Goodbye 2014 ... Hello 2015

Well, 2014 started off like any other year - hope, expectation, as yet unbroken resolutions - and finishes today with me wondering what the hell happened in this last month. Usually, I finish any year with the feeling that I am happy to be rid of it and bring on the new, as if it will be a fresh start. A new year, I have come to realise, is nothing more than a new day and that if we fail to make fresh start of each new day, then we have learned nothing from the previous day and must repeat it, and repeat it, and repeat it, until we change something in our lives, and that something is usually ourselves.

 

I have to say, there were some pretty good moments this year, mainly centred around my son!

 He was into sports. Whether it was AFL rep teams, Modball Under 13s (at 9 years) or graduating to a new swimming class, the success of our children warms our hearts and makes us puff up with pride.

 

He was brilliant at school. Most parents would brag about their child being in that sports team or topping that particular class. My proudest moments were seeing my child do what he loved, as part of the senior boys dance group and the dance sports group, and being rewarded at the school presentation night for citizenship.

 

I loved that he surrounded himself with friends. At school, in sports, or just hanging out at the beach, there's not much that's better a group of good friends. I love that his friends are all different: different genders, different ages, different personalities.

 

But life this year wasn't just about my son. There had to be a balance of work and home. I love my job. I might not love everything about my job, but the good certainly outweighs the bad. I love that, through work, I got the opportunity to travel through some stunning Australian countryside from Sydney to Cooma to help our centre down there.

 

Work has also allowed me to feel a part of something and to do something for the first time by joining the work team in the Sutherland to the Surf, an 11km "fun run" in our local area. I also had the opportunity to attend the staff recognition awards, where I received my 10 years pin. Though, probably the most enjoyable thing was sharing lunch with the third generation of a magpie family who build their nests in the trees outside our building.

During 2014, I made a point of visiting places that brought me happiness and peace. I crave those places that nourish my mind and my soul. From peaceful gardens to cultural events and museums, I would go to one every day if I could.

The Camellia Gardens are about ten minutes from where I live. It is somewhere I have gone since I was a child and try to go at least once a year. It is a calming influence in my life. It is somewhere I can go and be completely alone, and completely happy about being alone.



 Another place I have always enjoyed is The Chinese Gardens. I don't get here as often as I would like to but when I do, I am always filled with the love for it, its beauty, its simple elegance, and its timelessness. I introduced my son to it this year and I hope I have passed on my love for it to him.

There are some events which come along that capture the imagination. Vivid is a spectacular light show that happens every year in Sydney and it brings out the child in me. My feet and knees hate it as you end up walking around half of Sydney but my mind loves it more!

Another place that captured my curiosity was a bit further from home. In fact, it was in another state. The museum of Melbourne was somewhere I had always wanted to go but had never gotten around to, despite numerous trips to the city. Having some time to kill on a trip this year, I took the opportunity to explore and I wasn't disappointed.

But, no matter far I might travel in any given year, I always return to the place I call home. My little oasis in the madness that is life. If I am down, I can sit watching the rain, if I am happy I bask in the sunshine, if I am angry I can yell at the ocean, and if I feeling inspired I can wander along the coast and be drawn in by its beauty.

I was fortunate enough this year to have three pieces of jewellery come into my possession which all reflect a very important part of me. The sparkles of my soul, given to me by my son; the swan, given to me by a Sydney Swans Cheer Squad member; and the TARDIS, given to me by a colleague and friend.

 



This year was a time for celebration. Easter and Christmas play a large part in our lives and, though our family is not religious and the events hold little significance in that regard to us, we still mark them as an opportunity to spend time together as a family, to enjoy each others company and to share an experience.

 

 

And, though much of the year was filled with all the love and happiness one could ask for, the year came to a close with much sadness. From an event that shocked an entire city to personal grief and pain at injury and illness to my parents, the end of the year was marred by this overwhelming pall of tears. So while 2014 may have been a good year, it is hoped that 2015 will be better and that flowers will not cover the streets of Sydney, tears will not run down the cheeks of my kin and the hearts of those I love and admire will not continue to break.

Loss and Mourning – a universal constant

I am not a grief counsellor. I am not an expert in loss. I have little first hand knowledge of mourning anyone. Why, you might ask, am I writing this piece about loss and mourning? Well, it seems that the whole world has been gripped by the unthinkable. Sudden, untold grief has poured over us as we hear story after story of innocent lives, many of them children, who have had their lives ripped away from them by one or many people who feel they have the right to terrorise and to victimise.

This piece began on December 15^th when an armed man held 17 people hostage in a café in Sydney. This is my city and I love my city, but this is not how I want the world to see my city. Unfortunately, this is now part of the fabric of my city, part of the tragic underbelly of the city I love. In the end, 2 innocent lives were lost. Two beautiful, innocent people are now mourned by an entire city.

Photo courtesy of abc.net.au

A floral tribute has sprawled across Martin Place near to where the siege took place. It is the visual expression of a city stuck by grief. For many it is the only way they can display their sense of loss and dismay. The flowers will eventually give way to a more permanent memorial but the spontaneous, beautiful, peaceful tribute that spreads across the ground is somehow the perfect way for my city to define its overwhelming sense of loss and mourning this Christmas.

Just when we, as a city, were beginning to get our collective heads around what had happened in the heart of our financial district, news began to filter through of a far worse loss. In Nigeria, a militant group known as Boko Haram stormed a village, taking over 200 residents hostage and killing over 30.

This was the same group that kidnapped 200 schoolgirls earlier in the year who are yet to be found and presumed dead. The utter confusion surround events such as this is highlighted by the fluctuating numbers surrounding not only how many are being held, but how many have lost their lives as well. How do you mourn an indeterminate number of people?

Photo courtesy of bbc.com

As the number increases over the days, then subsides, then rises again, what do we do with our grief? Does it turn to frustration? Should we be ashamed of our shifting view of the unfolding tragedy? How do we temper our grief with the need to carry on with our own lives? Is our grief limited by distance or sheer size of the group?

Sometime I feel we mourn the one more so that we mourn the many. It can be hard to know how to grieve for a large group and when we were faced with another massacre, this time in Pakistan, it felt like the underling feeling, while still a terrible sense of loss, was “not again”. It was a tragedy that would grip the hearts and minds of every parent, every educator, every citizen with an ounce of compassion, but maybe due to the distance or the overwhelming magnitude of the loss, the mourning took on a surreal tinge.

A normal school day for military families ended in bloodshed when Taliban fighters entered the school and held over 500 people, the majority being children, hostage. Students and teachers lost their lives in the brutal attack that can only be described as a massacre. Reports came through of children witnessing their classmates being executed, of playing dead to avoid the fate they had seen befall so many others and of families devastated.

Photo courtesy of bbc.com

One wonders how a town recovers from a tragedy such as this. Are they united in their grief or does it tear them apart? I cannot begin to imagine how I would feel if over 100 people from my community were taken from me in such horrific circumstances. Even as I write this, thousands of kilometres away, I am fighting back the tears. I did not know any of those who lost their lives, I have never experienced anything remotely as heartbreaking as that which they are going through right now, yet I feel the burden of their grief and I mourn with them as only I can, by sharing their story.

And now, as I sit here writing, the Australian community is trying to understand yet another senseless tragedy. The loss of 8 children in Cairns, possibly at the hand of the mother of some them, is unfathomable. We not only feel the loss as a country, but we grieve on behalf of the brother that found them. We grieve on behalf on the relatives that must someone come to terms with that fact that not only have they lost 8 young members of the family, but that a member of the family may be responsible.

Photo courtesy of abc.net.au

Coupled with the grief are a sense of helplessness and overwhelming anger. In all cases, we are unsure as to how best to help, how best to show our support for those who are left, how best to grieve. We sometimes feel uneasy in our grief, as if we don’t have a right to grieve. We did not know these people, we did know anyone connected to these people, what right do we have to grieve for these people?

Of course, we have every right. It is an expression of our compassion or sympathy or empathy, or all of the above. It is a stand against the crimes that have been committed, a public outpouring of the grief and anger which demonstrates, in the most raw of manners, that we will not let the tragedy be for nought. Their deaths mean something, not just to those who knew them, but to a city, a country, maybe even the entire planet. They will not only serve the living as a reminder of what terrible atrocities have happened, but of what courage humanity is capable of, what generosity of spirit, what selflessness and what this season means regardless of colour, creed, culture or religion.

If you are grieving, mourning the loss of a loved one, then allow it to happen. There is no end point to grief. It is something that we carry with us always and use always as we traverse this path we call life. The pain may lesson, the day-to-day mundane activities may once again take the foremost place in our mind, but our grief allows us to remember, to show compassion towards those that are suffering, to sympathise with anothers loss and to empathise with those whose loss may be so much greater than our own.

Tonight, I will hug my son a little tighter, give him an extra kiss goodnight, and be thankful that I am not faced with the loss of someone close to me in such tragic circumstances as those we have seen this week. My heart goes out to those affected by recent events and, though my grief pales into insignificance beside theirs, I feel their pain and hope they can find peace in their heart in time.

White Ribbon Day 2014

A year ago, I wrote a piece called White Ribbon Day: A day I wish we didn’t need. It was the 10^th anniversary of the national movement in Australia. I cried writing it, just as I cry every time I re-read it, and just as I will cry writing this one, and will cry re-reading this piece.

You might think that I must have been a victim of domestic violence to be so affected simply writing a blog piece. You might think I must have some personal first hand knowledge to continue to be voice in the dark.

I am not a victim.

I have no first hand knowledge.

I am affected, however. Every single person you know is affected by domestic violence, either directly or indirectly. For those who suffer at the hands of their father, boyfriend, husband, partner or even a total stranger, it is easy to see the affect. For those who know a woman who has been the target of violence, either personally or professionally, the affect can be huge, especially for those working in counselling or health care setting, or who are close friends or relatives of victims.

However, I do not fall into either of those categories, so why am I so affected?

Because the violence against one is the violence against all. We are a society, a community, who must work together to stamp out this insidious act. We are the shopkeepers who see you flinch when someone brushes past you in the aisle. We are the friends who lend you a shoulder on which to cry. We are the boss’ who give you time off to recover from injuries. We are the sports instructors who wait with your children because you’re covering up the latest bruise. We are the teachers who see how broken your family is every time you come in for parent-teacher interviews.

 

There may not be much I can do to stop violence against women on my own; however, many hands make light work. Violence against women does not only affect women. We can do something to stop it if we work together. We cannot judge women who haven’t yet found their way out and we cannot apportion blame to these women for the violence they experience. Women do not ask for it or enjoy it.

There is no stereotypical perpetrator; they can be of any religion, any education level, any sexual orientation, any occupation, any strata of society and any cultural background. Abusers aren’t limited to alcoholics and drug abusers; they can be so-called respectable, contributing members of society.

Likewise, there is no stereotypical woman who suffers from violence, and the number of women who experience some for of violence is not small. In fact, it is large. Scarily large. Depending on the age group, it could be as high as 1 in 3 women. If that statistic alone doesn’t scare you, I don’t know what will.

If the thought of violence against women scares you, take the oath. It doesn't take long. Actually, you can do it right now:

 



If the thought of that not being enough weighs upon you, be proactive: financially support the White Ribbon campaign, volunteer your time or spread the word.

If you are struggling to find a way out of a situation, know someone who is in a violent relationship they can't get out of, or want more information, please check out the following information -

 



Maybe next year, I won't need to write one of these ...

Dear Santa ... from my 34 year old self

It's about this time of year that many people start thinking about Christmas. Little children get excited about the thought of Santa visiting, carols start being heard more often and decorations begin to deck the halls of shopping centres ...

This year, my son decided that he wanted to do a list for Santa. He's at the age where I'm not sure if he still believes in Santa or whether he's just playing along for more presents. Either way, his list is pretty much the standard for a child of 9. It's toys and DVDs and games. It's what he wants. He hasn't developed a sense of social want or need just yet. Don't get me wrong, he's a caring, compassionate child but things like world peace and starving children in Africa don't cross his mind on a day-to-day basis, only when he's confronted with it.

So here's my letter to Santa, with 25 extra years of knowledge and experience behind it ...

Dear Santa,

I don't need anything from you for Christmas this year. I have everything material I could ever want that would fit in that sack of yours. I somehow don't think that the house of my dreams and enough money to keep it running is really something you do.

So instead of material possessions, I'd like to ask for a little Christmas magic, something you can't buy in stores or make in a factory staffed by elves.

I'd like to ask for patience, compassion and understanding.

I'd like to ask for serenity and peace.

I'd like to ask for love.

I'm sure you could package up just a little of each for every man, woman and child on earth, and fill their hearts with joy. If everyone could see how it is for others, if they could extend a hand in assistance instead of throwing a fist in anger, if they could open their hearts and minds to all that is wonderful and beautiful in this world, the world might be a happier, more peaceful place and a greater world for our children to grow up in.

While you're delivering the presents to the girls and boys around the world, don't forget the little bag of magic. It's the most important present of all.

Yours sincerely,

A mother wanting a better future for her child

Missing the war

I don't want to talk about war. I don't want to talk about its hardships or its atrocities. I don't want to talk about the fit, healthy men and women who come home with broken minds and bodies, or the ones who never come home at all.

I do want to talk about my Grandfather. His memory weighs heavily upon me on days such as ANZAC Day and Remembrance Day. I want to talk about him. I want to regale you all with stories of his service to his country. I want to, but I can't.

The memories I have of him are patchy. Calling him for dinner. Showing him pictures of my life. Happy memories but never memories of his life. Never memories of him as a young man, memories painted through stories told with old lips and tired eyes.

I was 9 years old when he died. Two and a half decades later, if I could go back and talk to any of my grandparents, it would be him. It has always been him. I want to fill in the blanks of his life. I want to know the answers to all the questions I was too young to ask.

I think, having read many an account of war from other veterans, I'm not sure I would have been ready to hear his stories when I knew him. I don't know if the reason he never talked about was that it was too upsetting for him or if no-one really asked. Whatever the reason, his stories are now lost to the winds and my heart aches for him and for his story.

Maybe that's why I write. Maybe I don't want my story to be lost. Maybe I'll never go to war, or become famous, or do something of note, but I will have a story to tell. It will be my little story, and it will be a story my grandfather would be proud of.

Lest we forget.

R.I.P. Richard Arrowsmith 1903-1989

Why we don't need to teach acceptance to children ...

Now, before I get lots of angry messages, comments and tweets about how it's important for children to be accepting, I'm going to stop you right there. How about you read all the way through this piece before forming an angry lynch mob?

Children don't need to be taught acceptance. Children are already pretty much accepting of everyone. It's their nature. Children are trusting and accepting of just about everyone they meet. They don't need us to teach them about acceptance or how to be accepting. They get it.

It's us. It's all of us. It's the adults who need to be taught.

My son has Autism. Not very severe. If you met him, you might not realise right away. His best friend has Down Syndrome. They accept each other. No questions asked. They both go to a mainstream school. They are in a mainstream class. They are accepted by their friends at school. They are accepted by other students who are not necessarily in their immediate circle.

These children are perfectly accepting. This isn't to say that they don't notice differences. They do. They comment on them. It's what's kids do. They have no filter. All parents would have had that awkward moment when they wanted the ground to open up because their child has said something like, "Why is that man so fat?" or "Gee, that lady's black!" It's not because they are being mean or discriminatory. It's because they are curious about the world. It is not because they are intolerant.

It's adults that add the layer of intolerance to their curiosity. It's adults that say the man is fat because he's lazy or doesn't eat right or can't be bothered exercising. It's adults that tell their children they don't associate with people of colour.

And by adults, I mean all adults. Parents, other relatives, family friends, parents of other children, the media, teachers, sports instructors, nannies, babysitters, everyone.

Society allows intolerance to continue and to grow. Every single one of us need to step up and stay that enough is enough. Intolerance will not be accepted.

Homophobia ... gone.

Sexism ... gone.

Racism ... gone.

Disability discrimination ... gone.

Ageism ... gone

Imagine what that society would be like. Don't worry, I'm not going to be doing any John Lennon impersonations. Really, think about it, though. Imagine going for a job and not having to hide your sexuality. Imagine men and women getting the same wage. Imagine not having to put up with racial stereotyping. Imagine not having to worry about re-entering the workforce because your age means you won't even get a look in. Imagine your disability being something you have, rather than something your suffer from.

Currently, yes, education is the answer. Teaching people that it's not OK to discriminate against people because of what they are is a great thing. But imagine not having to do that at all because everyone was accepted and accepting. Imagine them being that way because no-one had taught them that different is bad.

Utopia? Perhaps ... but just imagine!

Frustrated and jealous but not unhappy

Sometimes I don't understand people. Well, maybe not sometimes. Maybe all the time.

How is it that you can be perfectly happy with 99% of your life:

- happy with your job

- happy with your hobbies

- happy with your child

- happy with your parents

But there's one thing you're not happy with:

- the lack of a romantic relationship.

It's not for a want of one. It's not for a lack of interest on my part. I just don't seem to be able to attract suitable partners. I've written about this previously. I won't bore you with the details. This isn't about my lack of a partner as such. It's more about other peoples reactions to my voicing my dissatisfaction with my lack of a partner.

There are a few standard reactions:

1. There's someone out there for everyone ...

Really? Even if it's true, will they reveal themselves to me before I am unable to have children? It's all very well saying there's someone for everyone but if I have to wait until I am 50 years old to meet them, how does that help me? How does that fulfil my desire to have a family?

2. Stop looking. They'll show up when you least expect it.

I look. I don't look. It makes no difference. In the end, I have given up looking. I may lament the fact I have no partner, no father to any children I might desire, but I have given up the search. So telling me to stop looking is pointless. As for showing up when I least expect it ... I never expect it so anytime is good, really.

3. You don't need a man to make you happy.

No, I don't NEED a man. I'd like one, though. I am perfectly happy with what I have. This doesn't mean I don't want more. It's like being happy in your job but wanting a promotion - you don't need the promotion to make you happy but you'd like one because it's more money, or a nicer desk, or a little more responsibility. Why can I not be happy with what I have and still desire something more? Is happiness now a finite resource?

4. You have a child.

This one bites the hardest. I hate it with every fibre of my being. I love my son but it's not the same type of love that I would have for a partner. Having a child is wonderful and I would not give it up for the world but having a child does not fill that small void.

I don't know. I guess people are trying to help. I think they don't know what to say and are just saying whatever inane thing comes into their head to try to make my feel better. I don't need someone else's false platitudes to make me feel better, though. I need to vent. I need to yell and scream and vociferate!

I recently had to take a break from social media for a few days due to the overwhelming desire to throw things at the screen. It was frustration and jealousy at play. Frustration at my own inability to maintain any sort of romantic relationship due to poor choices both in the men I subjected myself to and my own failings as a partner (not being self depreciating, just realistic). Jealousy at all the happy smiling people, many of whom I've known since childhood, who have succeeded where I have failed.

Maybe my standards are too high.

Maybe I don't put myself out there enough, or in the right places.

Maybe I'm not meant to be with someone right now.

Whatever the reason, it sucks. It really sucks and I hate it. But it doesn't mean I shouldn't desire that which I don't have and it certainly doesn't mean I'm unhappy.