Monthly Archives: December 2017

Happy Here and Now!

I woke up this morning not wanting to let this year go.

How to contemplate the thought of a “Happy New Year” when the scars of this one are raw and painful.

However “happy” it has been at times, it’s the year in which my mum died and it’s hard to bear the thought of moving into the next one without her. To leave her behind in 2017, when collectively the world lurches, with party poppers and fireworks, into 2018.

I want to stop all the clocks. Make the hands still. More than that I want to turn back time. To run as hard and as fast as I can through the months, the weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds.

In my review of 2017 I want to go back to the moment my mum was alive and do everything differently. EVERYTHING. I want to save her.

Many times this year I have wanted to not move on – to evaporate, dissolve, to simply not “be”. Mentally slumped on the forest floor willing a carpet of leaves to blow over me, cloaking me in the blackness of a forever sleep.

Thankfully, a chink of light has pierced the dark canopy each time, brought me out of my gloom into the sun. This light is the love of family and friends, the attention seeking antics of my dogs, the solace of running, the beauty of the outdoors, my writing and my photography, the kindness of strangers, the advice of professionals, and the patience of many.

2017 has been a year when many people close to me, around me and in our community have lost loved ones, when I know other people have struggled with finding the light, finding the “happy”.

When I woke up, the thought of getting to 2018 seemed like an insurmountable wall to climb, how could I get through the end of this day, let alone it being the end of the year.

Then out walking, looking up at the vast sky, I realised it already was 2018, is 2018, in parts of the eastern southern hemisphere.

That as the champagne waits to go on ice here, someone somewhere is clearing away the corks.

That time is just a label, happy new year an annual mythological utopia, and that all I wish for myself and for all those I care about and love, is happy here and now.

Some of my favourite chink of light moments…

 

 

 

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Reflecting that sh*t happens…

Life in recent years has at times felt as if large piles of manure have landed at my door.

My dad’s decline and death through vascular dementia, my long struggles with “depression” leading to me being diagnosed as having OCD and PTSD from childhood fears, my husband John’s stroke and his deteriorating health with diagnosis of early signs of dementia, and then the biggest pile of poo of all, the sudden, unexpected death of my mum.

These events, especially the traumatic way mum died, are things I can’t mentally let go of, seep away – they fill the recesses of my mind, never far below the surface, always festering, bubbling, suppurating.

I’ve been aware for some while, that the effect on my mental state is a sense of being overloaded, unable to cram more in. I’ve become more anxious, panicky, forgetful, absent-minded. Effectively there’s restricted room for more cr*p.

I thought about this, having earlier today stared down into a pile of poo in our garden.

The toilets had been backing up when flushed, water filling the shower tray and not draining properly, odd glugging noises coming from the basin.

A very nice man called Brad from Drainsolve came out to have a look and explained the problem: “It’s your septic tank love. It’s not draining away, not percolating like it should be.

“Come and have a look,” he said pointing at a thick brown sludge uncovered after digging into the inspection pit. “There’s a build up of too much solid waste for the water to soak through. If nothing’s done about it, you’ll have sewage flowing down the lane and backing up right into the house.”

Nice! I got the picture.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I don’t want to be here,” he answered without pause.

Brutally honest, but fully understandable.

And it’s a sentiment I know well – carrying around a head that’s a full septic tank, where nothing flows through clearly, where my ability to resolve life’s issues sometimes feels backed up to the point of overflow – yes, sometimes I don’t want to be “here” either.

Brad left, assuring me this wasn’t the worst job he was dealing with, though possibly the second-worst, and promising to return soon with a digger.

I walked the dogs to the playing field and sat on a bench, feeling panicky and short of breath, the overflow valve on overtime.

Brad had a digger for the suppurating septic tank.

What kind of tool do you use for festering myriad mind?

I was pondering this question feeling lost in gloom and darkness as I walked on up the river.

The sky turned an amazing deep shade of blue as if to reflect my mood. And suddenly, a beautiful rainbow appeared, for a fleeting, but magical moment.

Rainbows remind me of dad and always make me happy.

They’re a reflection of how we’re feeling, in this case, that sh*t happens, but somewhere the sun’s rays are shining through the rain.