Recovering, at least briefly (but fast and wonderfully) from a bout of welling despair.
I suspect the wish that it had been I, not the other, who had died, is a common one.
It hasn't been a thought thing, possible to control, but a wave of emotion rolling in, defined only in retrospect. Ah, not fair, no choice, I have been given the task of going on, and I haven't the resources?
Gerald would have been better at it, but we'll never get the chance to compare.
The barrenness.
Then, inexplicability, some energy again.
Sometimes only a tiny amount of a lovely thing or two is required.
A few moments with my son when companionship and mutual enjoyment of each others' company beckons.
How fabulous that could be.
A morning spent with friends, strong support, normal life (oh - and fresh baking!).
Gratitude for having a place to live, for not being so afraid of it falling down I have to sleep in the car (luckily the back of the Corolla goes flat, if the eventuality arose).
And for not having anyone close killed in the "New Zealand earthquake" as reported by the international press - unlike Michael and Jenny.
Tomorrow, first lectures.
Well into it today, fruitful work some of the time.
Counting down already, 14 weeks till 1st Semester exams (three, Privacy Law, Public International Law, and International Human Rights. 10, 15 and 20 points worth. Just reminding myself.)
I read something really useful in "Principles of Criminal Law" today:
"Unless one subscribes to some extreme form of Calvinism or other doctrine of the damned, guilt is not a state of being, a natural property. Guilt can be generated only in respect of something additional to what the defendant is; something for which she is accountable."
Hmmmm ... understanding the flavour of an upbringing can provide really useful illumination into lifelong tendencies. Thanks, Messrs Simester and Brookbanks.
Still not sure where it is (mojo, that is), but looking forward to tomorrow and not too scared of the rest of today.
That's a lot, I reckon.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I think you would say the same
Part of the newsletter from Kahunui:
...
Our first lesson on sustainability was a wonderful time sitting in the survival environment. We posed the question to the girls: how can we ensure Kahunui remains the same or better for their daughter in 24 years time?
...
The most valued house member for the week is selected by the girls. The criteria is the girl who has helped others, listened and encouraged the team and done her share of the tasks.
Parents&Friends:: Jessica Webster
Old Girls': Olivia Robertson
Wairaka: Sophie van Waardenberg
Tremain: Olivia Hay
On Tuesday we head out sea kayaking on the Ohiwa Harbour and tramping up in Waiotahi Valley.
...
Go Sophie! I think that is the same Sophie that was terrified to go to Kahunui as she feels (sometimes) she doesn't fit in; also all the teachers hate her and she has no real friends. Not sure, one of those 2 girls may be having me on?
I shall go to the Kahunui coffee morning tomorrow wearing my victory mamma outfit, all in green (the Wairaka house colour).
Golly, I scare myself sometimes.
Thinking I need to learn to be less afraid of myself. My children might learn by example that one has to succeed at something in order to be comfortable with oneself. I absolutely DISbelieve this, I had thought - till I noticed it's how I tend to live.
And people LIVE what they most truly BELIEVE.
I reckon.
Alex and I are having a discussion about getting-up agreements.
...
Our first lesson on sustainability was a wonderful time sitting in the survival environment. We posed the question to the girls: how can we ensure Kahunui remains the same or better for their daughter in 24 years time?
...
The most valued house member for the week is selected by the girls. The criteria is the girl who has helped others, listened and encouraged the team and done her share of the tasks.
Parents&Friends:: Jessica Webster
Old Girls': Olivia Robertson
Wairaka: Sophie van Waardenberg
Tremain: Olivia Hay
On Tuesday we head out sea kayaking on the Ohiwa Harbour and tramping up in Waiotahi Valley.
...
Go Sophie! I think that is the same Sophie that was terrified to go to Kahunui as she feels (sometimes) she doesn't fit in; also all the teachers hate her and she has no real friends. Not sure, one of those 2 girls may be having me on?
I shall go to the Kahunui coffee morning tomorrow wearing my victory mamma outfit, all in green (the Wairaka house colour).
Golly, I scare myself sometimes.
Thinking I need to learn to be less afraid of myself. My children might learn by example that one has to succeed at something in order to be comfortable with oneself. I absolutely DISbelieve this, I had thought - till I noticed it's how I tend to live.
And people LIVE what they most truly BELIEVE.
I reckon.
Alex and I are having a discussion about getting-up agreements.
- Tiger parenting approach (absolute garbage):
You'll get up at the time I say because I know best, you are lazy, and unless it's painful and difficult you'll grow up a spineless lump suitable only for normal life and you are better than that, boy!
- Dr Spock approach (passionless with a dubious assumption of complete reasonableness):
I am neither timid nor guilty about saying that being able to get up at some reliably reasonable time is something that, to me, seems important, so do it. Please.
- Mr Spock approach (might suit Alex :-)):
There is a definite pleasurable experience connected with knowing one is reliable. Purposely annoying your mother? Ah, yes, one of your earth illogicalities.
- US governmental approach (oh, were it only so simple):
Yes, we can!
Outcome? Unsettled to the end of the forecast period.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
And on the other hand
Perhaps the violent wounding will soon fade to a gentle, reassuring background ache - enough to confirm I am (I mean was) a caring, deeply feeling spouse but not enough to stop me from reaching out for new life.
Perhaps a new career will waft in, tempt, inspire and blossom, including a miraculous "unique to me" so that whenever possible I only do what only I can do - again.
Perhaps someone I know or meet will mesh with my interests, full-on-ness, quirks, wants and hopes so thoroughly that intersection brings explosions of intriguing joy.
Perhaps my children will be truly proud of themselves, their dad, and their mum.
Any reason why not?
Perhaps a new career will waft in, tempt, inspire and blossom, including a miraculous "unique to me" so that whenever possible I only do what only I can do - again.
Perhaps someone I know or meet will mesh with my interests, full-on-ness, quirks, wants and hopes so thoroughly that intersection brings explosions of intriguing joy.
Perhaps my children will be truly proud of themselves, their dad, and their mum.
Any reason why not?
Eyebrows
So three months has been spent mostly Being Available To My Children. I hope it was skillful gardening. The thing is, I'm not sure what the spring tasks are with regard to teenagers after a longish chilly season.
As near as I can tell, there is little immediate reward, and, lacking the satisfaction of knowing one is putting in the right kind of effort, one is left relying on ?good judgement cobbled together from similar tasks in different fields, or different tasks in the general field of contributing-to-adulthood. The advice of others is a little like that proffered on the first foray into parenthood - a well-intentioned conflicting tangle coming from a multiplicity of unexplored assumptions.
When to set boundaries? When to assert authority? When to (try to) force control? When to be glad for the good stuff and ignore the rest? When to stop and learn from them rather than insisting on what (it seems) must be right? When to offer unsolicited advice? Why isn't this easier? Everyone's questions.
"Before", we had a guarantee that a momentous unwanted event would, at some point, release the status quo of a demanding and severe situation.
"After", which is now, there is no culminating event. This is it. The loveliness, hassles, uncertainties, comfort, companionship, incompatibility, allowances, security, compromises, creativity, freedom and sweetness of Gerald&Lois are gone, not to be renewed. Along with a pile of tiny things that had become part of the fabric of a life - does unravelling now threaten?
Will it be this painful, on and off, for the next ?year, ?3years, ?10 years?
As near as I can tell, there is little immediate reward, and, lacking the satisfaction of knowing one is putting in the right kind of effort, one is left relying on ?good judgement cobbled together from similar tasks in different fields, or different tasks in the general field of contributing-to-adulthood. The advice of others is a little like that proffered on the first foray into parenthood - a well-intentioned conflicting tangle coming from a multiplicity of unexplored assumptions.
When to set boundaries? When to assert authority? When to (try to) force control? When to be glad for the good stuff and ignore the rest? When to stop and learn from them rather than insisting on what (it seems) must be right? When to offer unsolicited advice? Why isn't this easier? Everyone's questions.
"Before", we had a guarantee that a momentous unwanted event would, at some point, release the status quo of a demanding and severe situation.
"After", which is now, there is no culminating event. This is it. The loveliness, hassles, uncertainties, comfort, companionship, incompatibility, allowances, security, compromises, creativity, freedom and sweetness of Gerald&Lois are gone, not to be renewed. Along with a pile of tiny things that had become part of the fabric of a life - does unravelling now threaten?
Will it be this painful, on and off, for the next ?year, ?3years, ?10 years?
Sunday, February 13, 2011
She left!
Nervously, excitedly, hopefully, a little fearful.
I took Sophie to meet her classmates aka live-in family for a month, and the bus to Kahunui (St Cuthbert's outdoor education centre, in the depths of the Bay of Plenty, 5 hours away, NO CELLPHONE COVERAGE!
All electronic devices (cameras, and laptops for schoolwork only, aside) are put away at a certain point in the bus trip, envelopes, writing paper and stamps the medium of communication to and from parents and anyone else outside, and stripy pyjama-like suits are given out to wear for the duration (OK, I made the last bit up).
4 houses (6-8 girls each) compete with each other in sports, budgeting, taking care of themselves (including waste disposal, cooking, and utilities management) and doubtless a pile of other stuff I'll hear a little about gradually and eventually, if I'm especially lucky.
Sophie seemed happily settled on the bus, quiet, alongside a chattering chirpy Harriet Henderson (fun to catch up with Mike, Harriet's dad, who I knew for about 6 years about 30-35 years ago at Valley Rd youth group, and Cheryl, his wife).
Do well, Sophie. Thinking of you. As you know. xxx
PS Sophie's latest poem "I Think You Would Say the Same" is another lovely one - takes some thinking about, though ....
http://sophiwophi.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-think-you-would-say-same.html
I took Sophie to meet her classmates aka live-in family for a month, and the bus to Kahunui (St Cuthbert's outdoor education centre, in the depths of the Bay of Plenty, 5 hours away, NO CELLPHONE COVERAGE!
All electronic devices (cameras, and laptops for schoolwork only, aside) are put away at a certain point in the bus trip, envelopes, writing paper and stamps the medium of communication to and from parents and anyone else outside, and stripy pyjama-like suits are given out to wear for the duration (OK, I made the last bit up).
4 houses (6-8 girls each) compete with each other in sports, budgeting, taking care of themselves (including waste disposal, cooking, and utilities management) and doubtless a pile of other stuff I'll hear a little about gradually and eventually, if I'm especially lucky.
Sophie seemed happily settled on the bus, quiet, alongside a chattering chirpy Harriet Henderson (fun to catch up with Mike, Harriet's dad, who I knew for about 6 years about 30-35 years ago at Valley Rd youth group, and Cheryl, his wife).
Do well, Sophie. Thinking of you. As you know. xxx
PS Sophie's latest poem "I Think You Would Say the Same" is another lovely one - takes some thinking about, though ....
http://sophiwophi.blogspot.com/2011/02/i-think-you-would-say-same.html
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Can you taste it?
After more than 3 months, Thursday morning, on my very early quite big walk, I tasted it.
A whisper of lightness unencumbered by tragedy, grief or fears about the length or extent of the trip.
No special events, emotional or intellectual triggers, that I knew of. And nevertheless, as if by magic, ease slipped in with no drama, rather an immediate feeling of rightness and grace.
For a moment. At least.
A whisper of lightness unencumbered by tragedy, grief or fears about the length or extent of the trip.
No special events, emotional or intellectual triggers, that I knew of. And nevertheless, as if by magic, ease slipped in with no drama, rather an immediate feeling of rightness and grace.
For a moment. At least.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
3 months, 98 days - revert to London
It's one of those Saturdays.
Instead of walking ever-so-slowly up the driveway in the wake of a hearse in the still of a beautiful late afternoon, we'll be with my Mum's family in Cornwall park (co-incidentally).
And Michael and Jenny will be here for the evening, hopefully as a pleasant relax for them, as a contrast to the rescue mission they ran that first overwhelming post-Gerald evening of tragedy, relief and numbness interwoven.
But tomorrow a service of Remembrance will be held for Gerald in London, where we spent 12 years between the ages of 24 and 36 (both of us)
- and which I revisited in 2000 and Gerald (with the children) in 2007.
A link to the order of service is here:
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=explorer&chrome=true&srcid=0B0Eblq4mX93TNDFmOTAyNjMtNGQ3NC00Yzc4LTgzN2QtYjJjM2Q4Zjk4OGU3&hl=en&authkey=CNGqjMQF
And for a link to the order of service for the original send-on:
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=explorer&chrome=true&srcid=0B0Eblq4mX93TZjg5NWQyN2ItMzVlZC00MDI3LTkzZTgtMzExMGJiZDE3OGI4&hl=en&authkey=CIKhzqYM
Hurts.
Instead of walking ever-so-slowly up the driveway in the wake of a hearse in the still of a beautiful late afternoon, we'll be with my Mum's family in Cornwall park (co-incidentally).
And Michael and Jenny will be here for the evening, hopefully as a pleasant relax for them, as a contrast to the rescue mission they ran that first overwhelming post-Gerald evening of tragedy, relief and numbness interwoven.
But tomorrow a service of Remembrance will be held for Gerald in London, where we spent 12 years between the ages of 24 and 36 (both of us)
- and which I revisited in 2000 and Gerald (with the children) in 2007.
A link to the order of service is here:
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=explorer&chrome=true&srcid=0B0Eblq4mX93TNDFmOTAyNjMtNGQ3NC00Yzc4LTgzN2QtYjJjM2Q4Zjk4OGU3&hl=en&authkey=CNGqjMQF
And for a link to the order of service for the original send-on:
https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=explorer&chrome=true&srcid=0B0Eblq4mX93TZjg5NWQyN2ItMzVlZC00MDI3LTkzZTgtMzExMGJiZDE3OGI4&hl=en&authkey=CIKhzqYM
Hurts.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Down and still in
Geralds of different ages are visiting, in varied succession, very visibly (to my mind's eye).
The smooth, sweet, unafraid though fearful (depending) boy.
The heavier (in spirit and in body) middle-aged man.
The luminous and beauteous shrunken body and warm humourous spirit of the last days.
The loyal, genuine, unselfish, loving companion.
The laughing youth of 30, carefree and creating.
And so on ...
Moving back into life from trauma. I was pretty sure that would be the hard part.
It is.
The normal travails are the real reminders of the life that has been and gone.
I want to curl up and not.
Not ... try. Not help my children with decisions. Not cope with their failures. Be granted extra time to deal with my own failures. Not help anyone else make sense of things. Be treated gently, allowed all the complexities that no-one needs to decipher but many could imagine. Be given some leeway to express grief in my own aberrant ways.
Too much already.
PS more tears come when a couple of beautifully timed and strongly positive responses to the writing arrive in the mail this morning. This is healing. A splint for the aching being, a crutch, a prop, not to be relied on, but a burst of energy enough to keep walking.
In trail running we call this kind of terrain a highly technical track.
If I could do the trail running, now that would help :-)
The smooth, sweet, unafraid though fearful (depending) boy.
The heavier (in spirit and in body) middle-aged man.
The luminous and beauteous shrunken body and warm humourous spirit of the last days.
The loyal, genuine, unselfish, loving companion.
The laughing youth of 30, carefree and creating.
And so on ...
Moving back into life from trauma. I was pretty sure that would be the hard part.
It is.
The normal travails are the real reminders of the life that has been and gone.
I want to curl up and not.
Not ... try. Not help my children with decisions. Not cope with their failures. Be granted extra time to deal with my own failures. Not help anyone else make sense of things. Be treated gently, allowed all the complexities that no-one needs to decipher but many could imagine. Be given some leeway to express grief in my own aberrant ways.
Too much already.
PS more tears come when a couple of beautifully timed and strongly positive responses to the writing arrive in the mail this morning. This is healing. A splint for the aching being, a crutch, a prop, not to be relied on, but a burst of energy enough to keep walking.
In trail running we call this kind of terrain a highly technical track.
If I could do the trail running, now that would help :-)
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