Out of Kilter

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

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

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...

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

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