Today we had one of those detours that turns into a memory.
We parked at the wrong beach. We could have taken the easier option, and got back in the car to drive to the other beach, but instead we decided to walk across the rocks to get to the other side. I usually look up, but the rocks were slippery and I had to focus intently on looking down to keep my footing in wet shoes. One foot in front of the other, each step revealing something new. Black rocks, probably millions of years old, with deep grooves which get deeper each year. Bright green sea grass, soft and feathery but still somehow tough enough to withstand the ocean. Sea grapes, interconnected. Clusters of tiny black clams. As we walked, my daughter said, "mum, we are walking on the sea floor". And she was right. At some points during the day or night this path that we were walking is most likely hidden from view. If you arrived here in that moment, it would be all ocean. This view would not exist, and you would neither be able, nor realize it was possible, to cross to the other side. I stopped and looked up, and I realized that sometimes it's actually in the detours that we find the paths. At some points in your life they're hidden from view; and you probably have to get there at exactly the right moment to be able to see them. Not just the right moment for the path to show itself to you... It also has to be the right moment for you to be willing to see and then take what initially seems like the harder route. Someone said to me today that the conventional path I was on no longer exists for me, and she was right. It's now all about the detour. So I might have to look down sometimes to get to my destination across the rocks. I will have to focus intently on what's in front of me until I find my way there. I will have to recognize the right moment to cross, and I will have to be willing to risk losing my footing and possibly fall. But I know now what I never knew before. The detour can be defining.
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My son remembers nothing. He doesn't remember to do his homework. He doesn't remember to brush his teeth. He doesn't remember which direction school is - even though we have driven the same route for 6 years.
But here we are in the same place we had one of our last holidays as a family of 4 more than 3 years ago, and somehow he remembers everything. He remembers daddy taking him to the games roomand the swimming pool, and the snake warnings at the koala attraction, and playing with "bongo" (a toy long since gone) on the jumping pillow. He remembers details I'd forgotten, and is clearly enjoying the memories. Next time he forgets something mundane like what he ate for breakfast I'm sure I'll be as annoyed with him as I usually am. But I have to say... I'm also pretty grateful he seems to know what's most important to remember. A few days ago I had some time for a little reading with this for a view... (Monet much?)
A friend had given me the book How to Win Friends and Influence People in the context of a difficult conversation I need to have with someone about work, but it was a sentence completely extraneous to the core messages of the book that really struck a chord with me. Hamlet: There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. And as I sat here I realized it's a dilemma I've been thinking about now for close to 3 years. The paradox of free will vs fate. Choice vs chance. Destiny vs sometimes shit just happens. At this time of year, especially on social media, there's a lot of talk about changing or choosing your fate. Good things are going to happen. Everything will come to you at the right time. Kick ass and make 2017 your year. These new year messages seem to go one of two ways - Im going to make it happen vs the universe will make it happen. Either way, I suspect only the most naive of people would think that they will end up at the end of the year where they thought they would be at the start. Because stuff happens. Stuff you can control and stuff you cant... I've learned that the stuff you can control is available to you always - completely non dependent on anything or anyone else that may or may not happen around you - because its the internal stuff. Its the awareness you bring to the table of what you are doing, why you are doing it and where you want to go. Basically its the underlying premise of #2lookup - the knowledge that how you look at things changes what you see. Im not saying its easy. I struggle every day to turn off my inner-worrier which can make things seem darker than they are. If I worry enough, predict enough, second guess enough, surely I can put a protective - almost godly - shield over my loved ones? Yes.... This is clearly an internal trait I need to learn to control... Because as the author of the book put it: "it isn't what you have or who you are or where you are or what you are doing that makes you happy or unhappy. It is what you think about it." And you know what? There is nothing pre-destined or best left to chance in that. I have absolute control over my own thoughts even if nothing else. So maybe there's no paradox after all between free will and fate. Since we are probably never going to know for certain whether there is a divinity which shapes our ends, perhaps its just this simple... Be grateful for what you already have. Work hard to obtain what you want. Be open to the moments when "the universe" (or perhaps your heart) seems to be showing you something, without trying to predict or forestall whatever it is. And be ready to accept what actually comes your way - the good, the bad and the extraordinarily beautiful. And the main message of the book... if you want to gather honey, don’t kick over the beehive; or as my friend who gave me the book would say, Just Be Nice. If there IS actually some sort of divinity which defines our future then surely it will reward that attitude; and if there isn't, then the people you are nice to will just have a better day for it. And so will you. This is the beautiful Manchester Unity building, an iconic building in the city where I live.
Usually I look up at this building, but today I had the opportunity to go inside and take a 2nd perspective on it. In just 8 months in the early 1930's, over 3000 workers built what was then the tallest building in Melbourne working 7 days a week, 24 hours a day. It had Victoria's first escalator, the fastest lift, it was called a "wonder" by The Age newspaper... and it is certainly beautiful. But here's what I love about it. It was built at the time of the depression, and yet the owners had a vision that this beautiful structure could become a beacon of hope for the economically depressed city. The building housed both the fancy retail stores, and the seamstresses who created the wares. It was a symbol of equality of opportunity, not just classless but also gender-wise, being the first building to have male and female bathrooms on every floor! I have no doubt there were nay-sayers and cynics at the time, but the owners and architect had faith that they werent just building any old building. As the reliefs in the arcade below are inscribed, the building represented "self-dependence" and "progress". At the time they called it part of the "Recovery Strategy" for the city. Self-dependence and progress as part of a recovery strategy? Sounds about right to me. And finally, the marathon of birthday celebrations for Noah and Cara is over for another year. 9 years old today...
If Matt's birthday is the only day that feels wholly and legitimately right to celebrate his life, then the kids birthday feels like the only day it feels wholly and legitimately wrong to have to spend without him. Ive now done this single parent birthday thing 3 times, and yet each time I am floored anew when I face the two birthday cakes and realise that even with a house full of family, I feel I need to try and carry both. It's the only day of the year when I'm not sure I've got this whole single parenting thing. Those kids should have their dad on their birthday. Full stop. I usually write positive posts; posts about how Ive managed to change up my life to meet this challenge, and for the most part I am genuinely ok. But I think its important to share the days when it isnt ok, so that facebook isnt just about the shiny happy stuff, so that its actually real. Next year they turn double digits. Someone order the vodka for me now It’s been two and a half years since my husband died suddenly. In that time I thought I’d seen and heard it all.I’ve heard every “at least” in the book. At least you had children together. At least they were old enough to have memories. At least they were young enough to not really understand. At least you had 15 years together. At least he didnt suffer.
I’ve been comforted by literally hundreds of people, spent time mourning my husband with his family, friends, colleagues and patients, listened to beautiful words of encouragement and the occasional way off-base comment. I’ve been asked probably thousands of times “are you okay?” by well-meaning friends and colleagues who with kindness and compassion check in regularly and are there for me in whatever way I need. Fiona's late husband with their son. Image supplied. And then, last week, someone asked me a question which I had never been asked before. Someone I'd only recently met, who didn’t really know me and knew only the bones of what had happened. He asked: How's your heart? The question floored me. My response floored me more. I felt this intense pain. Immediate. Like it had all just happened yesterday. All of a sudden I was vulnerable again. The scab had been ripped off. This one seemingly simple question forced me to really consider how I'm actually going. At first I avoided answering the question. If distraction has been the number 1 strategy I've used to deal with grief, then avoidance is a close second. But he was having none of that. And so I had to answer, but first I needed to ask the question of myself. I stopped my car, pulled over to the side of the road and took a moment to think…. How is my heart? Fiona's husband with the couple's son. Image supplied. Mostly I am genuinely okay. I am grateful every day for the fact that my children and I are surrounded, cocooned almost, in the tight grip of family and community. I have friends who have come and kept me company in the evenings every week since my husband died. Ive barely spent a Saturday night at home on my own and on those nights when I am home alone I know I could pick up the phone and someone would be at the other end to listen at whatever time of the day. I am financially literate and have managed to learn how to live as an independent adult for the first time in my life. I've also learned how to kill big spiders and use a screwdriver. I am okay. But in between the love of my children and the intellectual stimulation of my job and all the other things that I have to be grateful for, my heart is still broken and possibly always will be. There has not yet been a day when I don’t think of my husband, and there may never be. The glue that holds my heart together hasn’t dried, it may always feel tacky to touch. That’s what facing the question showed me. Watch Robin Bailey speak on the second anniversary of her husband's death. Play Video Robin Bailey on the second anniversary of her husband's death. Video via 97.3FM I've spent the last two and a half years trying new things, meeting new people, going against my natural personality and deliberately trying to force my heart to stay open to new possibilities. Its that attitude which led me to meeting the questioner, a person I would likely never have met had I stayed in the same place trying to hold my heart together on my own. Full circle. In the wake of R U OK? day here in Australia, I urge you with both your questions and your responses... go deep. In February 2014 my husband of 11 years and 360 days died. Matt was 39, I was 37 and our twins were 6. On that very ordinary day of the February 6th, my husband died in his consulting room in his own medical clinic.
My final text message to him was “please text me every hour so I know you are ok” in response to knowing he was booked for a CT scan at 2 that day as he had been experiencing shortness of breath the night before. When he didn’t call me on the hour, I called his clinic to check in, only to be told he had been found in his consulting room in full cardiac arrest. I made it to the clinic within 40 minutes, in time to see the paramedics still desperately trying to save him. But having been married to a doctor for 11 years I knew already that there was no hope. They only transport you to hospital when you are stable and 40 minutes is a very long time... The rest of 2014 was a blur. Though at the time I felt like I was coping fine, looking back I realize that I spent that year playing a live action version of pin the tail on the donkey. Life was haphazard. I was relearning how to live. Mostly I was just trying to stay afloat. In 2015 I felt more conscious. Despite being busier and more tired than ever before I was also somehow more awake. Awake equally to possibilities as to pain; to opportunity as to the bleakness of a life turned on its head. And now? Now the idea of stepping out of my comfort zone to make the most of every day is never far from my mind... No regrets. So I run. But not necessarily away from things. I quit my job (a job I mostly loved) to follow a dream. I went tree surfing to try and conquer my fear of heights, and ended up laughing more than I’d laughed in a year when we fell on our asses at the end of the course. Nowadays I don’t always choose the rational, practical option and I try not to overthink things. Cynicism and sarcasm have been replaced by meditation and yoga and I sometimes find myself smirking during the shavasana at what I can imagine Matt would think of it if only he knew! There’s a certain kind of irony actually that the extreme cynicism in my personality which Matt was first attracted to in me seems to have (mostly) died with him. I used to question everything, analyze all options, immediately discount anything new or strange. And whilst I’ll never be a hippie and I’ll never not be a list-maker, I’ve unquestionably changed. I know because my old friends (including the one on the yoga mat next to me) regularly ask me who the hell I am now. Things that used to stress me are now minor inconveniences. A broken foot is a cause for bemusement rather than anger. Hiking to the top of a mountain sounds like a challenge instead of the start of a bad joke. If my house is slightly messy when people come over I shrug my shoulders — there’s no one to unnecessarily yell at about it anyway even if I wanted to. I am the only one responsible for the crumbs on the floor or the unwashed dishes and its liberating and lonely at the same time. In the last year I’ve also started to make a conscious effort to look up. Not because I think I will see Matt in the sky, but because there is so much beauty that is so easy to miss when we are always looking straight ahead, or (worse) down... The tops of trees when we usually look at the trunks or branches. The clouds of course. Even, bizarrely, the second stories of old buildings in the local shopping strip. They’re gorgeous. Who knew? If I was 20 years younger I’d start an Instagram movement #lookup. If I was 20 years younger I’d do a lot of things. Of course there are things that despite my efforts I haven’t managed to change about myself... I’m not always patient with the kids or as present as I should be. Nor can I say that I have learned how to suffer fools. I’m still too much of a worrier especially when it comes to the kids safety and I’m still too attached to my phone. I’ve also continued to eat way too much peanut butter... with a spoon... from the jar. But maybe having a list of things to challenge oneself with — an anti-bucket list perhaps — is what living is all about? I often think about how my husband and I spent so many nights with me watching bad TV and him in the study working til late in the night. I can’t tell you how much I regret those nights now. And so I intend in 2016 to continue to walk this new path; to try to conquer my fear of flying, maybe run a half marathon (eek), to make a tangible difference to the life of at least one disadvantaged person and to pursue and hopefully conquer other currently unimagined challenges that will present themselves along the way. But I’ll also take the time to stop, to check in and make sure these things are truly how I want to be spending the precious days and moments of my life. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that Ferris Bueller was right — life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. I still think about Matt every day, sometimes every hour. So many things remind me of him. I guess you can’t spend so many years of your life with someone and not have a memory that can relate to every place, moment and idea. Today I was reminded of him because of a carrot stick. Yep... But it could just have easily been a thousand other things. The spot at my children’s school where we had our last family photo just a few days before his death. A movie theatre, which reminds me of our second date when he took me to see an amazing play, which reminds me of the show we missed in NYC because I got the date wrong, which reminds me that those two weeks in NYC six months before he died were the happiest I’d seen him other than when our kids were born. The rain reminds me of our wedding. But so does the sun. Just holding my phone reminds me how he refused to get a mobile til about two years after they became ubiquitous. Birkenstocks. A Coke sign. Salted caramel anything.You get the picture... The memories are everywhere. Sometimes direct. Sometimes tangential. But everywhere. I have no doubt I’ll always miss Matt, but as I contemplate a third year without him I can also feel the memories becoming more surreal... Kind of like vague childhood memories that you aren’t sure are real or just based on a photograph... Because there’s no one to corroborate my memory of “the memories” I sometimes wonder if they are real. If any of it was real. And then I see the kids’ faces and I know that not only was it real, but that I need to remember everything in sharp detail to be able to give them even just the faintest sense of the fun, cheeky, sometimes crazy, often sulky, always stubborn, incredible father he was. I joke about the silver linings — he doesn’t get a say anymore about whether I buy more decorative cushions and there’s no one to do a late night 7/11 snack run. But of course there are more dark clouds than silver linings. I’ve never liked the dark. Sometimes I wonder if the changes in me are permanent. Will there come a point where I revert to the pre-widowhood Fiona and turn sarcastic and fearful and closed? Is this new me in fact just a distraction from the reality of what has happened; an elaborate scheme in which denial is the main game and I’m both the queen and the pawn? Do we young widows who talk about wanting to live a life with no regrets and challenging ourselves to make the most of the gift of every heartbeat... Are we actually just building a wall of distraction and false courage to hide behind because facing the true light of day is too damn hard? Perhaps. But does it matter? If distraction and denial and dark humor get us through the next hour or day or year maybe that’s ok. Because the truth is nobody knows what tomorrow will bring. A day which begins in an ordinary way can end with the extraordinary. And whilst I’ve learned that this is true for the worst days in our lives it can also, I’m sure, be true for the best. Onwards. [Note, this blog has been published in the Huffington Post. Please contact me for republication]. They say anticipation is often worse than the reality, so if you anticipate the anticipation does that make the reality a walk in the park?
She wonders as she sits and anticipates... A year. Its insane to think that in just an hour he will have died "last year"...
This time last year Matt and I were in bed by 10pm ahead of an early flight the next morning to Queensland for what would be our last family holiday. At midnight we were woken by the fireworks. He kissed me and then we went back to sleep, never knowing that new years 2014 pretty much marked the mid way point between Matt first getting sick and his eventual death: what I now call the last 8 bonus weeks. So as I lie here on my first new years without him in 15 years, in bed early again but with noone to wake me at midnight for a kiss, I wonder what we would have done differently had we known... What would our new years resolution have been had we understood how little time we had left? Knowing us I suspect it wouldnt have included some grand overseas adventure or some other lavish experience. Neither of us were bucket list kind of people and we had already fulfilled our (ok my) nyc dream. So if I think about what I regret not doing together and as a family, and what I imagine would be Matts regrets, it would be things much closer to home. I regret that we didnt make the time to help Noah practice his bike riding, and therefore matt missed out by a few weeks on the milestone of taking his training wheels off... I regret that I procrastinated organising another round of professional photos of our family. I regret that we fought over inconsequential things like the dishwasher and the washing. I regret that we spent most nights at home with me on the couch and him on the computer working. I suspect he would have regretted not playing more golf, and I know I regret that he didnt finish the long list of now unfinished handyman jobs he started around around the house... But mostly I regret that we talked more about living life then we did experiencing it. So having learned this, and in saying farewell to the holding pattern year that was 2014, my resolution is to be able to look back in a years time on 2015 with no regrets (or as few as possible!). To know that Ive been patient. Especially when waiting for a cake to cool in the pan... but also with my chatterbox daughter and stubborn son To know that Ive done one thing every week that nourishes my soul. And when the days get crazy and the weeks seem to fly, to have chosen those weeks to do two things because time expands equally for chores as it does for positive things. To know that Ive conquered a fear. Perhaps of heights, perhaps of being alone. I wonder which is scarier? To know that Ive worried less and lived more. And if I do none of these, then at least to know without a shadow of a doubt that Ive spent the most precious gift Ive ever been given (the gift of time) wisely. Heres to a happy, healthy and safe 2015 for us all. Onwards. |
AuthorFiona is a writer, consultant to government and not for profits and former cynic turned yogi. Archives
June 2017
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