Category: God

620 days….

I’d promised myself to post today.

All those 11’s lining up when they’ve been following me around since you died.

I look at a clock and it will read 11 past the hour.

I look at the treadmill to find that my pulse rate is 111.

I pay my bill and there are 11 cents in the total.

…and I always think of you…..11s for remembrance and all.

I like to think it IS you letting me know that you are there and that you love me.

… but after 20 months of 11s, that’s all I get.

Something like a wave….

… or a kiss blown from the window of a car.

So I’m asking you (God / the universe)  … if you can hear me … to grant me one wish for this magical day of 11s.

When I think of all these great life questions in my head, can you use the 11s to let me know if I’m on the right track?

If you can.

I need some way of knowing that you agree with me.

or disagree.

and that you are there, watching us, helping us, loving us.


I miss you.

I love you.




457 days…

First day of winter.

It was cold …. 19 degrees (shaddup – you know how I consider anything below 20 degrees to be cold).

So cold I actually put the heater on!  I know!

K was sick again … she hasn’t been to school all week as she has been this  croaky, coughing mess all week.

Yesterday morning, she came to me and said: “Mummy, I feel like mud.  Can you do anything to make me feel better – like kill me or something”.

She wasn’t being funny.

So I had to have the day off yesterday with her.

Poor kiddo.


I worked all day today – my normal groups this morning and year 1 this arvo.

Gorgeous kids.  ..

.including one little girl whose father died a week or so ago.

I met her mother as well and she almost hugged me when I told her that I knew a little about how she was feeling.  I knew.

This forced solo-parent family deal is getting ridiculous.  There’s an epidemic at our school.

It has to stop.

Or at least we need to do more than throw the guidance counsellor in their general direction and watch as she yet again tests every conceivable childhood ‘test” (from IQ to EQ to trauma to ASD … Whipsi Whispy Whapsi Whatever)  and talks a bit  and then recommends extra TLC because the kid is basically just sad.

Which is great, but there’s only so much TLC time you can devote to any one kid, given that each of the 26 classes has about 5 kids that need various levels of TLC for dead parents, dead aunties and uncles, sick parents, separated parents, mentally unwell parents….. and since none of things is an official “diagnosis” of anything other than pervasive sadness, there’s no extra TLC suppliers (ie teachers and aids) employed.

We so need a chaplain.



Talk to your people and I’ll talk to mine …

I miss you.

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.


day 418-419…

A gorgeous day.

We lunched at my friend Michelle’s place.

Michelle is the aid I work with – she is teh awesomez.

and her hubby D is building the deck.

So I was Very pleased to visit their house and see D’s handiwork – he is an amazing builder: their house is a brilliant re-model of a post-war timber house.

The kids played with their kids while Michelle and I caught up having not seen each other for over a week.

But then I went to leave and the world started to spin and I thought I’d either fall down or throw up or both.

I made it to the lounge chair and sat down … and was OK within minutes.

So I got up again to leave and made it to the car and felt hot and dizzy and nauseous again … and Michelle decided that i shouldn’t drive home so she drove my car and D and their kids followed us back to our house (actually, D beat us because I couldn’t think of the quickest way to get there and he’s done the run between houses for a few days now).

…I thanked them and apologised again and again until Michelle told me she’d slap me if I said “sorry” again.

I crawled upstairs, turned the tv on for the kids and went to bed …. only to be woken up within 20 minutes by the folk partying (hard – at 4:30 pm) at the back.

You remember those parties that their daughter would have while her parents were away?

Well …. her parents were away.

I pulled myself together long enough to get the kids bathed and fed and into bed and then had to prize my eyes open whilst waiting for clearance for The Bunny.

Finally got to bed and realised that the party had turned into some sort of non-stop drinking-song football hooligan choir with 5 non-stop hours of  delights such as “chug, chug, chugchugchug” and “drink, drink, drink it down” and I believe something that went along the lines of “fuck, fuck, what the fuck”.

Every word shouted by 20-something blokes with surprisingly loud voices.

At 11pm, I gave up and crawled into H’s bed at the other end of the house.

After a while I realised that the noise had abated … or been muffled somehow (praise Santa) and finally at midnight I crawled into our bed and slept.  Any other night and I would have been OK, but  the fainty dizzy spell thing had made me feel Very tired and a little bit vomitous and all I wanted to do was sleep.


I was tired and grumpy Sunday morning and let the kids eat whatever they found on the floor for breakfast … not quite so evil as it sounds as the floor had a fairly good covering of eggs (in wrappers and the floor had been mopped the previous morning).

Then I dragged myself behind the kids who were eager to go us all to church where I maintained my non-participation role whilst allowing the kids to experience the religious service.   Which was surprisingly good, from the children’s story to the sermon (if only I believed any of it).

But the irony of the choir singing “death hath lost its sting” really got me though.  It’s complete bollocks.

Death stings.

A lot.

On the up side, I don’t’ cry in church anymore – nothing seems to touch the sides.  I can love all the beautiful  people there and let the message wash over me without analysing it or getting upset.  Progress!


So, we did it….

…  we got through another awful holiday without you.

I was cranky and mad and sad, but I didn’t permanently disfigure anyone or yell obscenities in the street so I count that as a win.

Hopefully, there isn’t a rugby team drinking in the backyard tonight and I will wake up in a better mood tomorrow.

I miss you.

I love you.


Dear Darl, it’s April 21, 2011

416 days….

Hooray – the deck has been started.

D was back this morning with a bloke called Andrew, his son and an excavator guy ….. all the footings are dug and the piers are in.

Unfortunately, with tomorrow being Good Friday, no more work will be done until NEXT Thursday …. but still, I’m excited.

In the middle of the excitement, we all went to the dentist.

The kids loved it.

I cowered in fear until it was my turn …

…and yes, my wisdom tooth does have to come out … but aside from hat … all good.

H may have an issue with his lower jaw but I’m not convinced there’s anything to worry about yet.

and I prepare, for the first time ever, to Completely Ignore the Christian Easter traditions and embrace it solely as a public holiday.

with chocolate.

I may take the kids to church on Easter Sunday, but I will be there as a non-praying, non-singing, non-participating person.

The same way I endure musicals so that they have the opportunity to decide whether or not they like it instead of me just refusing to take them at all.

Very freeing to think I don’t have to mentally participate.

I may eventually go back to religion, but for right now, I am so white-hot-livid with God that I refuse to take part in anything that glorifies him.’

he took you away, and for that, I hate him.

But I love you.


Dear Darl, it’s March 23, 2011

387 days….

I heard about another widow I know …widowed after me … she has found someone new.

She is quite in love.

This makes me sad.

Not about her happiness.

Just that I am nowhere NEAR being there.

I don’t even want to look for someone new, even though I just want to be happily married again Right Now.

….but I want to be happily married to YOU.

Nobody else will do.

I guess it is good that I know myself well enough to see that I am not ready.

That I would only be using another person as a crutch.

Expecting characteristics and quirks that only belong to you and me.

Expecting another person to drag me out of this hell.

I’m Not there.

Not yet.

I know I don’t’ want to be alone for the rest of my life, but I can’t even imagine interacting with someone “new”.

When I met you, I had a deal with that bastard…  otherwise known as God … that I’d have a thumping realisation when I met my “Mr Right” .

I’d had enough of crap boyfriends and I didn’t want to spend any more time with people who were … well … just NOT right for me.

So at the tender age of 22,  I had sworn off men until I got that kick, that thump, that nod from above that *This One* was my Mr Right.

… and frankly, you couldn’t have come with any more bells and whistles …. it was almost like  a   flashing neon sigh saying “I’m Mr Right”.

It was obvious to both f us from the minute we met.

Obvious to everyone else at that party too.

We were Meant To Be.

So what worries me again is that while I’m here,  forsaking all others, pining after you….   that I may miss the next flashing neon light.

I miss you.

I love you.



344 days…

Still cruising … hope this doesn’t mean the crash is bigger at the end.

Maybe it’s being at work, doing my favourite job.  I am having fun and seeing 5 different classes per day so there’s a lot of variety and I don’t get overwhelmed by the few exhausting “clients” in each class.


Mum just called.

It seems the crash might be fairly huge when it comes … because Nana is most probably on her way out.  She’s stopped eating.  She sleeps all the time.  She’s 94 and *ready*.

I am sad … but also happy for her.

She’s been a widow for 14 years and she’s tired.  She just wants to go home.

I know she’s asked herself…  asked God … why you and not her.  I know she would have traded places with you if she could.

… but getting through another funeral??? Getting through the funeral of the Nana who has nurtured me, loved me, teased me, taught me???

I’m not sure how I’ll go.

I remember Pop’s funeral (you were there with me).  I cried so much when I got up to do a reading, I set off half of the 400 people in the church.

I knew he was 84.

I knew he was sick.

I knew that he couldn’t face the dialysis any more.

I knew his body couldn’t recover from the kidney disease and the cancer.

But I was sad.

and I cried.


…and I remember that some idiotic person decided to tell me not to cry because “he was better off”.

So help me, but I will bitch-slap the next person who says that  about a dead person I love.


I’ll continue living these not-quite-normal days for as long as I can get them.

But don’t be surprised if my wine  intake increases the closer we get to March 1.

I miss you.  my other half.

I love you.


333 days….

Mum came with me out to the cemetery today.  She provided the moral support and helped me choose a grave marker which will soon contain your details and has space for mine.

With photos.

and I am going to stipulate in my Will that the photo of me will be one from when i was young and beautiful.  There’s no way that there will be a young and handsome picture of you next to a 90-year-old drooling prune.

It will replace this:

(not your best angle)…

Not his best angle on 365 Project

The slab of concrete with our family name after the four blocked out names where it’s been used before.

The only good part about this exercise was that the complete and utter fruitloop of a woman who normally runs the cemetery was not there.  When I originally tried to organise a grave marker last April, this nutcase went on and on about “designing” your plaque because she’d done one for some semi-famous boat racer who is also buried there.

….and she wanted to put a picture of a car on your plaque because “he liked cars didn’t he”.  (Yeah – except I’d just told her that you died in a car accident).

So I was relieved not to see her demented face greet Mum and I as we went into the cemetery office.

Instead, a young, beautiful woman did a perfect job of providing us with information without being in our faces at all.

….and as a result, I’ve organised the grave marker.

Well as soon as I e-mail a photo and pay the fee I have.

Again, not a task that I thought I’d have to do at the age of 40.

I miss you, my man, my rock, my world.

I love you.


Dear Darl, it’s 23 January 2011

328 days….

We had to go to a Christening this morning.

For the first time since you died, I didn’t cry in church.

That may be because I don’t feel the love of God.  I don’t feel that he is my “light and salvation”.

I feel that he has fucked my life over quite royally and there’s no way I’m bowing my head and saying “thank you sir, please may I have another”.

So I didn’t pray.  I didn’t sing.

…and I copped a few stares.

But I did show up for my friends and their baby.  I smiled and nodded and was sociable after the service.

It did manage to put me in a foul mood for the rest of the morning though.

Broken by making ice-cream and then going for a swim.

Swimming calms me.  It’s very womb-like when your head is under water and your ears hear sounds in the water but not sounds out of the water.

and now I will go to bed and hope for sleep.

For the kids start school tomorrow and THAT will make me cry… in the past, you’ve taken the morning off work to take the kids back to school on Day 1.  We’ve walked into the school grounds as a family and settled the kids into their classes.

and tomorrow, that won’t happen.

I miss you.

I love you.


Dear Darl, it’s 14 January 2011

319 days….

Well …. the office is still a mess.

I just couldn’t face it today, and since the sun is shining and we all had cabin fever, I packed us off to the water-front for some sun, air, scootering, play-grounding and morning tea.

There weren’t many people at the beach, but I guess holidays are over for most families and frankly, the dirty, muddy water wasn’t very inviting.  The mud plume from the flood stretches across the bay.

It felt quite fraudulent actually – parts of the city are in ruin, yet we wouldn’t know anything was amiss if it weren’t for the horror stories on the news.

But I’ve had to look away from those stories.  …. I can’t bear it any more.


I will go back into the office tomorrow and finish clearing it out.  I think I’ve done the worst of it (but ever time I’ve thought that, I find another punch in the guts waiting when I pull out another old photograph or drawing.

…but I had another memory to share with the kids tonight….

I told them about how you’d always fall asleep on the couch or the floor at my parents house.  Always.

One night, you had fallen asleep on the floor when a gigantic huntsman spider started creeping into the room.  It got a fright, spied the long, dark tunnel created by the trouser leg of your black jeans … and promptly scuttled across the floor making for its refuge.

We managed to wake you in time, but you leapt up just in time.

I always thought it funny that you really didn’t like spiders, whereas I can cope with them.  But toads, man, they would freak me out and you’d have to remove them while I quivered in the corner.



God I miss you.

I love you to your core.