Archive for May, 2011

454 days….

The kids had a ball at soccer again today (yes, I do crack myself up).

“Craig” wasn’t there so I had a good day too.

K actually *played* today and in the shoot out, it was discovered that not only is she the fastest runner, but she can also kick the ball the furthest of anyone on the team.

She just doesn’t like taking the ball away from someone else …. she is my daughter after all 😉

I was just looking back over some old posts and looked up the entry from a year ago….


89 days…

and I’m exhausted.  I’m sick of this shit.  I hate it.

I’m sorry for whatever I did that pissed God off so much that he had to take you away.    God definitely sent me more grief than I can cope with.  That or he’s got Fuck All idea of what “coping” looks like and has confused it with “crazy”. Its only through sheer willpower that I haven’t driven us all off to the funny farm today.  Well, willpower and the fact that I don’t quite know where the funny farm is anyway.

I need a day of to myself with some peace and quiet, with no kids fighting or whining, no sister-in-laws phoning me for a “chat” at 7am or 10pm (WTF is with that???), with a clean house, laundry done and put away, no more forms or new people I have to send certified copies of the death certificate to ….  and with lots of rainbows and the odd unicorn shooting glitter out of its arse.

A hotline to Heaven wouldn’t go astray either as would a day where I don’t cry so much my eyes and face ache with the pain of tears.

I miss you so bad I have a permanent ache in my chest.
I can see how it is possible to die from a broken heart…


While I still have days like this, it’s no longer all the time or even every day.

Now it’s more of a permeating sadness.

A functional sadness.

Less acute.

But still there.

….and I can see the progress I’ve made.

Go me!

Can I have a prize now???

I miss you.  That’s really the big thing right now.

Nobody else can fill your shoes.

I love you.



453 days….

It’s 15 years since Pop died.  It seems like an eternity… and yet “only” 15 years.

That means that my Nan was only a widow for 14 years, 10 months.

I don’t know how she did it…. but I figure that I’ve got about 50 years to work it out.


Today was unintentionally social.

I had planned that we’d have a very quiet weekend …. especially since Mum and I went out to see your (and my own) official headstone yesterday.

A big day….

So today, I was looking forward to taking things quietly….

… but I think you knew I’d be feeling a bit down so you sent Andrew over to cheer me up.

He is the only one of your friends who’s been near me in the last year.  … the others said they’d be here for us, but … nothing.

Andrew never fails to make me feel good about myself.

He’s toned down the outrageous flirting he always tried on in front of you, but he is a true charmer.

He reminds me that I’m still young and attractive even though I feel ancient and invisible.

And the harmless flirting feels good.

… because I know I can trust him and he loves you and me both so much that he’d never *really* try anything on with me.

I think it’s because he remembers what his life was like after his Dad died when he was very small.

I miss you.

So much.

I love you.


449 days…

I realised something today….

I don’t hate God quite so much as I did.

Go  figure.

At a time when Westboro Baptists are giving Christianity an evil name, I got to thinking that their main problem is that they take the Bible literally when it’s more of a take home the main idea type book.

…and what’s the main idea?

Love one another.

That’s pretty much it.

The over-riding principal of the Bible.

The principal that supersedes all previous tenets that make people judge each other, hurt each other, discriminate against each other and think that God somehow condones this when he’s pretty clear about not judging others.

All of that is taken away with those three words:

Love one another.

When you love someone, you don’t judge them, hurt them, discriminate against them.

Instead, your forgive them, help them, love them.

and I think some of this hit home … *I* need to remember the main idea.

So while The Big G and I aren’t exactly sorted … I think I don’t hate Him anymore.

Even though he took you away.

I miss you.

I love you.


Dear Darl, it’s May 21, 2011

446 days…

I realised yesterday that while I outwardly feel strong and capable, the inside of me is still so very angry…

You see, twice in the past two days complete and utter selfish aresholes have made me feel like serving up a dose of “so you  think YOUR life is bad??? Well have a go at mine”.

The first time was in the staff room at work …. apparently my  conversation with someone on the supportive school committee about our need  for a school chaplain* was not as important as their need or a new staff room microwave and their need to tell said person Right Now by yelling their demand from the other side of the room and so I was talked over the top of, then “shushed” by  arsehole#1 because they needed “to talk about something  more important”.

(I’d only just said that the police chaplain was so supportive to us the day you died and so having one on the school staff would be a great move for the supportive school committee).

I could have slapped the bitch.

But I didn’t.

I seethed.  and then I just went to a higher power (deputy principal) who agreed with me and had set the wheels in motion wrt getting us a chaplain.

Then yesterday, I went to buy chook feed from the local produce store and the pleasant red-headed man wasn’t there, but Mr Cranky- Pants Arsehole was.

As you know, a bag of  chook feed  weighs 20 kg so the usual practice is to find a bloke that works there, tell him which feed I want.  Proceed to register, pay for feed (which incidentally has no prices on or near it on the shop floor)  and then he carries it to the car.

Not yesterday…. areshole #2 looked up from the register, sighed and said “can I help you” whereon I said that I’d like some chook feed.  Then he gave me a look, shrugged his shoulders and said “well … how much do you want, which one, what’s the price” as if I should  be able to guess a) what he had in stock and b) his non-displayed pricelist. He gave the impression that he was annoyed that I didn’t have a bag of chook feed on my shoulder so he could just take my money and sit back down again.

I was so put-out by his attitude that I meekly accepted whatever chook feed he deigned to sell me, and when I asked if he could carry it to the car he said “I guess you don’t shop many places where people carry things to the car for you”.

“Well no areshole … most places with 20 kg bags of feed have trolleys and an actual floor that isn’t made out of cow dung so I’m able to manoeuvre it to the car by myself.”

Except I didn’t say that.

I smiled and nodded because I have to be polite at all costs.

I let him *throw* the feed in the boot and drove off ….. with the wrong feed.

Later, I wanted to go back and rail at him that no matter how shitty his day was, I could top it; my life is worse.

I wanted to tell him to suck it up and put on his big-boy pants and to grow up a bit —>  Nobody you love is dead (I know this because I know his sisters and the rest of his family very well – they are much nicer!).

I wanted to tell him that he was being a total arsehole.

But I didn’t.

I just won’t ever give him any more of my money.

But I’ll take the kids into his dingy, dusty, smelly shed and let them annoy the living crap out of him and his pet bird for half an hour and leave without buying anything.

’cause technically, that’s not being impolite.  Passive Aggressive maybe…. but he’s too self-absorbed to notice that anyway.

….so back to the main point …

I am angry on the inside.

Inside the inside.

The bit that only gets rattled by sudden strong emotion.

I am seething with rage that arseholes  surround me and  yet you are not here.

I’m angry that both these idiots  get to suck oxygen from the air and live and breathe and love and laugh and you don’t.

I’m angry that God took the wrong man.

I miss you.

I love you.


*We need a school chaplain, given that *2* families lost a parent last week, bringing the number of sole-parent / widowed households to 12 within the school.  I realise that there’s a body of people who don’t want school chaplains who read my blog, but I would suggest that I might just know a lot about which I speak when I say that I would rather have a school chaplain over another  school counsellor.  I’ve worked with both as both teacher and parent of kids who *need* a chaplain at school far more than they need the counsellors who’ve ummed and arrred and basically made life more difficult.  I’ll stick with the  psychologist we see privately AND chaplain as my preferred option.

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Dear Darl, it’s May 18, 2011

443 days…

Sadly, the “club” of widowed parents and fatherless / motherless children at our school got a couple of new members today …. Bob’s wife T lost her short, sharp battle with cancer today … and their daughter Q lost her Mum.

I’ve not spoken much to Bob before now … he is an older chap.  Very quiet in his way.  But I’ve been checking on him whenever I see him.  …and not knowing him that well, I’m reduced to wondering what I can do that might be of help … and have  simply decided on checking on him, talking to him, inviting him to widow/er stuff that I want to organise closer to Christmas time.

… because I know it’s that long-term support that  he’ll need.

In other news,  I got a phone call today letting me know that your grave marker has been placed.  It will be a bit odd when I got to visit it … because it is also *my* grave marker (which will have my details and a photo of me looking young and hot added when I get planted / burnt and scattered).

…. oh and I love our HOC …. she told me last week that my current contract finishes a week early this term … but she has just organised for me to do internal relief for a week before and 2 weeks after the next holidays which means I will get holiday pay at full-time rates.  AWESOME.

I miss you.

I love you … to the moon and back.

Full Moon on 365 Project

440 days…

The kids have been going to soccer for the past few Sundays and so we were out having fun in the lovely warm autumn sun again today.

They both had fun (H slightly more I think as he actually played the game whereas K was her usual polite self letting everyone else have “a turn” before her).

While I was there, the middle-aged, bearded, rotund man from last week started up a conversation with me.

…and you know  my inability to be rude… so I was polite and chatted back.

He is quite odd, this man … I get the feeling he has an enormous model train set in the garage and operates a ham radio from a shed out the back.  I would also guess that he has an intimate knowledge of how to play dungeons and dragons…. whilst having only a rudimentary knowledge of soap and its many uses.

Anyway, we chatted about this and that   … all of it terribly awkward …. with me desperately looking for a polite “out” … and failing…

when he says…

“My name is Craig by the way …. I gather that you are a single parent too”

Oh Crap.

Oh Crap.

Oh Crap.

“Maybe we could have a coffee sometime”.

Oh Crap.

Thank God the kids ran up to me and started talking at a million miles an hour at that second and I feigned inordinate interest in goal scores and such and so was able to pretend I didn’t hear the offer of coffee …  and I kept it up until “Craig” went away.

I am such a coward.

He isn’t the first bloke to try to chat me up now that I’m “single” but he definitely was the most awkward one so far.  I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and yet … erghhhh….

So I want to be Very Clear with you…

… I know I’ve been telling you to bring me someone new in the intermediate future … but I’m not and will never be that desperate that someone like  “Craig” will entice me to agree to a coffee leave alone anything else.

So to get this straight – when I said I wanted someone new, I was really only saying that I miss you so much I want someone *exactly* like you (ie cute, smart, resourceful, loving, funny and tres cool) …. I did not mean I wanted someone with a *beard* like you.


I miss you.

I love you.


439 days….

I’m trying to keep us steady in this new normal…

This Clayton’s normal…

and there are some moments where I feel like we are OK, we three.

We joke around.

We talk about our day.

We read and laugh and play.

We do chores.

We have a routine that ensures we joke and laugh and read and clean and play….

….and I am the supreme leader with whom resistance is futile.

Wake UP.  Eats your breakfast. Dishes in the sink. Get dressed.  Dirty clothes in the hamper.  Brush your teeth. Do your hair.  Wash your face. Put your lunch in your bag.  Make sure you’ve got your homework and your hat.  Get in the car.  NOW. Walk to class.  “Goodbye Mummy, I love you, sweet dreams”.  Do your school work.  Eat the lunch I made for you.  No you cannot have tuckshop.  Meet me at 3pm.  Get in the car.  Lunch box on the counter when you get home.  Do your homework.  Play outside. Come in when it’s dark.  Have a bath.   Eat your dinner.  Tidy up your things. Brush your teeth.  Read to me.  Go to bed.

That’s it.  That’s out typical day.




Sometimes I feel so bad about having  to keep such a tight rein on the kids, but other times I can see the pay-offs.

We function.

We eat and we sleep well.

We wear clean clothes and eat healthy food  from clean plates.

and sometimes we do something interesting and fun….

… like wake up early to watch the planets align.

… like soccer training.

…like fishing and riding scooters and eating ice-creams at the beach.

but it’s all a pale comparison of the life we were supposed to have.

The life with you in it…. with you *physically* in it.

The life where the burden of being responsible for small people was shared between two.

The life where fun was spontaneous and the routine less rigid.

…and I mourn the loss of that life as well as the loss of you.

I miss you.

I love you.


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437 days…

K had N-word testing this week (we are officially gagged from saying the N- word or talking about it …. but I’m talking about my own child here Big Brother, not the test itself).  Basic skills test My Arse.

She tried her hardest and that’s all she could do.  I reckon she would have done OK, but we won’t know until Term 3.

…and that’s all I can say about that.


I was really happy to get my reading from the psychic  – she was spot on  and it does seem that she knew far too many specific details for this to be quackery…. at any rate, I feel like you really can hear me and are looking after us and THAT makes me feel good.

Part of your message was: I have no idea why but he just showed me a vision of you in a white coat and says that you need to get the passion back. He says a change of direction is coming for you. An opportunity will present itself and then he holds up 4 fingers. I ask if he is saying in 4 weeks or 4 months but he just shrugs his shoulders, winks and says what will be will be. So i will just leave that with you and you can see how that comes about.

…and so today, when I went to see  the boss for a quick chat he said:

“No guarantees, but I am trying to get our science program up and running and I’d like you to run that” (or words to that effect).  I know from past experience that this may not eventuate, but I felt like he is looking after me in the wider scheme of things.  This fact alone makes me feel a lot better about my future employment.

… I am hoping this is the ‘white coat’ of the psychic prediction…. 4 days after I received the e-mail.

I miss you so much.

I love you even more.


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433 days…

Another celebration day we have endured.

I hate these days.  Birthdays.  Easter. Christmas.

They just pour salt on the wound of your absence.

It was most definitely worse that last year’s mother’s day when we were still in a fog, still surrounded by people desperately trying to make it OK.

I read the facebook entries of Mums who were pampered today.
Loving husbands who have taken up the slack and cooked and cleaned.
who selected gorgeous gifts of jewellery or chocolates with the kids to go with the hideous hats and toxic-waste-masquerading-as-“luxury”-body-lotion that the kids picked out from the school Mother’s Day stall.

…and I felt sad a lonely.

until I remembered that you were complete crap at any and all presents anyway, and as for being pampered, the most  I could have hoped for was a coffee brought to me at morning tea.


and I realised something about K today….

Each time she leaves my side, be it to go to bed or to go to class…. she says:

“Goodbye Mummy.  I love you.”

She often adds “Sweet Dreams” no matter the circumstance.

and it hit me like a punch in the gut that she does this because of the morning of March 1, 2010.

She was not having a good Monday morning that day, and instead of hugging you and telling you she loved you during family cuddle time, she was grumpy and stormed off.

… and THAT is the last time she spoke to you.


and she’ll never forget that.

I asked her about that just now and she said she thinks your death is her fault.  She promised God she’d be good for a whole year if he kept her family safe.

and according to her, she WAS good for a whole year.

but her family weren’t safe.

I tried to explain that it’s not her fault.

That it’s nobody’s fault.

but I don’t think she believed me.

We miss you.

We love you.


430 days…

K has come home from school with ANOTHER vomiting bug.

I think this makes four bouts of vomiting this year for her.

Is this some sort of bad joke?

I am seriously ready to gut the person who sent their sick kid to school.

I know that sometimes, kids aren’t actually sick until after they are at school, but I know of enough people who have whinged on facebook that their kid is spewy  and then I’ve seen said kid at school the following day.

On kid was at school less than 4 hours after his mother had facebooked about his last spew.

Thankfully I have tomorrow off … but the kid has N-word testing next week and she HAS to be bright and healthy for that.


I miss you.

I love you.