. Of course, it makes little difference, we all know our loved ones are dead, how they died. The Inquest is, I guess, just another marker in the journey of loss, and it has just been moved further away with no definite time frame.

There may not even be a retrial, there may be a retrial and then could they appeal if found guilty? I don’t know.

In one way, as I say it doesn’t matter, in another way it does and I know that many families and survivors will find this whole process distressing.

My thoughts are with them all at this time.

Kia kaha

KG

Back to the Future

2008-07-18T09:20:00.001+12:00

Today has been a misty rainy day. It is my mid day of three days off and the weather decided the course of action for the day.

I have spent most of it, writing up my exit interview for my current job, which I finish up on 31st July. It has been an interesting process and I hope some of my comments prove helpful and make a bit of a difference. It’s not that it’s an awful job, it just that I have become so bored and while I had thought this particular job would be my last one, I came to the realization that I wouldn’t be able to last the distance. (Well ok the few years left to retirement!! Ha ha)

I am heading back to the future in that I am returning to my previous job as a Police Dispatcher. A few months ago this would have struck fear into my heart but many things have changed over the past 16 months, since I first left that job.

I became unsettled in my new job and was looking around for other opportunities. Nothing appealed and the thought of having to front up to someone half my age to justify my existence and right to a good salary, put me off even more.

I am not sure what it is about Employment Agencies, but they certainly don’t do much for my confidence!! I recall one horror set of questions such as, if I was at a party, would I talk to a tall woman!! I wasn’t sure how to answer this, should I have said, yes of course if she was gorgeous looking, or no I only speak to short women? I mean what was that all about? I was petrified at the thought of being classified as more mentally unstable than I am.

Anyway, I have been spared the embarrassment of appearing to be insane by being welcomed back with enthusiasm to the role I do love. It is a stressful job, but a very rewarding job. You are at the interface of all the things that go wrong in our society, robberies, burglaries, domestic violence. You name it, it gets called in.

I love being able to make a difference, to be in charge of my own decisions and responsible for my own actions. Ok, they can make or break you and we are all aware of how badly things can and do sometimes go wrong with our emergency system. However, fingers crossed nothing drastic happened on my watch before and hopefully my judgment will be in strong play and all the better for the break away.

There is something else I like about the job. There is a tremendous feeling of belonging, support and respect from all areas of the police. When Shelley was murdered, the police family swung into action in a huge way. I can never thank them enough and in some way my return may just do that for me.

There have been two high profile deaths of serving police staff in the past few weeks. I knew only Steve Fitzgerald, as he was the National Communications Manager at the time of 7/7. He was incredible to my family. He swung all the assistance we needed into action and rang me personally many times when Shelley’s Dad and I were in London, waiting for confirmation of her death.

I am eternally grateful for his role in supporting my family, and I know that his dear family now will be receiving all the love and support possible from this, our police family.

I do feel like I am going home again. It will be my honour to carry on assisting the front line police with all my skills and ability. I will do it with even more passion and as a tribute to Steve and all the wonderful staff who put their lives on the line daily.

Arohanui

KG

7/7

2008-07-08T11:57:00.000+12:00

We have had phone calls, txts and flowers to the house. It is lovely to know that so many people care so deeply about Shelley and then take the time to check in with us. It all makes a difference.

At another level, there is a deep rage running parallel with all the “nice” things we are doing.

Sitting at lunch with Shelley’s brothers, I just knew Shelley should have been there too. It is a mixed emotion of love and appreciation for them and the awful yawning gap of her absence. That they have been robbed too and have to deal with her murder as best they can.

We are all philosophical souls I guess but I cannot find the words to convey the deep underlying sadness that is only a blink away from spilling out in tears or rage. Looking at all of us today, we are good and keeping on. To maintain eye contact too long would have resulted in the tears flowing. So we joke about stuff and raise our glasses to our beautiful Shelley. We think about all her friends who are so sad too. We think of all the families who lost a loved one and the survivors. It becomes overwhelming.

I have come home to weep and look into Shelley’s eyes in the beautiful photos we have around the home. I just want to hold her and feel the warmth of her body, the movement of her breath and revel in the sound of her laughter.

I am feeling violent in that I could murder a bottle of brandy – but am resisting the urge as I don’t want to start counting the days all over again. So logically, I deal with it knowing there is such a fine line between coping/not coping, resisting the emotion/giving in to it.

I will stay up til after midnight, til the 8th but know that it is the 7th in London then.

Post script: At 730pm NZ time we had a call from a dear friend who was at Kings Cross station placing some flowers for Shelley and thinking about us. She rang to say she wanted us to know she was there, thinking about Shelley and all the victims. The tears flowed but the bottle of brandy remained untouched. A small triump!!

Out of this horror there have been some wonderful new friendships created. Shelley has helped create a wonderful circle of goodness around the globe.

There are not words to express how much I feel and how much I/we appreciate all the ongoing love and support.

Much love always to all our dear ones,

Arohanui

KG
XX

7/7/08

2008-07-06T23:28:00.016+12:00

There are no perfect words. Just our love and our loss. My thoughts and love are with you all this and every day.

Russell Square:

James Adams; Samantha Badham; Philip Beer; Anna Brandt; Ciaran Cassidy; Rachelle Chung For Yuen; Elizabeth Daplyn; Arthur Frederick; Karolina Gluck; Gamze Gunoral; Lee Harris; Ojara Ikeagwu; Emily Jenkins; Adrian Johnson; Helen Jones; Susan Levy; Shelley Mather; Michael Matsushita; James Mayes; Behnaz Mozakka; Michaela Otto; Atique Sharifi; Ihab Slimane; Christian Small; Monika Suchocka; Mala Trivedi.

Tavistock Square:

Anthony Fatayi-Williams; Jamie Gordon; Giles Hart; Marie Hartley; Miriam Hyman; Shahara Islam; Neetu Jain; Sam Ly; Shyanuja Parathasangary; Anat Rosenberg; Philip Russel; William Wise; Gladys Wundowa.

Aldgate:

Lee Baisden; Benedetta Ciaccia; Richard Ellery; Richard Gray; Anne Moffat; Fiona Stevenson; Carrie Taylor.

Edgware Road:

Michael Brewster; Jonathan Downey; David Foulkes; Colin Morley; Jennifer Nicholson; Laura Webb.

Arohanui

Kia kaha

KG
XX

7/7 Anniversary

2008-07-06T23:17:00.003+12:00

PERFECT WORDS
7/7/08

I am trying
to capture
the perfect words

to describe the way it is
without you

to convey the enormity
of this day
this date
7/7

there is a need
I think
to create
a new dictionary

of loss
of loving

of words
to describe
the sweetness of you

the tilt of your mouth
the deliciousness of your laughter

your youth your hopes
your dreams

how to describe
the whirlpool of loss

swirling around us
sucking us up
spitting us out
battered and bruised

there is a need
I think

to create
a new dictionary

TO(E)DAY

2008-06-17T12:05:00.003+12:00

Well it was actually Friday that the TOE got dealt too!!! I had an appointment for the 28th but really it wasn’t possible to go to work with the TOE as it was. So a call to my wonderful GP on Thursday last, resulted in an appointment that day with a specialist who kindly fitted me into his operating schedule for the next day! No time to think and it was really a relief.

I have since been – doing nothing much!! Photographic evidence supports this. Ha ha. I am honoured to have an intelligent Ted E Bear who likes reading and listening to his Ipod while keeping an eye on me. End result is I will have had two weeks off work by the time I am certified fit, (not mentally you understand) to return on Saturday. I have to say this has been the silver lining of the cloud of toe pain. I have read three books, got stuck into my writing and have just enjoyed not having to do anything. I have especially enjoyed not having to get up at in the middle of the night to go to work.

The weather is on the turn with slight but consistent drizzle. The house is snug and warm and I don’t worry about leaks in the roof as I did in the older home. It is great and it really does feel like home. The bush out the back is just as glorious in the wet and provides an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colour and movement along with birds of all sorts and the odd visiting neighbourhood cat.

The cat is gentle. It is orange and brown/black and white. It looks like Shelley’s cat, Sparkey. Shelley’s cat got killed by a rouge dog, as she lay sunning herself in the back garden at our old home. It was a shocking violent death to a lovely gentle cat. I had to phone Shelley in London and tell her. It was one of the worst things I had to do, until Shelley died.

I think this visiting look-a-like cat knows we love cats, but are too raw to take on any more pets, anymore anything really. It comes up to us as we sit outside, meows, accepts a pat and then sprawls around for a while. It is a gentle cat and gives us love by remote. We don’t have to worry about its’ day to day welfare. This morning it was sitting curled up at the bottom of the expansive lawn, at the base of one of the native trees. It might have been the pose for in front of a fire on a winter’s day, but it was drizzling and the cat just sat, curled up and looking peaceful. It is nice having her/him around.

June is nearing an end and for me that means the 7th of July is looming. I never know what to do on the day. The day Shelley was murdered. I get very stressed before the day, wondering what I am supposed to do. I always feel like I should scream and shout and yell at everyone in the world, this is the day my darling daughter was murdered. This is her death day. Thought out carefully by a cold-blooded killer who dared to step onto a tube train in London and connect the wires to his homemade bomb. He killed 26 people on Shelley’s tube. His friends killed another 26. They had made a practice run to make sure they got it right.

I am receiving daily updates from the London trial of associates of the murderers. There may be some chance that they will be found guilty and spend the rest of their lives in jail. I really don’t care. Whatever happens to them won’t change my life’s role of doing my best to live as best I can in my grief. It is too late to change what happened.

The murderers at least killed themselves in some misguided belief that their actions were their passport to heaven. I doubt it even exists and maybe that is the last laugh on them. Their being dead in some ways makes it easier; I don’t have to see their faces or wade through a trail involving them. I am not sure I could contain my anger if they were alive. It frightens me to think how I might cope with that, so for me, it is best that they are wherever they are. Hell I think, if that exists.

I won’t run around yelling. I still don’t know what I will do. In some ways it is no different to any other day, without Shelley. It is just that it is the day. The day my life changed forever.

I will think of all her fellow travellers who died; of the survivors who are piecing their lives back into some sort of order while they learn to live with the images and memories of that fateful tube trip.

That is what we do. We all have to learn somehow, how to keep going. I will see my sons and give them a hug. That is all I need with my HB’s love to keep going.

Arohanui,

KG
XX

Pain and Inspiration

2008-06-12T09:09:00.002+12:00

I find it incredible that a big toe can cause such pain!! Sad, but true. Having suffered the misfortune of an ingrown toenail, I now have to front up to have it operated on. Yikes!! I am a quivering wreck at the thought of someone, (even though he seems quite a nice Dr), taking both sides of my big toe nail out, (I don’t want to know how!!) and then cauterizing the base of the nail.

There is a date set for this ordeal and it will take all of my fortitude to actually turn up for that appointment, two weeks away. I guess I associate toenail pulling out, cutting up, whatever you want to call it, with all the torture scenes I have seen in movies. I have agreed to say anything they want to avoid the ordeal, but that is not an option. Oh well, I will just have to shut up and put up. That includes keeping my foot elevated for 24 hrs after the event. That might be the most difficult thing for me to do. Actually the most difficult job will by for my HB, who will have to cater to my whimpering and whining!!

I had a wonderful birthday, even though I had succumbed to the flu that is wrecking havoc all around me. FBS, SBS & his SH came over and together with my HB, we shared a wonderful meal and an evening of just being together. Having all my special people in one place at the same time is the best thing that I could ask for. My heart and soul were refreshed and gladdened. They are all so amazing. I am truly blessed and so proud of them all.

I have settled on two tattoo designs and head off today to get them.

Funny how I am looking forward to that pain, as opposed to the toe thing!! Not sure what that says about me.

I have updated my profile with the incredible quote from Joan Baez. It speaks volumes to me and inspires my continued writing. I write with the desire of being one small voice that might make a difference.

I watched a movie on John Lennon and Yoko Ono last week. “the us vs john lennon. What a truly inspirational man he was, and together with Yoko, they took a stand for what they believed in. Peace. Their words and actions put them offside with governments and authorities but they just kept going. Doing what they believed in. The film is very powerful and I highly recommend viewing. I had not really ever truly realized the magic and power of these two amazing people. The viewing has further inspired me and the bad news is, I am going to keep writing!!

Off to the tattoo studio.

Arohanui

KG
XX

Eddie Izzard's Encore on Computers

2008-06-01T18:12:00.001+12:00

Sorry can't resist..have been sitting here watching you tube for ages.
WARNING lots of the F word.

Am logging off now. I promise.
KG
XX

Eddie Izzard- Death Star Canteen Sketch

2008-06-01T17:50:00.001+12:00

This is so bloody funny, I have laughed for days and told everyone I know about it. I used to watch Eddie Izzard on the tele ages ago. He is sooooooooo funny.

Enjoy.

KG
XX

June Musings

2008-06-01T14:09:00.006+12:00

June has arrived. It is my birthday month and I am giving myself some days off around the day. My best friend and I are the same age. We have been friends since we were 15 years old. That is a long time ago now. I was commiserating with her on our upcoming age, and was delighted when she abused me and told me we were actually a year younger than I thought!! Good news and I can’t believe I was so surprised. Dumbarse.

I am four years older than my dad when he died, thirty years older than dear Shelley. I would swap, in the blink of an eye, my time to give to her. I cannot do that and as I reflect on my life so far, I have much to be grateful for. Apart, is such a small word with a huge meaning for me. Apart for Shelley’s death, I am satisfied and grateful for my life as it is. I wish apart was not part of it at all.

(I think I will get myself another tattoo for my birthday. I have three already, one after my mother died, and two magnificent ones for Shelley. My next one will be something small that means strength to me, and honours my survival so far.)

I don’t wish I was any younger. I am at a place I enjoy, as much as I can, the people and things in my life. It is a good place to be, as good as it can be. The ever-gaping hole in my heart is no longer an enemy. It just is. There is something every day, which causes me to think of my darling daughter. It may be a young girl passing through the screening point at the airport, off on her OE or a mother with a young baby. One young woman had been crying and was still visibly upset when she came through to me. She said she was sad leaving her family but was excited and just had to do it. I encouraged her, all the time fighting off the desire to tell her not to go, to go back to her family. Instead I wished her well and hoped, more than anything that she would head off, enjoy her time and return safely to her family. That is what I want for everyone.

I have finished the house, deck and fence painting. Yay!! It looks bloody good, even if I do say so myself. I am now about to start doing a few things in the garden. A bit of spring cleaning and replanting. Then, this low maintenance home, (huh I sure was sucked in by that phrase!), should indeed be low maintenance. I will then have time to get stuck into my writing. I need time and peace to do that and it is almost here.

The writing process is a way of getting lost in my thoughts and feelings and of having some control over things. I control the words and the meaning for me, and hope that it all may mean something to others. In the end, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t but I am encouraged by people that tell me they get something out of my humble efforts. That pleases me.

I have another dear friend, K, whose beloved son died a few months before Shelley. His death was long and slow, the result of an incredibly rare disease that wastes away your bones, (only 200 people in the world have had this). He was 18years old. Her family nursed him at home for the last seven months of his life. I admire her courageousness. She rang me a little while after Shelley’s death and has been one of my strongest bonds and inspirations since.

Together our grief is outrageous, if it was colours, it would be black and blue and deep purple. But it is magnificent to be able to be so bold and loud and unreasonable about the death of our children. She says that I help her and she sure as hell helps me, tremendously. We talk about the different deaths, one with time to talk and nurture, one without. One is no better than the other. I can’t imagine how she managed all those months, knowing what the outcome would be; she can’t imagine the brutality, shock and horror of the murderous death. We laugh too, which may surprise you, but we do. At outrageous things. The poor check out chick who says, “Have a nice day,” and you want to, or do explode, saying how the hell can I have a nice day my child is dead. It is so raw and wild and we understand each other.

It is wonderful to be able to talk to each other, no holds barred and say what we think and feel. We mutter about people muttering on about time is great healer. Bullshit, we say, it doesn’t change a thing. Perhaps the healing does increase and you can be again able, to take some joy from life, from your other children and your family. But the wound is as fresh today as if was the 7th July for me, and her son's death date for her. It will be so every day we draw breath.

This is for Ben and Shelley and their ever loving Mums and families.

We love you and hold you in our hearts every day.

Every Day

every day
I carry this

the loss of you

some days
it is not obvious

but today

it hits me again

I hold the weight of your ashes

more than you weighed at birth
I think

I clutch them to me
I want to place you back inside me

to give you life again

I carry you

every day
every day

(from my book “Dear Shelley”, published June 2006)

Arohanui,

KG

Mother's Day

2008-05-11T11:57:00.001+12:00

Today is Mother’s day. At one extreme it is another commercial identity gone berserk. Brochures have filled the letterbox all week with “gifts” especially targeted for the female species (from $2 gifts to gifts worth 1000’s.) At the other end of the scale there will be some children making the proverbial burnt toast and cold tea treat for their mum. Somewhere in the middle, maybe, there is the hope that all of us pause a while and consider the role our mother has played in our lives.

For some this will be an act of love. For others it will be reflecting on cracked and frayed relationships that have so far taken up hours of therapy with still more to come!! A mother’s role is a powerful one in a person’s life. Like any type of power, it can be used for good or evil in the extreme.

For me, it is a very mixed day. I am one of the lucky ones. My mother was a strong, loving and giving woman. She strived hard and worked long hours to support her family as a widow after my father’s death, when I was 10 years old. This was no easy task, there were no benefits in those days and Mum worked two jobs to keep us all clothed, fed and educated. Mum didn't always approve of my decisions but she always loved and supported me, no matter what.

Mum died at the age of 85 and you know, she never missed anyone’s birthday. Without fail, a card would arrive in the mailbox on the exact birth date, for the birthday person. This included her children and their children. I found a pile of them the other day, when I was going through some of my stuff. Cards for me, Shelley, FBS and SBS. Cards the kids all treasured and took great delight in. There was usually some spending money as it becomes hard to know what to send when you live in another part of the country. They were a great source of joy and love.

I am grateful for my mother’s love and her strength. She showed me what a strong, loving woman is. She has walked with me in Shelley’s death and I have drawn on her strength and love to survive my daughter’s death. I wonder how she would have handled this tragedy and I am glad in some ways, she was spared that pain. She had had enough pain in her own life.

Shelley was the first baby she had seen that was so tiny. When we were born, the mother didn’t get to see the baby straight away, and it was I think up to a week before they got to hold and touch the baby. She had never seen a bellybutton, still with some of the cord attached. I remember her surprise and her question about it.

I hope she knows how much she has helped me in my life. In fact I know she does.

I am blessed with my three children and love all three for eternity. The world is a better place for the lives of these two young men and their sister. I am blessed and proud to be their mother. I carry them all in my heart – everyday.

Much love my darlings

KG
XX

K.D. Lang sings Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah

2008-05-07T20:30:00.003+12:00

kd lang

2008-05-07T19:43:00.005+12:00

The sun finally shone for a while today. Long enough for me to do some fence staining. I have diverted my energy to doing this instead of finishing the last little bit of house wall that needs it’s second coat. I am a bit sick of climbing up and down the ladder and thought fence staining looked easier!!! Huh!! It isn’t. It is time consuming and fiddly but it does look fabulous.

I have still got three or four more days painting to go before I can say, the house, decks and fences are finished!! I am looking forward to that and to just slobbing around the house, reading books, writing and keeping warm.

I had some help today. kd lang assited me by blasting my eardrums with her amazing songs. I am in kd overdrive as HB and I went to see her live concert last night. She is an incredible singer and songwriter. Her show was exceptional with new songs and old songs, all done to with perfection and passion and even better than on the cds. That is true natural talent. Her voice raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I wept as she sang Leondard Cohen’s, Hallelujah, haunting, incredible and one of the songs I listened to over and over again when Shelley was murdered. Music is one of my life lines and there are some songs that are so much part of Shelley in my life. It was amazing to witness this beautiful singer performing this song. Of course, every song kd sang was incredible. There is so much joy to be had watching such a skilled and gifted performer giving of her soul. Along with my other favourites artists, kd has supported me in my grief, through her music. My memory of seeing her live, will always be part of my life.

Thank you kd lang for sharing your amazing self and touching my soul.

Arohanui,

KGXX

Joyfulness

2008-05-01T17:59:00.004+12:00

There is much joy in my life that rides side by side with my grief. I have much to be thankful for in the love of my HB, my sons (FBS & SBS and his SH). I write about grief more often because it is ever present and because it is a new experience.

It touches the autumn colours of the leaves that bring me joy. It hangs around the laughter that we (HB, FBS, SBS & his SH) generate when we all get together. It is in the present and the future. It will be there until I take my last breath and beyond.

There is no how to do grief manual. It is a very individual process, unique for each one of us. It is huge but I can breathe and let it wash over me now. I am no longer scared of it. In some ways I have to befriend this gnawing emptiness, to tuck it under my heart and wear it. It is just a different way of being; this is my life, incorporating loving, laughing, working, planning and grieving.

It is simple really. It can’t be avoided. It is a constant knowledge; a constant pain.

I have much to be thankful for and much to thank my dearest and nearest for. The love, the support, the joy, the struggles we all share. I would not say that I am miserable, or living a miserable life. I am living the best life I can with those I love. I have an energy to live it the best way I can, the way Shelley would want me to live it, with a joyfulness and an energy to engage in life.

I learn from my sons, her brothers, who are amazing in their wisdom and grief. They have taught me to live life large, to use all of my abilities to the limit, to honour Shelley. I am supported in love and life by my darling HB.

I could not even have got this far without the love and support of my dear hearts. They support my tears, I support their tears and we move on through it. I know they are there no matter what, and they know the same thing. That’s how we roll. Shelley would be proud.

For my precious darlings,
with my love and gratitude

Kia Kaha

KGXX

No Recipe for Grief

2008-05-01T17:20:00.002+12:00

There was supposed to be a big storm last night. Torrential rain, high winds and flooding were expected in much of the Far North and the East Coast of the North Island of NZ. Local council crews and fire crews were on standby for the imminent disaster. But guess what? It didn’t eventuate.

It has been showery with a few good wind gusts but not much more, anywhere. The sun does it’s best to kid us it is still good weather, but it can only outrun the clouds for intermittent periods. The resultant days have been very mixed, sunny one minute; huge black thundery clouds the next with a few showers in-between. Unpredictable sums it up accurately.

The rain means that I am not able to continue with my painting project. I have kept myself busy, very busy. I only realize the effort I have been putting in to keeping busy, when the enforced stillness comes. I have been avoiding stillness. With it comes the deep knowing of the loss. The gut knowing, heart knowing, soul knowing, all encompassing, knowing – that Shelley is dead.

I can’t argue with nature, I have to give into it and work with whatever it throws me. I have to adapt.

It is the same with Shelley’s death. An unnatural process, an act of terrorism/murder, call it what you like - the unlawful taking of another’s life. The title doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that Shelley is no longer here to enjoy her life. Shelley is no longer physically here in my life.

The busyness (not sure that is even a word but business spells business as in mind your own, or commercial activity!!) continues despite the inclement weather. I have adapted and redirected my energy into my writing and trying to create delicious vegetarian winter-type meals, comfort food for us all. This seems right and I am enjoying the creative nature of both of these tasks

Shelley had heaps of great vegetarian recipes and she had lovingly hand written them all into a notebook. I found her recipe book when we were sorting through her meagre belongings. I photocopied the recipes and gave one of her best friends, the original copy. That was all she wanted. It was the right thing to do.

I thought I might make a Shelley recipe for dinner tonight. I got out the folder with the photocopies in it and started sifting through the pages. Suddenly, I was crying again. Unable to contain my feelings, the tears just poured and poured out of me. I had thought I had done all the crying I could do in a lifetime – but that is not the case. The recipes will have to wait a while before I can delve into the precious words Shelley put down along with a tick or two beside her favourite and I imagine, most successful recipes.

It is a peaceful kind of grieving, if there is such a thing. The stillness and quietness somehow brings me closer to Shelley. She is in my heart and soul as I work at my computer on the poems for my second book and this blog. It feels good.

Today is the 37th alcohol free day. I think I might even stop counting them shortly. It is so strange that it doesn’t seem to be an issue any more. I don’t want to drink. I have far too much to do. I have to learn how to work through the grief that I had submerged. I have to learn to embrace the stillness and not be afraid of the feelings that emerge.

I used to worry about what I would do instead of drinking. No I wonder how I had the time to bother drinking and worry about running out of life before I get all the things done that I want to do. It is a very odd feeling.

Arohanui,

KG
XX

ANZAC Day 2007

2008-04-27T14:38:00.004+12:00

Thirteen days later. It is no longer raining. The torrential downpours have stopped and there are now only intermittent and unpredictable bursts of rain. The weather is mostly fine with cloudy skies which are not to be trusted if you are planning outdoor activities – like finishing the house painting!

The evenings and nights are cooler with a good covering of dew that evaporates after the first hour or two of daylight. The autumn trees have changed and have shed most of their glorious multi-coloured leaves. The air is crisp and feels clear and clean when I breathe it in at 3am on my way to work. (The time is not a joke!!)

The 25th of April was ANZAC Day, a national day of remembrance in NZ and Australia, in honour of the soldiers who lost their lives at Gallipoli in WWI. The soldiers were from a combined Australian and New Zealand force, hence the name ANZAC. Each year the number of people paying their respects grows. In Auckland alone, some 20,000 people gathered for the main dawn parade at the Auckland War Memorial. There were many more ceremonies throughout NZ, Australia and of course, at Gallipoli itself. All have reported increasing numbers of young people, families with their children and grandchildren, over the past few years and this year that trend has continued.

The increasing numbers attending the ANZAC day commemorations says something about us as a nation. The comments taken from those attending reflect a sense of national pride in the role these young men took on for their countries. That they paid the ultimate price, with their lives, is honoured and treasured by both the nation as a whole, and by the subsequent generations of their families. The families pass on the stories about a loved, grandfather, father, cousin or uncle. Their families are a living tribute to their lives.

It is also a time when collectively as a nation, we reflect on the horrors of war and the tremendous cost in lives, to our families and our country. There is also a sense of hope, certainly a desire, that such loses should not be experienced again. A search and wish for peace.

It is honourable and fitting that we pause on such a day and reflect on the cost of war and the search for peace.

The reality is that these precious lives lost 84 years ago and honoured and treasured with such respect, have not been the last. NZ suffered losses in WWII, Vietnam and Afghanistan and more. (2007 was the first ANZAC day that was inclusive of our Vietnam veterans. There are currently 900 officers serving in operational capacities at overseas postings.)

It was hoped that WWI would be the war to end all wars. That nations and families would not endure such pain and grief again. This has not been the reality.

It is also not so easy to define war these days. It is not as clear cut. Participants may be oblivious to the fact that they are in a war. The combatants, the planners and the plotters may feel like they are acting righteously, standing up for their beliefs or politics and therefore justifying their war-like actions. The boundaries have become extremely blurred but the cost in lives continues to accelerate.

The 2002 Bali bombings killed 88 Australians and three New Zealanders. I doubt they thought they were in a war. I doubt their families, as they farewelled them on their journey, thought they were sending them off to war, or imagined that would be the last time they saw their loved ones.

Are terrorists misguided soldiers of war? Their actions are hailed as heroic deeds by their like-minded comrades, who take delight in the death toll. Are poor quality video messages declaring death on those who fail to believe as they believe, the new declarations of war? Could this been seen as the “modernization” of war protocol and would a text message suffice next time?

The London bombings, 7th July 2005 killed one Australian and one New Zealander, (my daughter Shelley), along with 50 other people. My daughter, was aware of the possibility of terrorist attacks, as we all were, following 9/11and the increased risk as a result of the actions of the US and British governments’ foray into Iraq. She marched in the protest in London against the move into Iraq. She was a peaceful person with respect for the diverse views and cultures of the world. She was not a soldier going knowingly into a war zone. She would not harm another person. She died as the result of an explosion on an underground tube. Another human being, carrying a bomb, carefully planned and timed the detonation to cause maximum damage, took her life. She was simply going about her daily life, on her way to work, planning her next trip, to Greece.

There were pictures on the TV of jubilant celebrations on the streets in Iraq, as the impact of the bombers’ strike on the London Underground became known. These comrades of the bombers, or at least ideologically aligned believers, sang and danced at the death of my daughter and the other 51 souls.

ANZAC day made me think about war; the taking of lives and Shelley’s death.

As a nation we pause and reflect on the courage and loss of lives of our soldiers. We see them as having fought for an honourable and just cause. We treat them with reverence and respect and at the same time, hope that we never again have to send our young men and women off on active duty. We see the futility of war as a way of resolving issues. We know the terrible cost of death. I know the terrible loss of my daughter.

I am not sure that there are any noble wars, where honour and right warrant the loss, or taking of lives. We know the horror of living with these losses. What we don’t seem to know is how to avoid such conflicts. On a global scale the old adage of might is right, still reigns.

I do know that terrorists are not brave soldiers, that no matter how they dress up their views, they are simply cowardly murders.

I paused on ANZAC day and remembered the dead and their families. I held Shelley’s love in my heart and remembered all those who died with her that day. A death is a death no matter how it comes about.

I have taken to heart a quote from Joan Baez, which I carry with me. It is my choice of action and it is part of what I am attempting to achieve on this blog.

Joan Baez b 1941

I would say that I’m a non-violent soldier.
In palce of weapons of violence, you have to use your mind,
your heart, your sense of humour, every faculty available to you

because no one has the right to take the life of another human being.

Arohanui,

KG

Trials and Tribulations

2008-04-14T12:57:00.003+12:00

Midway through April and the weather is finally on the turn.

Today, mid-way through April, the skies are weeping heavy torrents of tears and the wind is blowing in great vociferous gusts, shaking the bones of the city. Yesterday, it shook the harbour bridge, well not exactly but my journey over the bridge to the foreign land of North Shore City, included a hair raising ascent of the bridge behind a caravan whose door had blown open and shattered glass all over the bridge. The driver boldly carried on up and over the bridge with the door flapping in and out, crashing and bashing its way over the bridge, hitting the struts as its bobbled on its way, with me following waiting for the door to fly off and demolish my car. It didn’t happen much to my relief and the battered vehicle managed to pull off to the side on the other side of the bridge.

This was my first expedition away from home in a while, as I have not ventured far over the past few weeks, months really. I have been on a mission to coat the cedar walls of the house before the weather turned. I have nearly achieved this and a couple of more sunny days should see this task completed.

The solitary process of spending hours in the sunshine, staining these wood grain boards, restoring them from faded blandness into a warm toffee/caramel vibrance, has been soothing and rewarding. The boards seemed to gleefully lap up this protective coating and I became lost in the process of ensuring a smooth and even coating that would show off the beautiful wood-grain patterns.

There have been unexpected benefits from performing this manual task. As well as the satisfaction I now get from admiring my handiwork, and hopefully a few strengthened muscles and shed grams of fat, it has been a calming and meditative process. Soothing to all my senses with only the occasional swear word thrown in as I teetered on the top of the ladder, paint tin and brushes in hand or at the odd spill or splatter of paint that escaped the walls. (Quickly mopped up I might add!!)

It has been my retreat. I have been able to embrace my love for music again, and have had the stereo blaring out my favourites for the six hours or so I have painted each day. I have been lost in the music and the tiny detail of each piece of wood, my eyes drawn in and focused on the task while my mind has voluntarily roved the depths of my soul.

There seems to be a correlation between the layers of stain going onto the wood and the layers being stripped bare from my soul. I became more exposed emotionally with each covering-up stroke of the brush. Just as the skies have opened today, my tears have flowed over the past few days. Silent tears, not sobs, just uncontrollable silent, torrents of tears falling as I sat in the sun and kept painting. This is the process of my grief. It has not been unpleasant, it fact it has been a very “connecting” process for me.

I am wondering if I could franchise this as the new “secret”. How to find inner peace by painting. I could charge huge fees, get people’s houses painted for
free and the painters, “clients” would pay me huge sums of money to me, to participate. Boot camp therapy? Of course, my controlling nature would have to vet their actual painting skills, no matter what sort of mental state they were in. Fair is fair, the job would have to be done properly. Oh well, it costs nothing to fantasize!!

The reality is that I have been on the brink of needing to make some changes and I guess time out from “paid work” and all that goes with it, combined with the “free thinking” time I have enjoyed has precipitated some of these.

In August I touched on the topic of alcohol in my life. I have managed to continue this debate with myself, while making no changes. Not uncommon I am sure. For whatever reason, I have decided that now is the time and I am into my third alcohol free week.(Hold the applause!!) The funny thing is that it has not been hard, so far at least. What was hard was making a decision. My head became so full of all the reasons not to let go of this crutch, my crutch. I spent one week like a headless chook, not wanting to face up to the fact that this task was pissing me off. I didn’t want to be a person that didn’t drink alcohol, I couldn’t imagine what I would drink instead!! It was unimaginable for me to contemplate, to see this as a reality in my life. It is early days yet, but I feel solid in this commitment.

I think my biggest fear has been the fear of what might emerge from me, minus my self-medication. I have been frightened of my grief, of the depths of my anger and sadness. I imagined this would emerge like a horrible sci-fi monster snapping teeth and drooling blood and venom out into the world all accompanied by scary sci-fi monster movie music. (I am a person who has to leave the room if a scary movie comes on the TV, or even if the scary music starts, let alone any pictures to go with it!!)

The truth of my experience so far has been nothing like that. There has been a huge relief, a weight has gone from my shoulders, and I have much more free space in my head!! It is not consumed with worrying about how much I drink, have I drunk too much, not caring if I have and about keeping the supply up. For me it is a good thing. I am not sure if it is for life but it is for now, each day at a time.

My grief is certainly more present, there have been much more tears but much more talking about it too. I want to honour and hold Shelley in my life, in her brother’s and family’s lives It is more painful, it is almost as if I have woken up from a deep sleep and again have to start to deal with Shelley’s murder. I feel closer to Shelley. I have her consciously with me. I know this is a reality of my life, I have know that since 7/7 but knowing how to live the rest of my life with this reality is a different matter. I still don’t know but am open to whatever happens. Eyes wide open

There is a trial taking place in London, of associates of the bombers. Three men charged with conspiring to cause an explosion, contrary to section 3(1)(a) of the Explosive Substances Act 1883. i.e. between the 17th November 2004 and the 8th July 2005, they unlawfully and maliciously conspired together and with Mohammed Siddique Khan, Shezhad Tanweer, Jermaine Lindsay and Hasib Hussain and with others unknown to cause by an explosive substance an explosion or explosions of a nature likely to endanger life or cause serious injury to property in the United Kingdom.

Jermaine Lindsay was the successful suicide bomber who murdered Shelley and 25 other people on the tube between Kings Cross and Russell Square and injured hundreds more.

I am not sure if the case will be successful in achieving a conviction. I am not sure what I think about it all. I receive daily updates from my Family Liaison Officer via the Metropolitan Police. There will be screeds and screeds of information. I am simply saving it to a folder and will read it when I can. I started reading some of it the other day and just wept. That’s ok. And it makes me angry and sick in my stomach. But that’s ok too. It will not make me want to take a drink. And that’s ok.

Some of the bereaved families and victims are attending the court daily. My heart goes out to them all. I am not equipped to write up the details or to comment on the political plethora of race relations, the conspiracy theorists, the action/inaction of the powers that be.

I am reading Rachel North’s account and that is good enough for me. I am thankful I am not there, watching the hideous suicide bomber’s videos. I would vomit.

Eyes wide open. I know that I cannot undo what is done. I cannot right all the wrongs in the world. My life goal is to live as best I can with Shelley’s death. To enjoy, support and love my family and friends. To do no harm. That is enough for this one soul.

Kia Kaha
Arohanui

KG
XX

Funny Story

2008-02-22T11:03:00.000+13:00

The smokers’ place at work is an outside space, the cart dock actually, where incoming goods are trundled to various destinations. Amazing conversations take place among this diverse group all gathered with the one purpose of sucking in that foul air.

It is THE place to be if you really want to know what is actually happening within the management of any of the companies that inhabit an international airport. We hear it first form the grassroots, the workers. It always amazes me that the management doesn’t take up this immense knowledge base. I mean we have it all sussed. We know exactly what needs to be done to make things work – better that is. We know how to make staff feel appreciated, what is wrong with the systems, bloody hell, we are the ones that have to implement every stupid, unworkable idea. So we know. We could fix it all in the blink of an eye, all that’s needed is a management committee of SMOKERS.

It is truly incredible. It is a very human place to be. It is an opportunity to forge friendships that would not have happened without the common thread of addiction. There are those who have worked in the same environment for years and can tell you who did what, when and what happened next!!! Confidentiality rules so I can’t disclose any information that might get me or anyone else the sack!! We live in a work environment where you are guilty as charged until you prove otherwise. A vast difference to the recognized legal system but hey, that is the reality of being an employee in the current workforce.

Smokers share stories, about their kids, their parents, their pets.Their loves, their loses their lives. Nothing is exempt. There are people who have the most amazing knowledge base on topics you wouldn’t dream they might be interested in. Natural history, dog breeding, fishing, politics you name it we will have a spokesperson with a life long hobby in it. It is also a huge multi-cultural melting pot. Indian, Polynesian, Serbian, Russian, Korean, Japanese, Maori, Pakeha, South African and Dutch. It is a free indepth travel guide and a true insight into life around the globe. It is a privilege to be part of this.

And we laugh. Sometimes outrageously, sometimes inappropriately but always frequently and often side-splittingly with accompanying tears running down our faces We often need to compose ourselves and put on our professional faces before heading back to our posts.

I love it.

Funny dog training story. True story. One of the women had gone to puppy training classes with her two daughters, (no she wasn’t training them!!) and one of the girl’s puppy. Her description of the other participants was a delightful cameo and that was before she told us her story.

The puppy had to be made to lie down on the floor without any verbal instruction. This involved pushing down on the pup’s shoulders until it succumbed and lay down. Well, this in turn involved our group speaker who had taken the lead role, sitting with pup between her feet and one daughter beside her and one behind her, doing the pushing down. Unfortunately, when she did this she let rip with a symphony of loud farts. This in turn caused her embarrassment and uncontrollable giggles from one daughter and exposed her to the wrath and acute embarrassment of the other daughter. This only made the matter worse and said leader had an uncontrollable fit of the giggles with one daughter in also collapsed in hysterics and the other kept saying “Oh Mum!!.”

The lead actress made a wonderful job of relaying this story and by the end of it, our smokers group also had tears streaming down our faces, and we were bent over double laughing. Apparently the conversation carried on all the way home in the car with the mother and daughters and said puppy. It then got relayed to the family at home and they too got good mileage and belly laughs from the story. A man, who apparently resembled a TV type wrestler and had been at the puppy class with his chiwawa was apparently unmoved by my colleagues misfortune and avoided eye contact and any reaction. The instructor was none too pleased with this irreverent mob. I didn’t find out if the puppy will lie down on instruction but suspect it may only do so on fart command. There are still three more training classes to go.

Long rule the smokers I say.

Off to work now.

ARohanui
KG

An ordinary day

2008-02-22T09:46:00.002+13:00

Today is an ordinary day. I am going to work shortly, the last day of my block of six days. I have the next three days off, and then it starts all over again. I like shift work mainly because of the days off!! There are three early starts and three afternoon starts. The earlies are very early ranging from 0400 to 0630. I hate the actual getting up early but I love having the afternoons at home, so that is the pay off.

It is also an extraordinary day as is each day of my life. I have just finished looking at the proposals for a permanent memorial for those murdered in the 7/7 London bombings.
The site will be one of three options in Hyde Park.

Two and a half years after my darling Shelley was murdered in London, there are still “official” decisions to be made. I know when I receive a foolscap white envelope in the mail, with a franked postage paid from London, that it will be one of those types of letters. Sometimes I think about not opening them, but I an always compelled to open them. Maybe only delaying long enough to get a drink and a cigarette to accompany the reading of the contents. There is always a gut reaction, a sinking feeling, a wanting to know what is in it and a not wanting to know at the same time. It might be information about the inquest, the trial or the memorial. Something that I read, consider and respond too. Something, that I have to think about. Something, that draws me into the reality of Shelley’s death.

They appear, unexpected, not uninvited because I have indicated I want to know everything there is to know, but the unexpectedness sometimes takes my breath away.
On my birthday in June, I received two pieces of mail. One was a birthday card. One was from the Coroner stating that they were going to issue final Death Certificates before the inquest, which has been deferred indefinitely, until the end of the upcoming trial. An Interim Death Certificate was issued at the time of Shelley’s death so that we could bring her home to NZ.

It is a strange place to be in on your birthday, sitting with two so very different pieces of information in your hand, in your heart. Seeing in your mind’s eye, fragments of the multiple journeys made to and from London, snippets of my child’s life from any time in her life, when she was born, so tiny and fragile, her graduation, her homecoming. Two parallel realities playing at the same time. It would be strange on any day but birthdays are the day in our family, more important than Christmas or any other officially noted date. Apart from death dates that is.

There is a rationale that runs through my head as I start to open the envelope. Nothing can be worse than what I already know. I have read the Coroner’s report which came in a sealed envelope, within an envelope in case I didn’t want to read it - yet. Nothing can be worse than the daily knowledge that Shelley is dead. I am therefore able to open the envelope and deal with what it contains.

The memorial will be something beautiful to honour all our loved ones. I am pleased about this. I wish there was no need for a memorial.

Arohanui
KG

More than just a headline

2008-02-19T12:11:00.004+13:00

I am alive and well, emerging like a somewhat battered bear after a period of hibernation. Three months have gone by now since our move into our new home, two months since I last blogged. It has been a period of settling in, putting our mark on the new home and making it our own. This has involved much physical labour, cleaning spoutings, trimming trees, planting and refreshing the gardens etc. The next big job is staining the ceadar boards. All good stuff and HB & I absolutely love living here. It is the perfect place for us to hold our lives and loves.

SBS & his SH spent the first eight weeks living with us which was fantastic. They are now proud flat dwellers on the North Shore, (a foreign land to us Westies – but I have ventured across the harbour bridge to visit , once so far – daring I know!!) SBS has two jobs and his SH is full time studying at a film school and part time working. They have SH’s little dog with them so they are a busy little family. The good news is that they will need to stay put for the year. Yay!!

FBS has also moved residence and is now flatting above his place of work. How smart and convenient apart from the fact that the boss can make home visits I guess.

Anyway all are well and happy and excited about the unraveling year.

Their dad is doing extremely well in his recuperation which is also great news.

I am busy writing some new poetry and find this totally absorbing to the point that it is hard to sit down and write for the blogsite. The process is completely different. I choose each word with care and it must be the right word. I think I have transferred some of that to the blog and of course, can’t get all those words to be the RIGHT ones hence I put up nothing!! I have been prompted to deal with that and will publish and hopefully not be damned!!

I have had a few thoughts as I have glanced over the papers this year. The way things are handled by the press and how we (the general public respond). We all do it. Scan the paper. Read the horrific stories of violence, murders, and the running tally of road deaths. And then it starts. The letters to the editor, the calls to talkback radio, reflect the divisive nature of these events.

Some a couple of weeks back, showed understanding for a 50 year old male who allegedly took the life, by stabbing, of a 15 yr old tagger. This is a week after our country has hosted yet another tourist murder. A 26 yr old female, Karen Aim, who had been here working and enjoying our country. A week also where a young man working at his family’s dairy was murdered by a robber. 10 homicides in the month of January. It all appears to have gone horribly wrong. People are anxious, frightened and demanding “solutions”. Harsher penalties, cut benefits, electronic tagging of potential offenders, curfews etc etc. The baying public, demand that the government does something.

Community leaders, Mayors, Youth Workers are interview for their views. Some of it is good and useful input a lot of it however, is knee jerk reaction to a particular event.

Each event takes precedence over the previous horror story. Last week’s murder is just that, last week’s. New is current and has a very short life span. As soon as another murder or violent act occurs, that then become the news of the day. You would be hard pushed to find much in-depth ongoing discussion in the daily papers. It is as if the nation screams, bays for action and then forgets.

Politicians, particularly in an election year want to be heard. They sometimes troop along to the funeral of the poor deceased person. Then they state our party will do this, our party will do that. They blame this and they blame that. This from our Minister of Police. Again mostly knee jerk reactions, stuff people want to hear at times when we are all hurting from the tarnished image of our country that these violent acts portray.

We don’t want o be perceived as a country that murders tourists, but we are. We don’t want to be seen as a country with youth, gang or drug problems, but we are. We don’t want to be seen as a country with a growing gap between the rich and the poor, but we are.

After the crisis is over, we all settle back down to our little lives. Maybe adding a few more security bolts to our windows and doors, another sensor light up on the outside of the house. We get on with our small lives, shaking our heads at the state of things and spouting if only we had tougher penalties, bring in boot camps, cut out the social welfare payments – that will teach them. That will sort them out.

All that is enough to make me shake my head and wonder what sort of nation we are building for our families, for our children and our children’s children. Where in any of this is personal responsibility. Where is the tenant of looking out for our children, whether they are kids or adults? Where is the tenet of looking out for our aged parents our neighbours?

We create the society in which we live either by our actions or by default and inaction. There is no one to blame but ourselves when it goes wrong. It is incumbent on all of us by the fact that we are part of this society, to try to find reasonable solutions. We have politicians whose policies impact on all of these crucial matters, employment, housing, education, health, youth issues etc. None of them seem too bothered until headlines are made. As the people who elect our politicians, again either actively or passively, we need to be demanding indepth responses. Not the rabble feeding frenzy we have seen as a result of our terrible murder toll. Yes, it is a changed world but what values to we want out communities to reflect and are we as individuals prepared to do our bit?

I do know that behind the headlines, no matter the circumstances, no matter the cause, murder is a life sentence for the families of the victims. It is irrelevant who, what, why - it only matters that it is true. Your loved one is dead. Choices taken away. It is a life sentence. My heart goes out to all the families involved. Two and a half year's after Shelley's murder - it is as painful and life altering as if it happened yesterday. It is not an area for political haymaking, or for nutty rightwing groups to be taken seriously. What is needed is compassion and intestinal fortitude and a committment to making a real difference. A headline is just that a headline, a fleeting sensationalist collection of a few words. A death is a permanent full stop.

I don’t have the answers and of course any solution is complex to say the least.
I think asking the question first is a good start.

As for Bush – I can’t believe he has used the 7/7 London bombings to prop up his support and justification for the torture process of “waterboarding”. How dare he use any of my family to prop up his argument. I do not condone torture nor do I appreciate his stating that he is sure families of the 7/7 victims would endorse or support this practice. He hasn’t even called me to ask me!! That’s is partly what I mean about media, making hay out of every possible scenario without any thought to the sensibilities of those he is invoking. Absolute rubbish and a disgrace. I was going to email him but thought the SIS may descend on my paradise and throw me into a bath of water!! Coward I know but I really prefer showers. Maybe he will read this and send me an apology. Ha ha.

I am endeavouring to regain my sense of humour – Step 1. Stop reading the papers. Step 2. Don’t watch the news. Step 3. Drink more.

Signing off to have a laugh and go to work!! Now that's funny.

Arohanui

KG

Seasons

2007-12-24T11:57:00.000+13:00

24 December 2007
(for Shelley)

there is no season
to grieving

no set end date

no
“thirty days til the season of joy” signs
flashing across the tv
or in the junk mail

it is not that straightforward

there are moments
all year round
that pierce my heart

when I see a new born child
when an autumn leaf falls

sunset/sunrise

walking in the rain
the first glimpse
of a new rose bloom

it is in the look you give me
as I walk past one of your photos

these are but a few of the times
for grieving

it is in every breath I take
it is interwoven
into my acts of living
loving and laughing

it is part of me
as you are part of me

woven into the fabric
of my heart and soul
etched into my very skin

every day
I carry this

the loss of you

Love always,

The Move

2007-12-08T15:23:00.000+13:00

Head down, bum up that’s the best way to describe the past week!! The move accomplished. All the contents of our last home boxed up and moved Friday week ago. I took the easy path, went to work and finished in time to go to our old home and ceremoniously close the back door for the last time with SBS. (We weren't the only two to shed a tear or two during the day. It is quite a strange feeling leaving a house that has been your home for so long.) This lack of being on the spot at the time, didn’t stop me stressing and I required a slap from my workmates who thought I had made the sweetest deal, before I stopped going on and on and on about it. No one could believe that I had it so sweet and wanted to know how the hell I managed to do it!!! A certain lack of leave played a major role!! HB did all of the boxing, labeling and getting ready for the move. SBS & his SW arrived just in time to assist HB on the day. I must admit there were tears as it was a fine home that did us well for the past 16 years or so. It had the capacity to contract and expand to meet all our requirements. It was a loving, secure base in our immediate grief. In fact, I thought we might never be able to leave the house.

But guess what, after the packing up comes the unpacking. The unwrapping of hundreds and thousands of presents, stuff you forgot you had, stuff you love and some stuff you donate to local charities. But it is all good.

If it is possible to be in love with a house, I am. In love with this lovely new home that has already accommodated all of my family. A sleepover with both FBS, SBS & his SH, exhausted bodies from lifting, shifting, placing and replacing (don’t blame me but it did take about an hour to get the place for this computer just right!! Ha ha.) It is so amazing to be here. SBS & his SH and her little dog, are staying with us as their plans reveal themselves. It is lovely to have a fullish house once again. We are enjoying lots of laughs and all fit in really well together. The house itself, a long shaped home with plenty of space, 4 bedrooms and two bathrooms and the most amazing outdoor space. I have to pinch myself to believe that I am truly here.

The process of unpacking is horrendous. In order to create order one has to make chaos. You get one room finished, and then have to stuff it full of all the other stuff from the next room, while you sort that room out. I am sitting here surrounded by a mountain of boxes of books, (the last frontier of the shift, the last things to set in place.!!) I have left a pathway between rooms to the computer around this mountain. I may be locked here permanently!!!

Everything fits perfectly into this, our new home. It is stunning and exciting. I have also not cried so much for a long time. That comes about as I reach for each box and open it to find all manner of things that belong to Shelley. I have just set up a bookcase by the computer with her books. The range is incredible from The Tale of the Flopsie Bunnies, The Wind in the Willows, Charlotte’s Web, the C.S. Lewis series, The Chronicles of Narnia, an English/Latin dictionary, cricket books, Once Were Warriors, Trainspotter etc etc. Her favorite toys, her special things all fit here as well. It is both gladdening to have these things and heartbreaking.

As part of the setting-up of this home, we have unwrapped things we bought on our recent trip in September and they too, fit well. It has been fun finding places for our funny little fridge magnets, (a singing Irish one and one that says, Yes I have a kitchen – it came with the house!), our rainbow wind chime and a few other items. We have also sent another load of stuff to the local charity shop and that too feels good.

So the new house is now pretty much in order. The garden is the last frontier to be tackled and needs a bit of weeding here and there and then of course the cedar house does need to be restained and sealed. (Blooming heck I had thought maintenance free meant exactly that!!) Plenty to keep on with, which is great. I may or may not get the lawnmower man back to take on the job of keeping the lawns under control but this first time, I think I will be tempted to mow them myself!! It seems the right thing to do – at least once.

This home is already, very much a part of all of us. We will create new stories as our lives unfold and we will hold Shelley’s place in it.

Arohanui
KG

War & Peace

2007-11-18T20:16:00.000+13:00

The HOLIDAY seems like ages ago. I know I promised some funny stories but in some ways, that time has passed. However, I will delve into the old memory banks and tell you one or two anyway. But first a non-funny story. Oh dear, I do seem to have a black view of things!!

Derry, to the residents of the Republic of Ireland and Londonderry to the residents of Northern Ireland, (to the point that the signs that had Londonderry had the London graffitied out near the border), was an interesting experience. This was the city with the bogside, the tiny area of streets no more than a couple of blocks where immeasurable violence and multiple-murders had taken place. The pictures of some of these confrontations had been beamed into our lounges through the television news stories of the time.

It is a walled city, with an amazing walk around the top of the walls giving you a bird’s-eye-view of the city. There are the murals and memorials to those who have died for the cause.

The four of us walked around the city, through the bogside and looked at the murals as we went. Typical tourists you might say. What is not so easy to describe is what it felt like.

It was a real mixture of emotions. The city itself was lively enough. We were there at the end of the business day, and there was, I guess you could call it a traffic jam, around the central square. Cars were banked up, horns were tooting and people were yelling at each other. I must say that no where else had we heard one toot of a car horn. No matter what the obstacle was on the road, a tractor, road works or a confused tourist, there was not one solitary beep heard, prior to our reaching Northern Ireland. It almost felt like Auckland on a typical day.

At a deeper level, I felt a terrible sense of helplessness and sorrow. Sorrow at all the loss of lives, at the boxed way of thinking that keeps people, groups of people categorized and segregated. Yes, it may be by choice but I am not convinced that is really the case. These young men and women who were motivated to do battle with fellow countrymen/women were not born with hatred in their hearts. That had to be cultivated by the society in which they lived; by their families and the wider community. They are no different to the misguided suicide bombers who took Shelley’s life, along with her fellow travelers. I did not see anything that could justify such inhumanity to each other. To hate to the point of wanting to kill, to achieve what?

The murals are magnificent in the artistic sense, in an emotional sense I felt each one of them like a slap in the face, or a punch in the guts. Yes they are a representative truth of events that are not in dispute, but what are they actually contributing to creating a new way of living? To me, they were stark somber reminders of man’s inhumanity to man, a holding in place if you like, of the hurt, the wrongdoing. Unforgiving, immovable. There was no light coming in, no hint of a coming together. They seemed to me to hold the barricades at a place that hopefully does not exist anymore. I saw them as a barrier to moving on. I felt despairing and helpless. I wished I could scream out, look at what you have got and get on with it. Get on with making a better place for everyone no matter their creed, beliefs or politics.

Ireland is a beautiful country with much to be enjoyed. The difference between the Republic and Northern Ireland was stark and was both visual and emotional.
The rolling hills with the stone fences and little narrow roads, the people with the lilting voices and way of speaking that took you up and down the vocal scale typified the Republic. The warm pubs, the storytelling, the brilliant religious oaths (or was it praying I wasn’t’ quite sure – you know the thing, Jesus Mary & Joseph, Holy Mother of God with suitably dramatic facial expressions accompanying these cries) all adding colour to this experience.

Northern Ireland by comparison had better roads, motorways in parts, bigger cities but an overriding austereness that I just couldn’t shake. The accent could best be described as flat, monotonal, utterings. No ups, no downs, just a continuous stream of words all at the same pitch with hardly a breath taken in a sentence. Like talking out the side of your mouth with your jaw wired together at the same time. We did ask for directions a couple of times, said thankyou, but were none the wiser for the exchange.

There was a grayness to the buildings and the countryside, was much more structured and ordered, gone were the rambling hillsides with shacks and tumbledown buildings. I missed the rolling hills and the stone fences.

I have no right, as such a casual observer to make any comment on a country so divided, for so long, by so many for so many reasons. I know that peace moves are on the way, the IRA and the UDA having formed a peace agreement. I know that there are groups of people doing amazing things to advance the country into a peaceful co-habitation of souls. I also know this is still a long way off. There are years of conditioned responses to the “others”; they being whoever you are not! There are the usual convolutions of power, politics and greed.

I got to see the town where my Dad was born, the hot spots of Derry and Belfast too. I saw the despair and felt the history in my heart. I wish for such a beautiful country, that the good people in it do find a true way to make a peaceful future. I think for that to happen, some letting go of the past must occur.

Holding onto the ugly hurts and wrongdoings doesn’t seem to me like a way forward. It is a fragile peace at present with hope of more peace to come.

My wish is for a truly peaceful land, a way of living that reflects the beauty of that land and the true wish of every person to live in peace. The last mural is also a sign of hope.

Arohanui

KG

Time Flys By..

2007-11-18T12:08:00.000+13:00

The past three weeks have flown by. SBS & his SH are with us which is fabulous. We are enjoying their company and their enthusiasm for adventure. They have many plans and it is exciting to wait and see what eventuates. Meanwhile, we are being treated to some yummy cooking and great company.

The kids’ dad is safely back in this country after his misadventure. It is great to have him back and to know that he is on the path to recovery even though he is facing a couple of more weeks in hospital. It may be a long path but at least it is now clear and he has his wonderful sons to cheer him up and cheer him on. I haven’t been to see him yet as I have a cold at the moment and that is the last thing he would need.

Two-and-a-bit weeks til the house move. It seems to have taken ages and then all of a sudden, it is nearly upon us. We tried our hand at a Garage Sale yesterday. Well that sucked!!! Didn’t sell much but did sell some of the main items so that’s good I guess. It is really weird putting bits and pieces of your life up for sale. The local Salvation Army shop will benefit from the remaining items. It is a good job I am not a shop owner as I kept saying oh well, $1 will do, or take all of them for $2!! Just as well it was a clearing up exercise and not a money making one. But there are a few happy families with some goodies they wouldn’t otherwise have got.

So much of the moving and packing is about Shelley. We have to move everything and look at everything with all the memories and the heightened sense of the permanency of death. She will not wear those shoes again, read those books again or play that card game again. It is all so devastating and hugely emotional, packing, repacking and making some decisions about letting some of her things go. I wept after her music box was chosen by a beautiful little girl. I was happy she had been the one to choose it, her eyes lit up as the the ballerina twirled and music played. It was the right thing to do – but it broke my heart all over again.

We are a funny household with all different hours of work and sleep. SBS works midnight til around 8am, I work all weird hours form 0430 starts to late afternoon starts. It is not a normal household by any means. At present two people are sleeping (it is midday) and two are up. I will probably have a sleep later!! It is like shift work all over again. But I love it. Everyone is free to do what they wish, when they wish. What more can anyone ask for. The only trouble is the outside world doesn’t realize we are on our own timeframes, so the phone still rings, door to door people still turn up anticipating a sale, whether of goods or a soul!! Ha ha the jokes on them. I am a non believer and not much of a purchaser either!!

Anyway my friends, will sign off just now and am in a writing mood so will post some more later today.

I feel very high tech, am sitting here doing a blogsite, (didn’t even know what they were a year ago!!) and listening to music on my iPod. Good grief Charlie Brown.

Arohanui

KG

Homecoming

2007-11-07T19:42:00.000+13:00

Well, here it is three weeks of silence on this site. What has been happening? Many things. The house is being packed up around me, each day when I come home from work HB has been busy packing more stuff. Stuff is everywhere. That happens when you live in one place for over 16 years!! I guess I have the easy part. I come home, can’t find something, so yell, “B*&^(% hell have you packed the &#*$( as well!!” Poor HB she is so patient.

Anyway it is all go and there are still three weeks til we move. We will be the most organized household in the world.

SBS and his HB have returned to NZ for a few months before they head off to Europe, hopefully, around April next year. It is fabulous to have them back and they are staying with us which is even better. He is a dab hand in the kitchen and I am typing this up as he is out there preparing green curry vegetables for consumption. Fanbloodytastic.

The kids dad and his partner left NZ about the time me and HB did. They set off on a tour of the Adriatic coast but had a misadventure which means that he has now been in hospital in a foreign land, for almost 8 weeks. I found this very distressing as did FBS & SBS. The good news is he will return to NZ this week and while facing more hospitalization; his condition is life changing rather than life threatening. I so wish him well and admire his tenacity in dealing with this situation.

So these are some of the reasons for my silence on the site.
I have found myself resorting to my beloved poetry as there is so much going on it seems, somehow to calm me and give me perspective.

My big sister is now a grandmother, though she is not fond of that term and prefers to be referred to by her shortened first name!! But Charlotte is here. Yay!!

Instead of raving on I will post a couple of the poems.

Much love as always to my cherished readers.

Homecoming

your brother is back
with his sweetheart

we three
went out to meet them

they have been off
adventuring in Oz
fishing frogs out of toilet cisterns
in the wild outback
splitting clams open out at sea
all to earn a few bucks

they will have stories to tell
for sure

we are all excited
can’t wait in fact
to hold his fine frame
in my arms

to put my head on his chest
and hear the sweet sound
of his good heart-beat

I can breathe again

I will enjoy it while they are here
and not think about the sharp intake
of breath and the waiting
when they set off again
since months hence

it is good enough that I have him here
that we all have him and hold him
in our hearts

as we hold you my sweet

Poem No 2

New Home

the countdown is on
three weeks to go
til we take up residence
I can’t wait

it’s not that I don’t love our house
your home the place I think you loved

it is just time to make a change

we have hibernated
licking open wounds
since your death

hearts split open
minds shattered

it has been our fortress
drawbridge up and the watery driveway
ensuring no visitors unless by invite

we have huddled together trying to heal
it’s not that the healing is done
far from it
it’s just that it is time to make a move
to unfurl a little to let a little sunshine in

our new house has good bones
that we will clothe and festoon with colours
and laughter and joy
we will create more stories in her

and weep
knowing that
you will not walk through the door

yet you will be
the heart of this home

Arohanui
KG

An Bhlarna - Blarney

2007-10-16T16:45:00.000+13:00

I feel like a Pukekochic all in a flurry, standing in the mudflats wings-a-flappin' and beak-a-squawkin’ trying to take off, yet somehow remaining stuck in the mud.

We have been back for two weeks now, a short break in between the return and heading back to work. Am now halfway through the second block of six working days. (The house is sold too – the first week back! So the big move is on towards the end of November.)

The chic pose also typifies me on the holiday. I think maybe it is a schizophrenic chic or at least a Gemini chic!!

On the one hand it was amazing to see all the sights we saw, to meet all the people we met, to reconnect with Shelley’s dear friends and to be so looked after. On the other hand, there was a continual sense of loss and longing. Longing to share the stories, the excitement and the misadventures with her. I could taste, feel and smell the loss. It felt like my gut was permanently knotted with the effort of not succumbing to the feelings.

The thrill of setting foot in Ireland, my love of the Southern Irish lilt and the crazy conversations and reasoning that went with it. I truly felt at home, and thought thank goodness there are other nutty people like me in the world. I felt like I fitted in. The crazy conversations, hysterical laughter, the maybeso’s and the maybenot’s - all endearing and delightful to my ears and soul.

The beautiful little towns and villages, the laid back pace of life, the patience on the roads (basically because there is no choice unless you want to take on a tractor in the main drag!!) and acceptance that things take time. The miles and miles of beautiful stone fences, the rolling hills and the delightful pubs with their wonderful food and welcoming occupants – all reinforced this sense of belonging.

We were based near Blarney and of course went to the castle, as Shelley did. We walked up the windy steep inner stairs to the castle top, as Shelley did. I took one look at the spot where you lean over backwards to kiss the Blarney stone, as Shelley did – and thought “bloody hell – don’t think I can do this!” It is really high up there, the top of the tower and really no place to do a backwards lean where yer head is much lower than yer bum!! But I did it. I had to really, I was on a mission to follow in her steps, to walk the path with her, to be able to put my picture alongside her picture of “the kiss on the Blarney stone.”

Blarney Castle

sunlit grounds
ancient trees

a bridge
over a gentle brook

we stopped
tossed a coin
made a wish

I wished
that you were here
with us

as we retraced your steps
up to the castle
through the gates

up the steep windy staircase
to the top of the tower
step after step

knowing you had walked
this way

step after step after step
with you

to the top of the tower

and the death defying
backwards-bend
to kiss the stone

I am sure my lips
kissed the spot

that your sweet lips
had kissed

Arohanui

Far Side of the Moon

2007-09-30T22:17:00.000+13:00

Well, here it is our last day in London at the end of an amazing four week sojourn.

There are many stories to tell. My mind is still processing the sights, sounds and thoughts and it will take some time before I can relay them in any sort of readable form. (Some may be lost in there for ever!! There are only so many castles and churches you can look at in one lifetime!! And don't get me started on the LACK of public loos in Ireland!!)

This is just a quick update to say all is well and that the homeward journey begins tomorrow, Monday over here, with the arrival home on Wednesday NZ time.

Apologies to those I haven't contacted or caught up with over here. I have to admit that I left my contact book at home, then with the Xtra bubble upgrade thingie my ability to log into my email has disappeared!! I did read the instructions which said I would be able to do it, but hey, I just couldn't get it to work!! Anothere challenge for when I get home.

No movement on the house sale front either, apparently the NZ market has taken a gulp and a step back!! Patience is required.

I will sign off with love and thanks to all the amazing friends we have spent time with and acknowledge the warm and interesting new characters we have met along the way. We will take you with us, in our hearts as always.

Arohanui
KG

The time has come...

2007-09-04T23:14:00.000+12:00

“The time has come”, the walrus said…I am not sure what follows that but think it may be something rude!! Anyway my line is…"the time has come the walrus said, to pack up your purple suitcase with the smiley face tag and head off to see some more of the world."

HB and I head off tomorrow for a brief sojourn in San Francisco (well we have to go there don’t we!), then to Ireland for three weeks exploring before heading to London for a few days at the end of September. Ireland is about checking in with my family history. My dad was born in Northern Ireland and my mum’s parents were from County Tyrone. My dad’s family was Protestant and my mum’s Catholic, which lead to an interesting mix.

London is about catching up with Shelley’s friends and meeting with some of the wonderful people we have met over the past two years.

I am not taking a laptop and will not be updating my blog til after we come home.

The house is still on the market and there is so much happening it seems a little crazy.

I still haven’t packed and it is mid-night.

I will sign off and update my blog when I get back.

Be safe, be well, be happy.

Love to everyone,
KG

Out of Kilter

2007-08-27T22:08:00.000+12:00

This life is uncertain that much we know. Our dear friend Rachel North’s mother died last Wednesday. This amazing young woman will cope, as we all must cope. She will find a way to hold her mother in her heart and her life, for the rest of her life. She will never forget her, never stop loving her.

I am sorry for the pain Rachel and her family are enduring. I know she is a strong and resilient young woman with a wonderful husband and loving family. Her mother’s love will keep her strong.

My love and thoughts are with Rachel, her dad and her family.

Kia kaha my friend

KG & HB too
XX

Out of Kilter
for Rachel and her family

the earth
continues
to spin on its axis

the sun and moon

take their place
in our sky

the grass grows
the birds sing

it seems all is
as it should be

but

our hearts are broken
our bodies shattered

knowing
you are not
here with us

this is a big thing
that should by rights

put the world
out of kilter

House Move

2007-08-18T16:56:00.000+12:00

HB & I have been in a quandary about our future plans for quite some time. We both love our house, the house that was home to all the kids for most of their growing up years. It is big, and bright and beautiful. It backs onto the Whau River. It has featured in my book, “Dear Shelley”. It is very emotionally entwined with Shelley’s life and her death. It is a huge part of both us.

As a building it has been quite demanding.We have done heaps to it ourselves, painted the outside, had the roof recoated, replaced window frames and external boards. I, with some help, well lots of help really, sanded and painted every single weather board of its two stories!! (No mean feat and did both my shoulders in requiring 4 months physio!!) It still needs the bathroom and kitchen redone, the driveway re-concreted, some landscaping and some painting inside. There is also the possibility of putting a minor dwelling on the great expanse of section at the front, or even subdividing or cross leasing.

So it goes on and on, what to do, what to do? Each day different, each day one of us maybe hatching up some plan or scheme. Nothing happens. We keep going round in circles. Stay put, stick another house on the front, rent that out etc etc. Alternatively, sell it, run away to the South Island, (my place of origin) blah, blah, blah. The not knowing what to do, blocking us from doing anything.

Our lives have changed so extraordinarily since Shelley’s murder. Nothing is the same. The whole world and everything in it is different. There is a clear definition between before and after Shelley’s death.

Our home, this house, has been our sanctuary. We have hibernated here for months only venturing out to work or the supermarket. We have been unable to decide any future moves, I guess because emotionally, it has been just too hard. We look in the real estate papers each week and anything nice is much more expensive than what we already have and no where near as appealing!!! Funny that!

Last Saturday, I noticed a house for sale in the paper. It looked rather nice from the picture and the price range was also good being less than the value we expect from our current home. I went for my early morning walk and sussed out the street, only about 10 minutes away. I came back and announced that it was at least worth a look at the open home that afternoon.

We went to the open home at 1pm and signed up for the house by 7pm. We then signed our home up for marketing at the same time.

A week later as I sit writing this, I can’t believe we were both so decisive, so sure that this was the place. But it was and it is and this is how we buy houses. This one was brought in the same manner. I saw it on the way to the airport as I was heading to a training weekend in Wellington. I rang HB and said, go and look at this house and sign it up but make it conditional on my seeing it when I get back. She did and long story short, we have been here for aprox 16 years!!

It has served us well, expanding and contracting to fit our needs. It’s foundations shaken to the core at Shelley’s murder, but it’s heart strong and warm nurturing and protecting my family and welcoming the many friends that came to support us. Welcoming Shelley home and being part of her final farewell. It will always be inextricably linked to these past two years in particular.

Our new house has the same feel about it. We both just knew when we went there that it was for us. It has the same ability with three bedrooms, a study, two bathrooms and amazing landscaping and decking which flows out to a private bush reserve, to expand and contract to meet our needs. It will be a fabulous sanctuary for HB & me by ourselves, it will accommodate FBS, SBS & his SH in a heartbeat should they wish. There is plenty of room for visitors and room to party on down or enjoy a summer’s bbq on the deck over looking the reserve.

Its’ one level means HB & I can hobble around in our dotage…not so far away maybe. We will be able to manage no matter what. There is no longer any need for me to brandish a chain saw, climb trees to trim them, paint the weatherboards or clamber up 30 metres to check out the roof!! Anyone want to buy a twice used electric chainsaw going cheap?

When people asked me what I did on the weekend, I said, we went out on Saturday afternoon and bought a house. It was not until I said that out loud, that the enormity of what we had done sunk in. Here we had been stuck, struggling to see any forward direction, floundering around with all sorts of possible scenarios. Yet, in one half hour we had signed, sealed, delivered a new beginning. What we had thought impossible to do, we had done. Maybe there is a connection to my previous post, at least there is food for thought in it for me.

The best part about it is neither HB nor I have had any second thoughts. We will be sad to leave this home but it is more of a mutual separation than an agonizing parting. She needs new owners with energy to finish off prettying her up, to fill her up with their love, their family. She will enjoy that.

HB & I will shape the bones of our new home to fit us like comfy slippers. We will love her and look after her and she will nurture and harbour us. We will all enjoy that.

We will have a party once we are settled in November.

We will all enjoy that!!

Arohanui

KG

Thirst - a reason to drink

2007-08-18T14:47:00.000+12:00

I am experimenting with the idea that thirst is sufficient reason to drink.

Before you collapse in hysterics, knowing the copious amounts of brandy in particular, but also beer and wine I consume, I am actually referring to the notion that my thirst should be quenched, when I am dry. Not when I “feel like” having a drink drink!! The reality is that I feel like having a drink much more frequently than when I could say, I am thirsty.

Now this is an extremely novel idea for this old brain and its diminishing brain cells to grasp.

I have however, for the past few weeks, been contemplating and discussing such a notion with my HB and my counselor (who is highly skilled and extremely tolerant and patient – actually both of them are!!) I have been practicing refraining from drinking when I feel like a drink, noting when I feel like a drink and trying not to panic when I think I am not going to have a drink.

Needles to say, this has all been a bit of an internal and external struggle of some gigantic proportion. I wondered why I had bothered opening up such a convoluted and difficult can of worms. It would be much easier to not think about it and to just keep on with it. But I came to the decision to open this debate when I realized, at some level, that I had increased my tolerance to alcohol by consuming large amounts regularly and that this seemed to be escalating even further.

I guess I felt I had to make a stand against, with or maybe, for myself. To confront my behaviour, to try to understand what I was doing and why. Yes, I love a drink, yes I love to socialize (and that means having a drink doesn’t it?) but somewhere along the line I had lost my way and been consumed by the desire to drink, as opposed to being the consumer.

I have to say this is quite a scary thing to do. I initially thought I can’t tell anyone because I felt so stupid about it all. Then slowly I began to speak it, first I had to have this conversation with myself, then struggled to speak it to my counselor and with even more difficulty let HB know that I was broaching this subject (couldn’t even say my drinking or my relationship with alcohol, just muttered something and then said AND I DON”T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!! Blimey she is a saint. I have to say also HB and my counselor have had fits of hysterical laughter at some of my utterings, which has not been a bad thing as I realized the shite I was saying as a result!

I am not going to blame Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but it is a factor in my increasing use of alcohol. Shelley’s death and what this means to me is beyond my understanding. I hate that my reality is that I will never hear her sweet voice on the phone, hear her chuckle and giggle, share her stories with me. I hate that her brothers will not have her with them for their adult years, as a sister, a friend an aunty even. I hate that she is lost to them in this way. I hate that she didn’t get to fall in love and find her life partner, I hate that this house, this room, her room will not rejoice in her homecoming. I hate that Shelley is missing her friends’ life events, children, birthdays, all of it. I hate it all. I hate having to adjust because there is no other option, no choice. I hate that this is my life

I don’t mean that I hate my life. I just mean I hate not having my sweet Shelley, here with me.

Finding a way to live my life with all the above included is not and never will be easy.

I am blessed with my HB and FBS & SBS. I doubt I would even be this sane without them!! (Ha ha – now that’s debatable!!)

So PTSD may have deepened my dependence on alcohol but it did not create it. I had already established pretty close bonds. Had I been a heroin addict I would have reached for my kit.

I am finding as I challenge myself to live “eyes wide open”, not numbed, not depressed by alcohol, that there is a lot I have missed. Ironically I had thought I was on to it, fully embracing everything on offer but that has not been true. I have now opened myself again to the depths of my grief. To see it, to feel it. To view the world through these eyes. To feel the barbs that come, every day, in some way to remind me that Shelley is not here.

I am reclaiming myself, breaking up with my false friend and not quite sure what lies ahead.

I am not certain that I will never ever drink again. I am not sure if I place myself in the category of a person who should not drink ever again. The thought of that causes me to panic. In that lies the rub. I am told that someone who is not addicted would not even contemplate the thought of never ever drinking as a worry!!

I know that there are numerous links in my genetic history with alcoholics.

I am not sure yet where I fit in to this history and maybe it is that I don’t want to know – yet. I just know for now, that I feel better doing what I am doing. I will keep exploring and testing my boundaries and be open to whatever I find. It is after all my own story and I am the writer.

Arohanui

KG

An Ordinary Week...

2007-08-09T11:23:00.000+12:00

An ordinary week has passed. The weather can’t decide what to do! Sometimes sunshine, and sometimes, thunderous rain. Spring is definitely on the move with new growth on the roses and spring bulbs popping up in the garden.

There has been much in the papers about NZ’s horrific child abuse statistics. The little girl, Nina Glaisse, has since died, her family and doctors turning off the life support last Friday.

To be honest I have avoided reading much of this information as it turns my stomach, depresses me and also makes me very angry My friend, has posted on this topic as well as domestic violence. She is much more adept than I at making such comments. I will simply put her link in this posting.

I am not a political commentator or researcher either, so my blog will mostly be about my view of things, shallow or not! I would say however, that voting next year will not be an easy task. All politicians have jumped on the bandwagon of domestic violence, child abuse etc, flailing their arms about and moving hot air in all directions. I guess it is politically beneficial to make loud noises while avoiding the breakdown of social structures, about which maybe they could do something, if they stopped flailing their arms about reactively. I have not been impressed with any of the spokespersons so far.

It is a red herring to pull out the “culture” blame sticks, though both Maori and Pakeha groups have done so. To many it is a “Maori” or “Pacific Island” problem. This is as a result of the huge publicity generated by such high public interest cases as that of Nia Glaisse, involving a Maori whanau. That makes it easier if you are neither a Maori or Pacific Islander, to stand back and criticize and to flail your arms about. Some Maori have also claimed it as a “Maori” problem, and called on their people to work together to stop this cycle of abuse and violence.

To me, this claiming of the problem by any particular group, usually at the exclusion of the other group, simply causes further divides and does not address the issues or provide any solutions. There is too much time spent working out whose problem it is.

I would argue that it is everyone’s problem. That it has perhaps more of a socioeconomic grounding than a cultural grounding. Families with few social skills, limited education or support structures melt down to some unimaginable place where not one person steps up to protect a child. Families where drug and alcohol abuse are the norm, where gang affiliations are common, pick on their weakest and most vulnerable members. Such families are not restricted to one culturally defined group.

The truth is that no matter what the circumstances, there is no excuse for this abhorrent behaviour. No excuse is acceptable for the reign of terror and torture this child suffered.

If as a society, there is not one person who will step up to protect a child suffering extended periods of torture and ultimately death at the hands of “family” then we have made some drastically flawed decisions about the way we want our country to run. In most of these cases, the child has not been isolated alone with one person. There have been plenty of family members within the “family circle”. It is not just one mad, crazed step dad, cousin or mother. It is a collective non action by many, many family members with not one person stepping up to protect the child.

If there is not one government agency sufficiently funded to monitor and act for the welfare of our young people, there is something drastically wrong. Our money is being spent on the wrong things.

I can hear you screaming, yes but everyone knows not to treat a child this way. Well, obviously they don’t. It happens too frequently for it to be a glitch on the radar.

Ultimately a society defines its own boundaries. That these types of murders occur is an indictment on our society. Yes, we can say the people who inflicted this life of torture and abuse are responsible, even responsible alone. We can wash our hands of it knowing that we would never do any such thing. Knowing that we would leap in front of a car to save a child, or tackle a mad dog to snatch a child from its jaws.

But and there is a but, there is a collective responsibility whether this be through the wider local community, neighbours, schools, our legislation, our punishment for such crimes. Something is missing.

As a society we have the ability to modify and change our boundaries. It should not all be downhill. We, collectively, need to make it unacceptable for any more children to die in this horrendous way, at the hands of their family.

I guess because it is a “hidden” problem in that abuse takes place in the home environment it is easier to ignore until it is too late, until pictures of broken little bodies become the “story” of the day.

Those who see, hear or know what is happening must step up, must intervene no matter the colour of their skin or ethnic origins. The justice system then needs to have the teeth to make the consequences so severe that they outweigh whatever cheap thrills and power trip the abusers, murders “enjoy”.

By contrast with all of the above HB & I had a visit from J&G, with J and their new baby A. He was 14 days old at that time. He was fast asleep, and stayed asleep for the hour or so they visited. We both got to hold him and still he slept, content and safe in his world.

His big brother loves him and wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to be left behind when they made their move to go home.

As I held him to me, I could not imagine how anyone could hurt a baby. As I looked at his big brother running around, “playing” our piano, (where were my work earmuffs!!!) laughing listening to his mum and dad, again the thought of how the hell could someone torture and maim a child or a baby struck me so deeply that I ached.

All I know is that each baby, each child deserves to be loved and nurtured. Deserves a chance to grow up, to make their own lives as they see fit. How dare anyone take that away.

Child torturers, murderers, abusers or terrorists - I see no difference. They think they have a right to take a life, whether slowly and tortuously, whether by lack of care and neglect or suddenly with a suicide bomb. They think they have a right whether it be a planned action or an abysmal lack of action and reasoning, to maim and murder.

How dare they.

How dare we allow them to do so.

Arohanui
KG

Birthday Boys

2007-08-01T17:37:00.001+12:00

FBS and SBS both have birthdays in July. They were born two years and two days apart. SBS had his 21st in 2005 in between our bringing his sister’s body home from London, his dad’s birthday, FBs’s birthday and then Shelley’s service at St Matthews in the City.

The 21st was a quiet affair, a meal with the gathering clan of family and friends who had come from all corners of the globe to support us. This year his SH (sweetheart) and he had a campfire meal somewhere near Broome, Western Australia. They have left the previously mentioned frogs behind and also the nearly completed hotel. They are now on another adventure, camping out and looking for work on the oyster boats. They will slowly work their way down to Perth and link up with more family before heading back to us for a few months. They then plan to head to Europe.

I have an assortment of phone numbers for SBS & his SH. The have individual NZ cells and a new Oz cell. I wanted to speak to him on his birthday, the day before or after is just not the same. So I tried all of the above contacts. None of them worked!! The number you are calling is not authorized to accept calls, said some posh fellow. SBS and I, had I thought, sorted this problem out last time I tried calling.

Plan B. Texted his dad and FBS to see if they had had any success in getting hold of them. His dad had got at least to a voicemail on one of the numbers I had been trying. FBS had yet another number!! HB rang it and called out to me that it was working, (me being far too distressed to manage this task.) HB passed me the phone. I heard the hello, and launched into a tirade of how stressed I had become trying to get hold of him. HB kept saying, don’t worry about that, just get to the Happy Birthday part, (HB is far more sensible than me!!). I yelled back, I will, I just need to do this first!!!!!

I hadn’t realized how traumatic it would be trying and getting no reply, just not being able to speak to SBS. The night of the London bombings, HB & I tried and tried Shelley’s phone. We tried for two days to get to hear her sweet voice. Each time we tried the knowledge that she was not going to answer the phone became slightly more certain. The reason, the only reason, for that, was too dreadful to consider. However, as the hours went by and we kept trying with no success, the nightmare began in full force. I don’t think I am overly dramatic (stop laughing!) but this simple task for SBS’s birthday call, showed me the power of PTSD. I really was a mess and hate to think what state I would have been in had we not managed to speak to him at that time. Right then.

I didn’t explain to SBS why I was so stressed, though I am sure he would have known. Neither of us said anything about that but I am sure he would have been equally aware of my reasons. Once I had finished yelling at him, we had a fabulous chat with both SBS & his SH. They sound so settled in their ways together. No matter that they don’t quite know what is around the corner. They are relishing every moment together, facing the challenges and growing even stronger and closer together. They are sending more stuff to store in our attic space. Great, I said. Bring it on. It’s marvelous. Plenty of room. No chance we can downsize house-wise now.!!

Their sweet voices were like magic nectar to my soul. No one and nothing could harm me, nor dent the euphoria I was experiencing.

FBS and I were both working on his birthday. We celebrated after the day, (but I did contact him on the actual date), with a meal out at the Mexican Café, (an Auckland Icon). To be honest, it wouldn’t have mattered where we went. It is enough to be together, to be able to give each other a hug, to share our jokes and stories. His adventures involve the night folk of K’Rd. He meets all sorts of people as he fulfills his role, protecting the patrons who frequent his workplace. (No its not a brothel – it’s a bar/nightclub. He loves every minute of his work and has just passed his Bar Manager’s licence. More adventures ahead. He is at home in the city. Not yet any desire to travel. Even Queen St, is a bit out of zone.

As I am writing this blog, I am appreciating that it is a different process for me, writing prose. Attempting to convey to any readers some sense of an experience, a feeling an observation, I find myself grappling with the words. My passion is to capture an essence and to place it, sculpt it into a poem. I am more used to polishing my words, honing them down, putting them in a nutshell, if you like. The wordiness of sentences seems unwieldy. Much harder to capture the fragility and beauty of such things. Hopefully, it is a skill that increases with practice!

I know this, my feelings for FBS & SBS are immeasurable. They have been through so much and have given me so much; have given each other so much.

I have crafted words about them in my book, “Dear Shelley".

BROTHERS IN ARMS

they stand
one
arms encasing
the other

holding him
as he weeps
for you

both with tears falling softly, gently

they are magnificent young men

so proud of you

full of love for you
full of love for each other

“she has always been before us”
“we always knew she was out there living her life”

now there is emptiness
an unknowing

a dreadful sadness
to be carried

blunt truths to be faced

they put them succinctly
pulling me back from the abyss

I wonder
how they got to be so wise

and loving

holding you forever
in their lives

__________

I think these are my best words. Two years on I would simply add, they are my strength, my sanity, my humour and my loves. They make my heart sweet, heal my wounds and honour Shelley with their lives. They are good men.

Kia kaha
Arohanui

KG

Taking a walk..

2007-07-31T09:52:00.000+12:00

Last Sunday, I resumed my walking. I woke just before the sun rose and decided to head off. I wanted to walk up to Waikumete Cemetery. It is uphill from our place and I hoped to be there in time to see the view of the sun rising over our part of this city.

It was cold, around 8 degrees. As the cold air hit my skin and my eyes watered, I felt full of energy. There was no one else around. I felt like I owned the neighbourhood. I even managed to jog a bit of the way, spurred on by this energy and my desire to beat the sunrise.

I went in the bottom entrance of the cemetery, an area set aside for WWI soldiers. I was still thinking about The War Tapes and the futility of war. I took time to look at some of the grave sites and read some of the names. So many young men.

The cemetery was quiet and the air very still. There was a slight frost, unusual for Auckland, on the grassed areas. Still no sign of other people out walking, jogging or taking their dogs for a stroll. I was deeply moved as I read the names and the water spurting from my eyes was now not only the result of the cold morning air. I was thinking of all the families who sons, brothers, fathers, cousins were laid to rest here, as the result of war. I was feeling frustrated at the senselessness of it all. Such a waste. All of these people.

The sun was trying to force its ways through the cool morning air. I walked up the hill a bit further to a point where I had a view of Kelston falling away towards the flat, towards the estuary. I took in the view and then slowly turned around and headed up towards a large Pohutakawa tree with the narrow shaft of sunlight on my back.

The tree was huge and the sun cast my shadow on its wide trunk. There was complete silence. There was nothing else but me, the tree and my shadow. For just one split second, as I looked at my shadow on the tree, I had a sense of Shelley’s shadow, as a little child, hand in hand with me. I could feel her little hand in mine. The two of us there, safe and saved in the tree. It was quite beautiful.

I knew if I turned away, turned around Shelley wouldn’t be there. I knew it wasn’t that moment that we had had, laughing and giggling at our shadows. The delight a child takes in realizing they have a shadow, that they can make it dance and move. That it is them.

Sometimes grief hits with a physicality that is indescribable.

Both experiences were running in my head at the same time. I was transfixed to the spot, juggling both realities. The beauty of the present moment, like a secret door into the past, together with the knowledge that Shelley was not there. That Shelley was dead. The impact was like a punch in the gut. My tears flowed uncontrollably. It was a moment, one of those moments that are precious, fragile and painful. It felt magical and beautiful at the same time. I stayed in it and held it for as long as I could. I stopped it when I sensed the beginning of an almighty scream, of a weeping and wailing that I knew, once set free would engulf me.

I turned away from the tree and faced the sun. I shut my eyes, breathed in the cold air and held Shelley with every cell of my body and mind until I was peaceful again.

After a while, I walked on. Down a dip, up a hill and rounded another corner. I was taken with a small area of graves with amazing structures on them. The grassed area was still frosty and a light mist hung in the air as if protecting them. I approached and realized the structures were things like dolls’ houses, toys, amazing montages of babies toys. The headstones showed life spans of a day, birth dates and death dates the same. These families hadn’t had the privilege of getting to know their children, of having them in their lives for any length of time. They would have had so much hope and joy for their lives. There is no right time for the death of a child. I left them with some of my tears.

By the time I walked out into the streets again, the city had awakened. There were cars everywhere dashing up and down the hill. People out running as opposed to my jogging and uphill as well!. I gave them the Kelston hello, (two raised eyebrows) and made my way home. Those precious moments, the unexpected awareness and emotions had given me a sense of grounding. I had stopped holding my breath, stopped being on guard for my grief and walked into the reality of my life. This was not a bad thing.

Arohanui
KG

Contrasts and Clarity Part II

2007-07-26T08:17:00.000+12:00

Now where was I…ah yes, contrasts.

We had watched “The War Tapes” (see previous post) and HB was surfing the channels, as you do when you are sprawled out on the sofa in the sun recovering from the flu. Purely by chance we came across the second documentary I want to tell you about. It was run in place of the scheduled programme. So it was even more by chance that we viewed it.

The contrast between The War Tapes and this documentary by Paul Smaczny, entitled, “The Ramallah Concert: Knowledge is the beginning…..” was incredible. It was like the contrast between winter/summer, sunshine/rain, night/day or depression/optimisim.

I am finding it difficult to find the words to describe the power and magnificence of this documentary..

Again if I refer to the heading on this blog site, “Words frame our reality. Actions define our lives”, this documentary encapsulates that philosophy.

What we were watching was an incredible collective of young men and women from the Middle East. Young people, whose reality had been framed by the place of their birth and the information , language, history and stories of their families. They were from Israel, Palestine, Jordan, Syria and Spain. People, whose reality encompassed inbred fear, mistrust and a history of hatred between these states. Histories of oppression, war, death and destruction at the hands of each others ethnic grouping. Words of hatred and mistrust had framed the only reality they knew about each other.

Most of them had never met or spoken to anyone from the other ethnic gorupings. This was their first experience of being able to talk one to one with each other. They are segregated into geographical areas with no access to each other. This is a situation that is ongoing in the Middle East with no clear sign of any changes in the near future.

How is it then that this particular group came together?

That is where the magnificence of the human entity comes in. That is where the power of the arts and contribution from artists comes in. That is where creativity and vision come in.

Two men, one an Israeli Musician, one a Palestian academic had made this possible. Daniel Barenboim and Edward Said had joined forces on this project. They breathed life into it and made it happen.

Part of my delay in updating my blog is that I have been finding out so much about each of these amazing men that I have disappeared into the internet!! I already knew that Daniel Barenboim was a musician who had once been married to Jacqueline du Pre. My sister introduced me to du Pre's magnificent cello playing many years ago. On first hearing the her play, I simply wept. It was so beautiful. It stirred my soul and touched my spirit in a way that only wonderful music can do. That is a rare feeling. I will never forget that particular moment.

What was extraordinary about this documentary was that it was much more than the story of an orchestra, (the group was called the West-East Divan Orchestra).

The process of living, working, travelling and playing music together provided a backdrop for dialogue. Dialogue between people that do not normally have a chance to speak to each other. To air their views, question each other and learn about each other’s lives. There were animated discussions the content of which were so honest and truthful that I was again brought to tears. There were heated discussions about the viability of playing at Ramallah. Consensus had to be reached and then extraordinary measures taken to make this happen. That it happened at all was a miracle.

It was incredible that this group formed, it was incredible that they learned so much from each other.It was incredible what they brought to the people in the Middle East. It was incredible what they brought to me.

At one stage Barenboim was asked for an interview after one of the concerts. He simply said words to this effect: there is no need for words after that (the music).
That is why it has been so difficult for me to find the words to convey any of this.

Truly incredible and life altering.

The dvd is available through Amazon if you are interested.

Arohanui

Clutter, Contrasts and Clarity

2007-07-23T15:42:00.000+12:00

'Tis a strange thing the human mind.

I have wanted to put up another post but have not been able to focus on a topic. Writers’ block already!! More likely that had I put fingers to keyboard and spewed out the contents of my mind, I would have received a visit from the white-coat brigade and been carted off for some R&R and intravenous drugs. (Would that have been so bad? Hmm).

My mind feels overwhelmed with clutter. Our senses are constantly assailed with news stories and I use the word “news” tongue in cheek. Newspapers, TV, radio stations, emails all assault our ears and eyes with items they call “news” or at least items they think will sell papers and boost viewer ratings. Most of it is pretty shallow crap, skimming across the top of what they deem is of interest. What has happened to in-depth reporting? Investigative journalism?

I mean come on –

Paris Hilton’s traumatic days in prison. Am I supposed to care?

Britain and Russia have had a spat which might impact on global warming as all parties drift towards Cold War status. Cold War is somewhat sneakier than a Hot War, as currently screening in cities and towns in Iraq. (So, definitely a bad thing apart from the possibility of slowing down global warming?)

Mugabe has had another turn of his brain and citizens are fleeing in droves. The surrounding countries are feeling somewhat pressured by the sheer number of uninvited guests. Where are the mercenary hit men these days? (Off reading the final edition of the Harry Potter series?).

John Key, the opposition National Party leader has had his $8 million home burgled while he was in Hawaii with his family during the school holidays. He apparently owns six houses but this one just happened to be the one he and his family dwell in. He immediately blamed “the druggies”. This revelation was presented prior to any Police investigation being completed or probably even started. So he is a pretty bright spark and he does dress nicely. Maybe he won’t need to have empathy for the underprivileged or drug addicts if he gets a turn at being the PM.

Meanwhile our PM, (Labour Party in case you don’t know), wants to spend $4.6 million on a football sculpture in Paris during the Rugby World Cup. It’s not as if you can even kick the thing!! As well there are social services being closed due to lack of funding. They would require only a tiny wee bit of that amount of money in order to continue.

George W. Blunderbuss just wants to be loved. He will not be deterred from his path on Iraq even if his dog and his wife (not sure I got the order right!) are his only remaining supporters. Well, hey George, take a look. It’s down to those two. But maybe they love him.

The planet is both flooding and heating up to terrifying levels. Britain is experiencing severe flooding with three people reported dead. The Mediterranean is enduring “furnace like temperatures” that may severely impact on the tourism industry.

Aghh!! All of the above clutter has been rattling around in my head for the past few days.

And I miss Shelley every day.

That on its own is enough.

I work a six day roster with three days off in-between. Yesterday was the first of my three days off. I blobbed with my cluttered mind. HB has a touch of the flue and laryngitis so the house was quite quiet!! Yes, I am doing my best Florence Nightingale impression while juggling my cluttered mind. Most of my blobbing took place in front of the TV apart from the occasional foray into the garden.

As it happens this wasn’t a total waste of time.

I came across a fascinating documentary on the Rialto Channel. Broadway: The Golden Age, By The Legends Who Were There. I was spellbound for the next two hours. Taken on a fascinating journey by the actors/resses who were the heart and soul of Broadway. Achieve footage of those long gone, stories from those still working. The spoke about the icons; Marlon Brando, James Dean and many more; the lifestyle of going to seven or eight shows a night for a mere 25c each show; the auditions and the desire to be the one chosen for the lead role. As they spoke their excitement and passion for the theatre at that time was tangible.

Tales of poverty and creative ways around the need to make an impression for the auditions. One group of actresses chipped in together to buy a dress that was given to whoever had an audition at the time. It was fascinating stuff. They were less impressed with current “musicals” with their computerized music systems or worse pre-recorded music. Not an orchestra in sight. Where is the “live” in such theatre they mused.

I felt the power, passion and beauty of their craft. There was certainly a depth and skill that marked genius. Success was in their hands, not in the hands of multi-million dollar marketing agencies, lighting or special effects operators. I

If you get a chance to view this documentary, I highly recommend it.

I had already noted another documentary that I wanted to see, so the blobbing continued. This one was entitled “The War Tapes”. Journalist Deborah Scranton had the opportunity to join members of the National Guard on the frontline for this documentary. However, instead of doing the filming herself, she gave three of the soldiers video cameras. The ensuing documentary is their footage edited by Scranton. It screened on the Discovery Channel at 7.30pm.

I wanted to see this documentary for a couple of reasons. One being that the son of one my best friend’s is currently serving in Iraq. His father is American and he had, in his mid 20’s, forfeited his NZ citizenship in order to join the American Army. He is a trained medic but also a specialist soldier and a leader of other men.

He knew Shelley as our families had met when they were both about 6 years old. He was devastated when Shelley was murdered by the London bombers.

I wanted to see what he might see and to have some sense of what he might be doing in Iraq. I could not understand his wanting to go. I wanted to be able to make some sense out of the whole thing.

As I watched the documentary, the words I had chosen for the heading of this blog site struck home. These three soldiers were motivated to serve in Iraq by words such as freedom, democracy for the people of Iraq, heroism and fighting the bad guys. These words framed their reality.

The unfolding of their stories from Iraq challenged the reality of these words. One of their main duties was escorting supply trucks. Trucks that all belong to KBR, ("KBR is a leading global engineering, construction and services company supporting the energy, petrochemicals, government services and civil infrastructure sectors." quote from website. One of the soldiers stated that Dick Cheyney was involved with KBR. This company supplies practically eveything in Iraq.

They also escorted the “poo” trucks, tankers that drove out to designated areas and then pumped out the human waste into the desert soil. One of the soldiers could speak Arabic and was often caught in the middle translating with the locals. His comrades joked about having to kill him for collaborating with the enemy. Soldiers are sent to Iraq with no cultural awareness of the local inhabitants, the people they are supposed to be saving. He stopped translating after having to advise the father of a local child, a small boy, that he could not cross the road to take the boy to the hospital. It was not permitted.

It becomes clear that war is not always about good vs evil and it is even not clear who is in each camp. It is more often than not about power and money. It is always a waste of lives, of brothers of sisters of sons and of daughters.

I will not tell you much more but there is much more. The documentary follows these three soldiers home as they reunite with their own families and local communities. They are attempting to rebuild their lives with PTSD and a couple of them have some physical conditions to deal with as a result of their service. Two may serve again.

The words that drove them to Iraq must be ringing in their minds as they learn to live with the reality of their actions.

I still do not understand why one of my best friend’s sons wanted to go to Iraq.
I hope he is kept safe in body, mind and soul. My love travels with him.

Again if you get a chance to view this documentary – take it.

I am slowly clearing the clutter but there is still one more bit of TV I want to share with you.

That is going to have to wait as I need a break. Next posting will be part two, Contrast and Clarity.

Arohanui

KG

PS the “save now” has not worked today. This is the third time I have put this together. Any tips from anyone? Am now writing in word, saving and then putting into the blog. The air was blue!!!

The Frog Story...

2007-07-14T09:25:00.000+12:00

No, not the story about putting a frog in a pan of cold water and heating it up and the dumb frog doesn't realise. The story about the frogs in the toilet cisterns and toilet bowls in outback OZ!!

I have been having nightmares ever since Second Born Son (SBS) told me in a phone call from Fitzroy Crossing, that that was part of his and his beloveds' job. Removing the frogs from the toilet systems. I tried to visualize them in the toilets, googly eyes peering up at up as you peed down on them or worse. I imagined he&she, plunging their arms into the loos to remove these unwelcome guests. Apparently the paying guests don't much like having these freeloading frogs in the loos.

He explained that they wore big rubber gloves, plucked the frogs out, put them in buckets of water which they covered, so the frogs couldn't see where they were going before they returned them to the river.

By now my neck was tingling with the imagined creepiness of it all!!

He said it wasn't too bad really!!

Judge for yourself. They look a bit belligerent to me. And they still give me the creeps.

SBS & his beloved have since moved from the frog place. That is no longer part of their duties. They are now running a brand new hotel in the Kimberly region and just have to deal with the fact that the building is not quite complete and that they will need to leave before the rainy season or they will be stuck there for a bit longer than they planned. They too are adventurers. The stories will continue. We are a family with a good pedigree in oral and written storytelling.

First Born Son, FBS is a wonderful orator. I love his stories. He is somewhat anxious being the only child physically available to me. He lives in the same city and threatened to change his phone number when I started muttering about taking him to feed the ducks at the park, like we used to when he was a little boy. These two are mature and wonderful young men, neither of whom needs a regressing mother mollycoddling them!!! (So I tell myself and they tell me!!)

FBS's stories revolve around his job in the key nightspots of Auckland. He says who can and cannot enter certain premises. He keeps me in hysterics with his retelling of drunken customers and their attempts at wrangling with him. My favourite is of a drunken midget, (FBS is well over 6'),who repeatedly threw himself at FBS, trying to punch him while at the same time accusing him of picking on him for being a midget. FBS replied, "No, it's not that mate it's just that you're pissed!! "

There are many more stories where these have come from. When we all get together there is much laughter and a wonderful feeling of belonging. We have Shelley in our hearts and their grief too is vast and painful.

They are my rocks. My solid grounding souls. They are so wise and generous. When I am down they bring me up and say we all have to live our lives bigger and better because of Shelley. I am doing my best and having their love means I can keep on trying. One for all and all for one. That's how we roll.

Arohanui

Bittersweet

2007-07-10T11:55:00.000+12:00

Today is the 10th. I have been in a time capsule of sorts, for the past three days. I wake all hours of the night, thinking about all sorts of things. It feels like I have been holding my breath, not daring to breathe. I can breathe again.

The prelude to the 7th was horrendous. I wanted to stop it happening, that date, that day. Shelley's dying. The pressure and stress mounted as the day approached, two years on. Panic grabbed me. The physical manifestations of my grief ebbed and flowed; not interested in food; alcohol my solace.

There is a kind of dislocation that occurs for me. I operate in a seemingly normal manner, (many people would debate that quite rightly!!) but my mind is all over the place. I forget things I know, words I know. I don't know what to do so I keep on doing the everyday things, all the time fending off this sense of panic. All the time shutting down on conversations that might expose my emotion.

I try to rationalise that it is only another day. Another day without Shelley. But it is the day this torturous cycle of grief began. The day of the act that murdered 52 people and hurt and maimed so many others. It is no ordinary day.

I don't know what to do. How to mark this day. How to make it better for my family. I don't want to bring everyone into a deep dark hole of despair but I don't want her dying to go unnoticed. I know that isn't the case and that everyone will be feeling the same. We all do different things with our giref, our missing of her. All of us stumbling around in our unknowingness. Not sure how to reach out.

The solution came from Shelley's friends. They wanted to know if we could get together at our place. The place they know as Shelley's home. So we did.

We had a gathering. An amazing assortment of friends, Shelley's friends and our friends. All who had been there for us since Shelley's death. All who had known her at different stages of her life. Some who came into our lives as a result of her murder.

We have a large home that amazingly expands and contracts, as if by magic, to meet our needs. In 2005 there was a constant flow of people in and out of it, numbers ranging from 2 to 3, 30 or more, 50 or more. It seems to take on a role of its' own, knowing the importance of keeping us safe, allowing its walls to unfold and gently hold us all, no matter how many, in the warmth and safe harbour of its centre.

It has held our screams, our tears, our anger and rage.

It held Shelley's 21st with back doors wideopen to the garden and the fence then open to the reserve to take the 100+ that were part of that special night. Laughter, stories, tears, songs, speeches. Tons of food and an abundance of alcohol. It is an emotionally very mature dwelling, unlike its occupants.

On this 7th July I am sure it would have been a slightly nervous house, on high alert for any possibilities as we all stepped into the unknown edges of our emotions.

What transpired was wonderful. It was as if there was a collective sigh of ease. The fireplace glowed with flickers of orange and red flames, eminating heat and light. Pictures of our beautiful Shelley beam down on us from our walls. Flowers were placed, candles lit and stories told.

And then there were the little people!! An amazing array of gorgeous new lives.

None of whom Shelley had the privilege of meeting.

Her friends M&M, now with a 2yr old and 8 month old K&H; J&G with J, two and abit and No 2 son due to be born a week ago!! M&;T with J four years old; D with her wonderful daughter S and her beautiful 7 week old son. It was incredible. These little people brought laughter and life into the home, they played together, they ate, they danced, they squealed they hugged us all and had a ball. You could almost feel a tangible sigh and relaxing of the walls as the evening unfolded. How loved and lucky all those littlies are. They were shared by all, eveyone only too keen interact with them to get to know them a little.

They can get you just like that, littlies. The joy on their face as you give them some crisps, a bisciut or a lolly. The way they look at you, straight in the eye, straight to your soul. The conversations they have, hilarious and extremely socially adept. There were no temper tantrams, no whining, no demanding this or that. They were just here, enjoying themselves, safe with their parents and family.

They can get you just like that, littlies. I held the littlest one, 7 weeks old. Perfectly formed, a beautiful little boy. He kept sleeping. I held him, hugged him, smelt his lovely newness, snuggled his neck and breathed in his warmth.

Then I was weeping. I handed him back gently. He got me. He got in under my protective layers.

I looked at him, and thought of all the hours ahead in his life. All the teaching, loving, training we do with our children. From where he is now at 7 weeks until he is a grown young man, off on his own path, how much time and love he will hold. How much love he will give back. How much a part of his family he is and always will be.

It broke my heart. It breaks my heart that anyone dares to end this. How dare someone harm a child. Any child. My child. My baby. No matter their age.
It was the best night. The best way to honour Shelley. The best way to remember all the losses.

We will never forget. We will love and protect our families and friends always, knowing as we do, that it is not always possible to protect them from evil. That is the heartbreaker.

One thing is for sure, we will be doing this more often. It was like tickling the underbelly of our grief and making us chuckle. A journey to other emotions, sharing a wonderful connectedness that Shelley had made for us all.

And I swear the house has a certain jaunty tilt to its' roof now.

Arohanui my dear ones

KG

Backyard with gate to reserve.
I

7/7 Anniversary 2007

2007-07-07T12:01:00.000+12:00

Today is the 7th.

I will recite the names of the dead and light a candle.

My thoughts are with you all.

All the familes, friends and survivors.

Through our love we are strong.

Shelley Marie Mather
27/01/1979 - 07/07/2005

Russell Square

James Adams

Samantha Badham

Philip Beer

Anna Brandt

Ciaran Cassidy

Rachelle Chung For Yuen

Elizabeth Daplyn

Arthur Frederick

Karolina Gluck

Gamze Gunoral

Lee Harris

Ojara Ikeagwu

Emily Jenkins

Adrian Johnson

Helen Jones

Susan Levy

Shelley Mather

Michael Matsushita

James Mayes

Behnaz Mozakka

Michaela Otto

Atique Sharifi

Ihab Slimane

Christian Small

Monika Suchocka

Mala Trivedi

Tavistock Square

Anthony Fatayi-Williams

Jamie Gordon

Giles Hart

Marie Hartley

Miriam Hyman

Shahara Islam

Neetu Jain

Sam Ly

Shyanuja Parathasangary

Anat Rosenberg

Philip Russell

William Wise

Gladys Wundowa

Aldgate

Lee Baisden

Benedetta Ciaccia

Richard Ellery

Richard Gray

Anne Moffat

Fiona Stevenson

Carrie Taylor

Edgware Road

Michael Brewster

Jonathan Downey

David Foulkes

Colin Morley

Jennifer Nicholson

Laura Webb

The Wounded Angel by Emily Young placed at St Pancras Church in honour of the victims of 7/7
A moving and beautiful tribute.

Full list of Obituaries

The Point of Terrorism is..

2007-07-05T14:04:00.001+12:00

I guess I am a bit dense. I really don't understand the point of terrorism. I know it can be an effective method or murdering people. That has been proven to me by the loss of my daughter Shelley, in the London 7/7 Terrorist strike on the underground.

It is also an effective way of maiming, physically and emotionally any given number of people who happen to be present at the time of the act. None of whom mean anything to the terrorist murderers - all of whom do mean a great deal to their families and friends.

It can also causes anxiety for people not directly effected by engendering some level of "insecurity" into their lives.

But what does it achieve?

They are not blackmailers or kidnappers, who, if you believe the movies you see, pretty quickly present a list of demands. At least you have some idea of what they want and they are still around to get it! You may even be able to produce a helicopter at short notice, along with pizzas and drinks and a large bag full of money.

The Mission Impossible tapes (one they prepared earlier!), produced by terrorists after they have obviously accepted the mission, such as the tape produced to time in with last year's first anniversary, shed some light on their thinking. Khan called all in sundry nasty names, praised his god and sang the praises of al-Quaeda. Blaming this and future actions on the evil of the Western world and the Iraq war etc etc. He had indeed, taken the righteous path to teaching us all a lesson. But what was that lesson?

To my way of thinking, Terrorists appear to be cowards . They puff themselves up to be something greater than us remaining mere mortals. Of course, they have have taken the short route out of life by knowingly and willinging killing themselves as well. They leave their families, the victims and families of the dead to deal with the reality of their pathetic actions. This reality is where true courage comes in. Not the death by default stance they take. Death is just too easy an option.

Perhaps the attempted bombings last week in London, full of the incompetencies that they were, mean that the next layer of terrorist/murderer is not so fully convinced that such a death is honourable. l mean for supposedly highly intelligent medical professionals, (what about the hypocratic oath?) they were abysmal. Not only did the bombs not activate but they were caught damn quickly. No wonder the health system is in disarray!!

I am by no means equipped to comment on the political landscape and am not privy to the inner workings of governments. My area of knowledge is based on my family and the society in which I live.

If the Point of Terrorism is a mystery to me given my circumstances, how much more of a mystery must it be to others not affected by a death in their family?

The words I chose for the heading of this site say: Words frame our reality. Actions define our lives.
I did not choose those words lightly. It seems to me that words are the true weapons. These latest attempted terrorists were highly intelligent. You have to have some brain to succeed in medicine. Yet they allowed inflamatory words to change their thinking. Or did they? Were they already thinking along those lines and the previous part of their lives were not true to their beliefs? Did they secure the jobs at London hospitals in order to be inconspicious? Or were they turned by someone elses powerful use of words. The words of the Koran, the words of a passionate Islamic teacher? I don't know. What I do know is that they used words, carefully chosen words to frame their ultimate action of attemting to committ terrorist acts. They knew the likelihood of the loss of lives, yet as doctors, they chose to ignore that side of the equation.

Maybe ultimately, they withdrew at the last minute. Maybe some sense of reason and humanity snuck through their fuddled, minds. Who knows? Maybe they just didn't want to kill themselves. Only they know. Did the attempts fail because of incompetence or because of a realisation of the greater good?

We will not necessarily find out the answer to these questions.

I only know that every child born belongs to someone. That that child usually is loved and cherished, not always, but more often than not. I know that a child is not born with hatred in their hearts or with murderous intent. I can understand that if you are exposed to tyranny and murder, that if your social group is targeted whether as a result of racist, religious or any kind of prejudice, you may become ticked off with the oppressors.

What I cannot understand is the belief that any one group has the right to stamp their way of living, thinking onto any other group by force. By war. By genocide. By homicide. By war.

Disputes over land, oil, money and power these are the makings of war and terrorism.The need to prove oneself right at any cost. At the cost of all the dead in Iraq, civilian and solider.

There has to be a better way but it will not be tapped until there is a desire for this all to end. Until words are used in healing and constructive ways as tools to find pathways through the history of anger and revenge. Until actions of co-operacy and collective well being follow those words. Then maybe we can move forward to a different way of resolving our issues.

The 7/7 bombers and those who attempted the latest bombings did not bother to start a dialogue about their issues. They skipped straight to cowardly, murderous acts for which they, as individuals are responsible. It matters not that they may have taken on some identity of a disaffected group. That is too easy a solution.

Acts of death and destruction do not change thinking; do not convert one to another set of beliefs. Constructive dialogue with goodwill to find solutions has more chance of changing the world.

The current stakes of being stronger, more violent, more sinister, more underhand than the opponent who may not even know they are an opponent, can only lead to more destruction.

The words we use to define groups are in themselves inflamatory; Terrorists, Islamists, Muslims, Westerners. It is easy to generate hate for a group. To see that group then as the named enemy to be destroyed. Individuals make up groups. We need to see the individual. We need to draw back to individual family groups. We need to take responsibility for our children, partners, brothers, sisters. Anyone in our social grouping. We need to use words as assetts to define actions of healing.

Below a poem from my book "Dear Shelley" in which I attempt to make this same point.

TO THE GOVERNMENTS/DICTATORS/PRESIDENTS/RELIGIOUSLEADERS AND SUNDRY TITLED PERSONS WHO HEADCOUNTRIES/STATES
ENGAGED IN ACTIVE WARS

you send them off to war
to fight your fight

in the name of god
in the name of justice

you send them

you say “we are saving this country”
by invading it
you say “it’s what their people want”
you say “we have to stop them, they
are developing nuclear capability”
you say “we must expect collateral damage”
speak-ease for dead soldiers from
your country and dead civilians
from the country you are “rescuing”

you say “they stole our land 100’s if not 1000’s of
years ago – it isn’t fair”
you say “they have insulted our god – they must
die for that”
you say “our god is a peaceful god who must be
avenged with violence”

you say “they have killed one of us, we must kill
more of them – to show them they cannot
do this”

you say “we must fight terrorism”

you say “to fight terrorism we must take away
some of your basic democratic civil rights”
you say “we are right – it is for your own good”

you say “you don’t understand it is complex”

you are right on one count
and one count only

I don’t understand

I don’t understand in the name of god, any god

I don’t understand in the name of justice
the continual sanctioning of the waste of lives
on endeavours based on any of the above reasons

I probably don’t understand because it is complex
you say

and I am only a mother of one of the dead

but I know something you don’t understand
because it is too simple for you to understand

that every death is a person not a number

that every death is someone’s child, maybe
a brother or a sister too

that every death is not a solitary step

that every death effects that person’s family
and friends

that if you received a knock at your door
to take your son to war for the better good

that if your child were waiting for the tube
and a bomber said the him/her
I am going to randomly set off a bomb

people will die
you might die

you can call a parent to substitute

would you go or would you say
he/she is collateral
the price of our war on terror
has to be paid by someone

it is simple
and I do not understand

Kia kaha

Arohanui

KG

Just another F word..

2007-06-27T08:43:00.000+12:00

For goodness sake what a funny old day I have had. I had this blog all planned at 3am this morning. No scattered thoughts. Just a clear direction. However, my mind is a mysterious place at the best of times. Two weeks before the 2nd anniversay of Shelley's death, it is even slightly stranger.

Our home is a beautiful place. On the banks of an estuary, (the Whau) near Auckland. As I wandered around here this morning I was taken into a quiet place of thought about the weather. Nature is a great grounding force for me. I often take off to the wild black sand beaches on our West Coast to be revitalised by the enormity of nature and the insignificance of myself. It somehow takes away my fury, sitting, pacing, yelling at the stroppy waves as they crash and disappear, crash and disappear. I return home more at peace within myself which is a good thing.

My 3am inspiration was to talk about F words. Forgiveness in particular. I will get to that shortly. The weather has taken me over.

Freezing. It is very cold this winter morning. Around 6 degrees. The sun has started its climb into the crisp air and is just visible about the Whau. So it will be a pleasant enough day with just enough chill in the air so that we don't take the sunshine for granted. Preparations are already in hand to set the fire towards the end of the day, to generate our own warmth indoors.

I love this visible change of season. It reminds me of my childhood in the South Island where the temperatures are far more extreme and the seasons more defined. Where Autumn is more spectacular with glorious displays of multi-coloured trees in various stage of undress as the leaves are slowly shed. As a child on my way to kindergarten with my mother, I used to laugh and squeal at the naked trees which I nicknamed "nuddy"all of them. There wasn't a plural just "nuddy". I would search the rows of trees on our walk until I found the ones striped bare.

Snow covers the Southern Alps and occasionally strays into the bigger cities like Christchurch and Dunedin ensuring the occasional day off school for the kids as the roads are trecherous. It never snows in Auckland and we tend to feel somewhat smug when we view the temperatures for the country which show minus figures for the lower half of the South Island with highs of 8 degrees or similar. Our average high would be nearer 13 to 15 degrees. Nice but it comes at the expense of the seasonal showcase.

Forgiveness was the F word I intended to start with but then I digressed. Much has been written and commented on about forgiveness. Some hold it up as a badge to be earned on the way to the recovery of your soul. A requirement to your own sanity when you have experienced murder and mayhem at the hands of others.

For me, it doesn't come into the equation. I don't feel the need nor the desire to forgive the murderous bombers who took Shelley's life, along with 51 other good people. I am equally sure they would not seek nor require my forgiveness. They believe they have committed a glorious deed. They knew if all went to plan, that the morning of the 7.7.05 would be their last morning. They hoped to take as many innocent people with them.

The dead and injured had no forewarning. Only the grim reality of the aftermath of the bombs. The survivors haunted by the images, the human carnage and destruction they witnessed. They were thrown headlong into scenes they will never forget and scenes the rest of us can only imagine. They all pay an ongoing price, whether physical and/or emotional scars. The degree of either varying from person to person but it is something they all must now carry throughout their lives. Just as the families and friends of the dead have to learn how to live their lives without their loved ones.

Neither task is easy.

Forgiveness in my opinion, is over rated. I choose to draw on all my strength and the strength of all my forbears and Shelley, to learn how to live my life without Shelley here with me. I define my actions as Positive Dismissal and view this as taking affirmative action in an attempt to get on with the remainder of my life. I have no place in my heart, mind or soul for the evil deeds of evil and misguided persons. Places there, are reserved only for those good souls in my life, my nearest and dearest, my family and friends.

I don't think I am any less of a person for not being able to forgive the unforgiveable.

This processs of grieving is extraordinary. It is painful, cyclical and neverending. Every day of my life is now one without Shelley. This is my life sentence.

This time in 2005 Shelley had just been to Glastonbury, sent me funny emails about it. How muddy it was, how pleased she and her friend were having had the foresight to cart gumboots with them on the stiffling hot journey on the train. There is a photo of her laughing in a huge muddy field at the festival, safe with dry feet in her gumboots. Today's NZ paper tells the tale of Glastonbury being almost flooded out again. It is deja vu and I am caught in a place of altered reality thinking, ah well maybe she is there and will tell me all about it. And we will laugh.

It is almost as if it (the bombing) hasn't happened yet. It is still coming but I can predict the future now. On the 7th July it will be here.

I need to embrace family and friends. F... forgiveness.

Futility. This afternoon I attended the blessing and closing of a mental health facility. My hb (life partner), is a team leader for that particular facility which has operated under impending closure for the past two years.

Elected Health Board representatives have decreed it must close even though it is one of the top performing specialist units of its type. The only one of its type.

The ceremony was beautifully managed in tandem with the local tangata whenua (representatives of the local Maori tribe). The house was honoured, as were all the past and current clients and staff. As were all our ancestors. A moving ceremony walking from room to room addressing each place with love and respect, allowing anyone who wanted to speak to say their truth. The final part was to physically leave the house and close the door. It was an extraordinarily moving ceremony, open to people's anger, tears, appreciation and frustration at the stupidity of such an ending. The sincerity and depth of feeling was evident in all the tears that were shed.

It was a wonderful example of Maori and Pakeha working together with respect and love. I was honoured and humbled to bear witness.

It would not be surprising, now that is is closed, that the powers that be will suddenly realise that they really should try and set up exactly this type of service!!

Foolish my final F word. Our politicians have decided that the television press cannot film them being silly!!! A clip of one MP giving the fingers to another while speaking in Parliament was shown on TV. Instead of addressing the juvenile behaviour of the politicians involved, whose salaries we all pay, the remedy has been to ban televising images of any such behaviour. The MPs state that is not appropriate to show them in satirical or irreverent poses!! Huh!

There is one upside to all this. All future coverage of MPs and their behaviour will be severely limited as they seem incapable of taking their jobs seriously and acting like mature representatives of the few people that elected them. The other good news is the ban doesn't start until 17th July so you might guess the press is having a field day in the meantime. And the MP's sure do look silly!! Update: there has been such an outcry from the Press Gallery that Parliament is having a rethink. Now that's not silly. Click on link to see silly video!!

www.tv3.co.nz/VideoBrowseAll/PoliticsVideo/tabid/370/articleID/29654/Default.aspx#video

Finally Farewell for now,

Breathing Fire

2007-06-25T13:28:00.000+12:00

I am beathing fire, like my dragon Chinese star sign. I have taken the step of creating this blogsite. I am not sure it is a wise move, but it has been on my mind for some weeks now.

I have been spurred on by reading the wonderful work of Rachel North http://www.rachelnorthlondon.blogspot.com/ whom I have had the pleasure of meeting. I am quite technically inadequate so this is quite scary!!! I think I have control over what goes in here but am not fully convinced I will not make a huge cockup and you will all be able to read my mind or see my bank account, (Much good will it do you!!! There is no money in the account and you will not emerge for weeks, even years in you sink into the soakhole of my mind!! So read on at your own risk.!)

How I came to meet Rachel is, in itself a story of actions and words. Rachel was on the tube on 7/7/2005. So was my daughter Shelley. Shelley died as a result of the "actions" of the bloody-minded and murderously intentioned bombers. I guess they thought they would teach us all a lesson, of what nature, I am not sure.

What I have experienced since Shelley's murder has been the beauty of words and the beauty of actions. I have been overwhelmed by the huge outpouring of love and support worldwide. In her lifetime Shelley had an impact on many people here in NZ and around the world. That so many of these poeple still take the time to text me or email is absolutely a tribute to their good souls and to Shelley's ability to be a wonderful friend, colleague and citizen of the world. Shelley's friends worldwide contributed to a beautiful memorial park bench in Russell Square.

So if you happen to be in London and walking through Russell Square - maybe you will choose to stop and visit awhile with Shelley. The park bench is on the side by the Night n Day bar, a frequent and happy hangout of Shelley and her friends, and I too was a frequent visitor on both excursions to London.

I have used written words when unable to speak of the depths of my sorrow and grief. I have turned those words into a book in honour of Shelley called, "Dear Shelley". http://www.womensbookshop.co.nz/ There is also some further information on the website Shelley's dad set up, http://www.shelleymariemather.com/

The poems are the story or my journey to London in July 2005 with Shelley's dad, to find our darling baby. To bring her home. It is the story of the amazing people we met and the love and strength we have all drawn from each other. It is a tribute to my partner, sons and extended family, friends and strangers who took the time to send "words" of love and support.

I have felt further driven to start a blog as the 2nd anniversay of the 7/7 bombings nears. We returned last year for the first anniversary services but will not be there this year until September. At the time of the bombings the news was huge in NZ. Shelley was the only NZ'er to die. The press were hungry for her name, before we were ready to give it. Last year there was some interest and my return journey and reading of one of my poems "The Moon" , at Regent's Park was covered by press and TV.

Time is a funny thing. There have been many more sad stories, more murders of NZ'ers at home by family members and strangers and abroad by random people. I know we are only one family with one death but each family's death is horriffic and always uppermost to them. So you could excuse my initial interest yesterday when I spotted the following headline in the national Sunday paper - "07-07-07 Auspicious date ", that's where my eyes stopped. The rest of the headline was - "booked out for weddings". The story was about the disproportionate number of people opting to get married on this date which apparently has some mathematical good luck charm to it.

Well excuse me and the other 51 familes and 700 survivors who might find this somewhat ironic.

But hey, the world moves on as do we all. Just differently I guess. I sincerely hope it is a good luck date for the soon to be newlyweds. I know for me and hundreds of other people it is a date that will not be forgotten for a different reason.Words make it or break it I guess. The hunger of the press for the word, for the insight into the pain and the grief followed now, two years later, by a deafening silence. By finding another relevance to that date.

And hey, I used to be funny so I will promise not be depressive all the time.

It's true, I used to be funny. In May 2005 I was in the semi-finals for the Auckland-wide search for new standup comedy talent. One of the last messages I got from Shelley after she heard of this great feat, was a voicemail message on my phone saying, "I always knew you were a funny mummy." That is so loaded and open to intepretation and I just laughed for about half an hour. That's what we did. Shelley and me. We laughed, we cried, we locked horns occasionally but most of all we loved. We loved the madness of our family, her family.

So if you have happened upon this site, welcome to the ravings of a mad woman. I wish you well and you can be sure of occassional thoughts from the Southern Hemisphere on any number of topics.

For a first post....maybe it's not too bad!! So I shall push the Publish button..yikes!!

Arohanui