7 May 2008
kd lang
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
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
1 May 2008
Joyfulness
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
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
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
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
27 Apr 2008
ANZAC Day 2007
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
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
Arohanui,
KG
XX
14 Apr 2008
Trials and Tribulations
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
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
22 Feb 2008
Funny Story
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
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
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