Words

Some Moments Are Forever.

There are some moments that simply stay with you forever.
A week ago I was sitting at work when my phone buzzed. I looked down and saw a text from one of my best friends.
The moment that I read that text, I burst into tears.
The moment I read that text is one of the moments that will stay with me forever.

Over the 12+ years that we've been friends there have been many moments that will stay with me forever.

I remember sitting in the high school counsellers office with her while she cried and not understanding why she was so constantly upset and why she couldn't just pull herself out of it.
I wanted to understand but I was young and selfish and in my mind, if you weren't happy, you just figured out a way to GET happy.

I remember not long after we finished high school when she came to my house after a doctors visit.
She told me she had a block of chocolate in the car and needed to have a girl talk.
We went to the river, sat at the port and she rolled up her sleeves to show me all of the cuts.
We talked for a long, long time and I went home and cried for an hour or so.
I'm sure she did too.

I remember my first year of uni when she came to my apartment to pick up her car after a lecture.
She had been put on a new medication.
It wasn't agreeing with her.
Her eyes were glazed over, her brow was sweaty, she was mumbling incoherently and she simply wasn't there.
Someone was, but it wasn't her.
My housemate and I, her two best friends, tried to stop her from driving, but we simply couldn't. She took her keys and she drove home in peak hour traffic.
She didn't text me to tell me she was OK like I'd asked her to and I didn't sleep that night until she showed up to park her car again for the next day of classes.

I remember the time her medications got mixed up and she ended up in hospital for my birthday.
I remember calling her on that birthday and her falling into an even deeper depression that she couldn't be there with me.
I remember her own birthday party three weeks later when she told me the only thing that had stopped her killing herself was that someone would have to find the body.
I remember her mother physically having to drag her out of bed for several weeks because she had simply given up.

I remember Easter last year when we were both very drunk and very tired and she told me that she had been sexually assaulted as a child and that she had never told anyone besides me.
I remember the weight of what I had just found out and the gravity of not being able to tell anybody.
I remember that I understood so much of the past ten years so much clearer.
We sat together until 4am, crying and talking and crying and talking.
I hugged her so tightly.

I remember two months later when I got the message that she had ended up in hospital and would probably be there for some time.
No one could quite tell me what had happened and I couldn't quite tell anyone what I knew.
I called my mum and I cried. I told her what I knew and we both cried.
I called my friend every night that she was in hospital.
She didn't want to talk much at all but she told her parents not long after she got out.

There have of course been moments in between then and now.
I remember finding out that she was going to be staying for an extended period in a clinic in Melbourne.
I remember feeling insanely ill and dry wretching in the corner after I first visited her in there.
I remember scrapbooking with her and not wanting to leave my craft knife lying around, just in case.
I remember how shit a friend that made me feel like I was.

What I remember most about each of these moments is just wanting to find a way to let her know that I love her, that we all love her and that we would go to the ends of the earth to make her feel better.
What I remember most about each of these moments is feeling hopeless as hell because there just wasn't a way to get that through to her.

I remember a lot of moments about our friendship, but last Tuesday I was sitting at my desk and my phone buzzed.
I looked down and saw a text from one of my best friends.
The moment that I read that text, I burst into tears.
The text told me that a paedophile had been put in prison.
I cried for releif, I cried for exhaustion, I cried for love for my best friend.
I cried because finally the person who had made all of those moments I remembered happen, had finally been brought to justice.
I know that the sentence doesn't mean that the moments will stop, in fact I'm certain that they won't.
But what I was crying for was the validation, the notion that this is a step towards healing, not only for my friend but for everyone who has been there for her for my moments and for all of the others.

That moment of validation, that moment of healing, that moment that I read that text is one of the moments that will stay with me forever.

xxx
SJ

My Poppy.

Let me introduce you to somebody who is really important to me.
This is my Poppy.His name is Gerry.
 
My Poppy is my main man.
He is at the top of my list; even higher than Gerard Butler or Ryan Reynolds.
Even higher than Ryan Reynolds as Green Lantern (those of you who know me know that's a big deal), because my Poppy is my real superhero.
He always has been.

I was raised by a single mother, so my grandparents have always been a huge presence in my life.
My Nan and my Pop have always been there to help out and I love them both very much.
Nan was definitely always the one that 'got' me better than anyone emotionally, but my relationship with my poppy has always been a very special one.
I have always been his 'Possum' and he has always been my Superman.

As a kid, I spent a lot of time with Pop.
When he wasn't working, he was always out in the garden while Kane and I would be kicking the footy around or playing some form of backyard game.
This is where he taught me a lot of my lessons (usually after some form of girly tanty about Kane hitting me too hard with the footy or about not wanting to admit I was bowled out in cricket) about honesty, integrity, strength and just generally not being a sook.
When Pop had friends over for a beer, I'd sit with them at the table and listen to them chat, if I was lucky, I'd get to have the last sip of Pop's beer.
I remember he used to carry a keyring around with Pixi photos of Kane and I back to back and the words 'I Love Poppy'.

As a teenager I remember a girl coming up to me at school and telling me she'd recently met my Pop at the hospital.
I asked her how she knew it was him and she told me that once he'd seen that her school uniform was the same as mine, he had asked her if she knew me and continued to list all of the achievements of mine that he was proud of.
He'd never tell me straight out to my face, being of the tough love generation and all, but I would hear him boasting to people about my school grades or that I was the lead in a play or that I'd won an award.
Of course we had our arguments, I was a bratty tenage girl and I was (of course) always right.
He was stubborn and hard headed and questioned the opinions I formed, but he has always been proud, even of the smallest accomplishment.

As an adult, it's continued that way.
His pride has extended to my moving out of home, to my getting a decent job, to my going overseas for the first time. I remember mum telling me last year that she had heard him boasting to someone in the local shopping centre that I had entered into fashions on the field at the local race day, no big feat, but one that he felt needed sharing nonetheless.
But more than that, his pride extends to my friends and their accomplishments too. Whenever they visit to see my grandparents with me, he asks them about their lives and what's new with them and I can see that he is proud of their acheivements too.
And after everytime he sees them, he reminds me how good a friends I have and tells me not to lose them.
He is 'Pop' to them as well.

And to be honest, as an adult, I've grown to realise that I am proud of him.
I have watched his overwhelming strength and dedication in the face of my grandmother's deteriorating state.
When I was young, I always thought he would be lost without her, but he has proven himself beyond even what I used to think he was capable of.
He cares for her, he cooks, he cleans, he makes sure she is comfortable, he loses sleep with concern, and until very recently, he did it all while refusing any sort of releif or help; a little bit out of pride, but mostly out of love.

 I adore that man with all of me, but more than that, I admire him.

Recently, I've been thinking about my Poppy a lot.
If I don't call or visit him every couple of weeks, I am bound to be told off for it, and last Friday he told me that he had been to have tests on his heart and that it's pretty much only working 50% and that the doctors said he still has 5 to 10 years in him.
For a man in his mid 70's, this still equates to a decent innings, but it is the idea that he has an expiry date that stings. The idea that my poppy can't leap tall buildings in a single bound, that he isn't invincible; the idea that he is fallible just like the rest of us mere mortals, absolutely flattens me.

In a way, I feel like life has gone back on an unspoken deal we had.
I was supposed to end up a decent person and in return, he was supposed to be around forever to make sure I stayed on track and tell me I was doing a good job.
I feel like I kept my end of the bargain.

I don't know how I'm going to cope when that 5 or 10 years is up, but I DO know that in the meantime, I plan to make him the proudest Poppy alive, because I am so proud to have him as my grandfather, humanity and all.

xxx
SJ

Exit Wounds

So I've been thinking a lot this past few days (look out!).
As most of you know, I became single last year and have since entered the scary world of dating.
Scary because, well, have you ever seen When Harry Met Sally?
Remember this scene...?
 
If you haven't or you dont remember, allow me (I watch it at least once a month!).
Directly after hanging up those phones, Marie says to Jess:
"Tell me I'll never have to be out there again!"

Preach it sister.

So, that's where I was at, and I was happy with that.
'Out there', for someone who has been blissfully inside a bubble for many years is a whole new world (And not the good, Alladin song kind).
We all just want someone who likes us for us, and having to go out and find that again is daunting.
What if that person doesn't exist in any other form besides the one you've just left behind?
What if no one truly 'gets' you and you actually are the batshit crazy lunatic you've always suspected you were?
These are the questions that keep you awake at night in the big wide world of 'out there'.

And so I started dating again.
I met some boys, and they were nice.
And I kissed some boys, and that was nice.
All in all, my self esteem has gotten better.
But here's the thing , the meeting and the kissing, while they are lovely, don't quite fill all of the voids.
Eventually, it was inevitable for me that I would want to be in a relationship; a good, strong, stable one.
Problem is, I don't ever seem to choose the 'relationship' guys.
The guys I choose, as I once told a friend (from inside the comfort of my aforementioned relationship bubble), are ALWAYS the wounded men.
It wasn't until I was 'out there' that I realised how true this was.
Even the guys who seem normal, end up being wounded.
Deceitful, normal looking tricksters!

A bullet wound to the chest from a girlfriend who they never thought was going to leave them, scars all up their arms from carrying pressures of an unloving parent, low self esteem, faux self esteem, fear of rejection, fear of self, emotionally attached, emotionally detatched - I've seen it all.
And the fact is that, as nice as some of these wounded boys can be, and as pretty as some of these wounded boys can be (and some of them are very pretty), it can only get them so far before you realise how fucking hard it can be dealing with someone elses wounds, and they start to become your own.

Several weeks ago I was in a semi-something-like-a-relationship, and I broke things off with that boy.
I had been seeing him for about 6 months and I had figured out that I just couldn't deal with his wounds (or his shitty music taste, but that's a whole other blog post!).
I deemed them to be holding us back from becoming something more and I decided that they were starting to make me doubt myself.

And after all was said and done, I went about my life 'out there' quite happily.
It was just a few days ago that I had a bit of a moment where I stopped, and though I didnt doubt then (nor do I now) that I had done the right thing in that particular relationship, I wondered who I am to decide who's particular wounds too gruesome?
It's entirely possible that the reason I seem to only be attracted to wounded men is because they're ALL wounded.
And so are us women.
Christ knows I certainly am.

I have 1001 marks covering my soul, and they are so deep that I could probably still give you the exact time, date and location that they were inflicted.
Some of them, to be honest, are probably even self harm. 
And the majority of them are just entry wounds, the bullet is still firmly lodged, no exit to match.
They've all come together to form a wholly wounded, but stronger person, and the idea that my past hurts and the way that I deal with them might be a deal breaker for someone else is entirely frightening.

I think next time, instead of bailing on a guy at the first sight of burden, I might try the Nightingale approach and try to nurse a few of these wounds back to health.

We all just want someone who likes us for us.
Wounds and all.

To Be Australian (A Wonderful Thing).

I don't even really know where to start with this, as most of us don't know where to start with feelings right now, so bear with me if it's a little bit sketchy in parts.

It occured to me in thinking about what is going on, that some of the readers of this blog aren't Australian, and I wanted to write something that might help them to understand what is happening in Australia right now beyond just the news.
But I really don't feel like I have the right words.
I don't think anyone does.

My grandmother, from the time I was very young, has always told me that she truly believes there is no country luckier than ours, and I think the scenes that we've seen over the past couple of weeks have cemented that belief for me.
That may sound silly to many people; to call us lucky when we are experiencing what we are currently experiencing, and on such a large scale.

But despite how prone Australia is to so many natural disasters, and perhaps because of it, we discover strength in the face of crises with an unmatched and unique character.
We saw it in the Black Saturday fires, we see it in every farmer who has persevered through the droughts and we are seeing it now.

It is testament to Australia's national pride that we have people like Ray Cole, whose heart beats so strong that he would risk his own life, apparently in the face of arrest threats (Seriously, QLD Police?!), to save that of a joey kangaroo, because he says he was raised to help others where he could, and he "couldn't stand there and watch our coat of arms just drown".
 
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It is testament to Australia's resiliance and humor that in the face of some of the worst floods we've ever seen, we dress statues of our sporting heroes in 'floaties', not because we're not taking this disaster seriously, but because after the horror of the scenes we're seeing right now - the horror of losing homes and histories and, God forbid, loved ones - an image like this might for a split second, help someone to smile just when they need it.
 
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It is testament to just how selfless Australians are that a 13 year old boy who couldnt swim, lost his life because he told his rescuer "save me brother first".

13 years old.
Christ.
There just aren't words for that.
 
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It is just plain and simply testament to Australia's sense of community that our mateship extends beyond neighbours and family; beyond the town we live in, or even the state.
That in the face of  losing everything, we will still lend a hand to those around us.
That we will give what we can, however we can.
That there are churches and sporting clubs (often one in the same in this country) putting aside any difference of beleif just to move furniture, save pets, operate rescue centres and just generally help anyone who needs it, regardless of who they are.
 
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And this all seems to go doubly for Queenslanders, who experience disaster year after year in droughts, hurricanes, floods, you name it; and they get back up after each and every knock.

In Anna Bligh's media address this morning, she cried as she told the state:
"As we weep for what we have lost, and as we grieve for family and friends and we confront the challenge that is before us, I want us to remember who we are.
We are Queenslanders.
We’re the people that they breed tough, north of the border.
We’re the ones that they knock down, and we get up again."



In our country, we choose to rebuild the spirits of those around us before think about rebuilding our homes. And that is why I'm proud to be able to identify myself an Australian.  

I'm beginning to understand that it is also where my grandmothers beleif stems from.
It's the people that make this country a lucky one.
Very possibly, the luckiest of all.

http://www.qld.gov.au/floods/donate.html
(Photos sourced from heraldsun.com.au and theage.com.au).