On the head of a pin

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There is so much that we take for granted. From the little things - fresh water and food, sanitary toilets, a roof over our heads, clean clothes on our backs - to the big things - having a car to drive, go on holidays, access to medicine, living in country that isn't ravished by war disease or famine.


On Tuesday I went to the funeral of a young man of 19 who had died suddenly from a motor bike accident. There were probably 500 people there, three quarters of them aged between 14 and 21. There was an ocean of tears, the fragility of their own lives staring them in the face.


I'm so thankful that I was able to be there. To be beside my own children as they navigate their way through the grieving process. To be beside the beautiful woman that held this young man in her arms until the ambulance arrived, so that he was not alone. To be able to embrace his mother, father and siblings, and say with my touch what words could not convey.


I'm thankful for the opportunity the whole event has created. To be able to reflect on my own life and for the many amazing beautiful gifts that I am so lucky to have.


The last line in Kirrily's post from Sunny Side Up  captured it the best - This is the beautiful thing about death. It enlivens the living.


Life can change on the head of a pin. Moments of beauty are happening all the time. Keep your mind and your eyes open to receiving them. Are you LIVING in the day you're in?


The lovely Leigh from Six By the Bay is hosting Thankful Thursday. What are you thankful for today?

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equilibrium restoration

By Wednesday of this week I was in desperate need of restoring my equilibrium. I was already feeling somewhat empty before death visited our house. Now my soul hurt.

 

I had already arranged earlier in the month to visit a girlfriend on the coast, with the intention of going to the beach with Aston and her girls. As is the way with life, plans changed, and Nathan desperately wanted to see his friend, the brother of the young man who died on Sunday. 

 

I stuck the taxi cab sign on top of my car dropped my mum off at my sisters, Nathan off at his friends, and finally arrived at my girlfriends. Hot, bothered and somewhat sore. Driving any longer then 20 mins is still sending my back into spasms. We weren't going anywhere.

 

When my girlfriend returned to work after having both her babies I was privileged to be able to look after her little girls for the year they were one. They are part of my "framily". Miss Rubilicious, the youngest at 3, greeted me at the door with a huge cuddle. It was just what I needed.

 

 

We didn't do anything overly exciting. A and I sat and drank tea, and discussed the best apps for various things. Aston and her girls played and played and played, giggling, laughing, dressing up and discussing the various things that were going to happen in their "game". (Have you ever sat and listened to two six year olds discussing a game? The intricacies involved of who is doing what and when are highly entertaining.)

 

Doing something simple was sweet manna for my soul. Just being ... listening and watching helped restore my equilibrium, bring my physical being into balance.


 

 

Do you ever feel out of balance? What restores your equilibrium?

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Degrees of Death

 

 

 

 

This morning my mother informed me that her close friend, who has been battling Cancer for the last six months, had died in the early hours of the morning. Her husband and two daughters were with her when she exited this world, and was finally free of the intense pain she had been in for the last month.

 

My mum and I have had many conversations about her friend, and what her wishes are if she finds herself in a similar situation. I'm thankful that my mother's friends illness provided the opportunity for us to be able to have such conversations, and I now know exactly what my mother wants.

 

I stood and listened as my mum spoke about her friend, the memories she has of her, the experiences they had shared, and how she was feeling. I was glad that I was able to be there beside her as she processed her friend's passing.

 

I went to tell Laura, but before I was able to she exclaimed that J was dead. J is a young man of 19, who Laura, Nathan and I have known since he was 12, meeting him not longer after we moved into  the Noosa Hinterland. Nathan is very good friends with J's younger brother, having played soccer with him since they were six, and spent many days and nights at their house. Laura went to school with J, socialised with him as he was part of her circle of friends when she lived on the Coast. I have had many conversations with his mother about the perils, and pleasures, of raising teens.

 

There was also another young man involved - C, someone else we all know, and have known for several years. He is in a stable condition, but requires surgery, skin grafts and God knows what else. Both young men, larger then life, with enormous hearts.

 

My head is reeling with a cacophony of emotions. Shock. Confusion. Struggling to make sense of the degrees of death... One death arrived slowly, painfully, over six months, claiming a woman in the winter of her life. The other so quickly, so unexpectedly, taking someone in the midst of their spring...

 

I watch and listen to my own children process similar feelings, different yet the same, felt through their own limited lenses of the world. I reach to comfort my daughter. She pushes me away. "Don't" ... I worry for my son. The need to see him right now is intense.

 

I can only begin to imagine what J and C's parents are feeling right now. Thinking about it makes my breath catch in my throat, my heart clench tight.

 

The gossamer fine thread that is life ... so strong, yet so fragile at the same time. How can that be?

 

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