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
Showing posts with label Loss and Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loss and Life. Show all posts
1 May 2008
10 Jul 2007
Bittersweet
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.
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.
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
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
I
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