Broken hearts have been around since mankind first walked out of the primordial slump. But for all the long and painful history of heartbreaks, there is still no tried and tested formula for navigating something that is so deeply personal and individual for every person.
My dad was awesome. He was kind, compassionate, energetic, funny, generous, gentle, inspiring, nurturing, patient, talented and so much more. Gordon Lindsay Yemm arrived on 23 March 1933 to Olive and Leonard Yemm – and he came bundled with his other half, Norman.
Dear Vanessa, My beautiful darling sister – I miss you and I love you. I hear you and remember you every time I hear your favourite songs
This morning I woke to the news one of our founding members, mother to the firstborn of the August 1996 babies (arriving early, in June 1996) passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.
I haven’t been writing. I need to write. I don’t know what to write any more. I’m incredibly lost and directionless. Without writing […]
You held me, in the palm of your hands,
When I was young, red-faced and new.
You held my hand, as up I grew,
Then held me in your heart.
From you I learned a love of words,
Of all things wild and all things free.
To nurture all the gifts we have,
Upon this earth called home.
Four score and more your heart once beat,
As life was lived and loved and lost.
So small and dark, and fair and stark,
Daughter, wife and mother.
No matter angst, or bitterness,
Forgiveness is a family trait.
I loved you all the days we had.
And cared as roles reversed.
I hold you, in the palm of my hands,
Your substance, strength, reduced to ash,
No wicked wit, no wise words left,
Now you are here no more.
There’s a cloak wrapped tight around me.
A cloak of grief.
A cloak of fear.
A cloak of wanton weariness.
On 19 October – 23 days before peace treaties were signed to end the first world war – Charles and Eva McDougall welcomed June Margaret into the world. A world where electricity and cars were yet to become mainstream and Tasmanian Tigers were still living and breathing.
randmother was called Peace as a child. She was the youngest of three girls – the formidable McDougall girls. Her closest sister was born in 1914 and grandma in 1918 – war and peace. That wasn’t her real name though – her real name was June.
My grandmother passed away in her sleep overnight. I’ve been caring for her the past ten years. On Tuesday she woke up, reached out and held my hand and said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” She was 98 2/3.
Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. It is seven years since she passed away after a ten-year battle with breast cancer. Every death anniversary – and I’ve collected a few dead people now – leaves me feeling very melancholy and reflective.
I remember, with absolute clarity, the moment my first baby was placed in my arms. I was lying on the operating theatre table, having a caesarean, tearfully asking if all his fingers and toes were present and accounted for. Then the cord was cut, he was assessed and wrapped, and placed in my arms for my husband and I to adore while the surgeons did what they needed to do.
