Priceless

They say the best things in life are free ~ and the last two days have proved exactly that. While it may not have come without its own dollar amount, as I put aside the various entrance tickets for the eventual scrape book ~ the priceless item of the family's first "holiday" is really the quiet moments of one-ness, unity and family-union.

I may be a grand down. My feet may disown me once again. My body might retaliate by refusing to move without protest. It was all worth it!

Months of planning, keeping cool and calm when well-intent protests came up from the folks ~ The Highlands Adventure has come and gone.

And I'm thinking - Doggone it! It was something I should have done a long time ago (cos seriously, the savings from the many bottles of alcohol would have more than paid for it!) - but I'm glad that I still had the chance too.

Barbsie is off to bed tonight a very happy camper!

GAP Kids

It was a marathon DVD Sunday night. And again I am reminded that if one's mind is somewhat clear, there are lessons or reminders waiting to be picked up at every which corner you turn. 

The one that stuck clear in my head was a line from the new Robin Williams - John Travolta movie called OLD DOGS. In which the lady said: For 7 years, my son had never seen the inside of the men's room cos I am the only one around to take him to the bathroom.

The same thing happened to me on Saturday evening as the kids and I sought shelter from the rain in a shopping mall. Luke needed to go and off he went. Except that he exited the men's room in under 10 seconds. Cos there was no one else in there. That to a 7 year old kid is pretty creepy. So I had to cover his eyes and off to the ladies we went.

It was a bit of a hard pill to swallow, especially since that morning I had just witnessed a scene I have not seen in a long while for my kids ~ they had spent the morning playing football with their uncle. They wrapped up the session, got into the car and declared it was the "best day ever!" simply cos they got to do the outdoor thing.

So while I had plenty of laughs from the comedies last night, it also reiterated that in an ideal world (i.e. such as the movie world) it is always to the advantage of the child to have a complete set of parents. 

I can try to do many things for them, to make up for whatever I think is lacking simply cos they do not have a daddy in their lives. But as they grow up, I am increasingly challenged on how to cover these gaps. And these gaps will remain.

Run

There will always be somethings that you can away from but you can never hide.

Case in point ~ an email I received from the kids' uncle, informing that the attached was a list of the kids' chinese names and birthdates in chinese characters, written by their grandpa.

And while they know who Adrian and Danial are, one fine day, if we were to have to use this piece of paper - a whole can of worms are gonna come flying right out at me. Hibbie-jibbies!

Yes, they will always have this half sister running around out there somewhere. 

Crashed

I decided to do the responsible thing the last couple of days and get the computer at home sorted in terms of virus protection. 

Installed one programme and ran it for about 48 hours. Worked quite fine until I decided to do some reading and found out it wasn't one of the best - it didn't resolve a number of the protection issues I had. So I decided to uninstall it and download another.

Lo and behold, in my drug-induced haze yesterday, as I booted up my pc and the new antivirus system ran, I clicked to delete this particular file, causing the whole damn thing to crash and not want to boot up afterwards.

It's apparently salvageable but I am running the risk of losing all my data. And that to me is the saddest bit of all. Cos it consists of all the photos I have ever taken of the kids.

Everything else can be recouped - my work data, my financial files, my music ~ it's all a question of time and some burning of midnight oil on my part. But these pictures are priceless. It traces the memories of the kids. If they are lost, I'd really bawl my heart out from the heartache.

Dad's Wisdom

I rarely get an occasion to sit down and have a talk with my dad. Perhaps it's cos as time passes, he spends more time in prayer, deep thought and service to others and being a full-time grandpa getting up at 6 a.m. - napping.

Today, since I haven't been home much these past 2 weeks, I decided to take the evening school run drive with him and then to the optician so he could get his glasses fixed. On the drive, we spoke about work, the progress that has been made and the bright future that awaits yonder in the horizon. 

As I took the driver's seat to move the car in the mad streets of Taipan, I realised just how badly we needed this bright future. His junk of a Volvo is literally held together with all sorts of tape, glue and stitches. As I sunk my butt into his seat, it.literally.sank. 

I wish time could go faster so that this future would materialise sooner. But I know that is not going to be the case. And I can continue to frustrate myself with the passing of days, it is not going to change anything. If anything, it would only make life harder to live.

"Be patient," dad advised. "It is nothing but a timeline that you're living out."

Yes, I must remember that each time I have to swallow hard. My dad may not be very much in stature and material wealth, but he is full of wisdom.

Journeys

It's been almost 11 months since I've been back to my hometown. It wouldn't have been another couple of months, except that BFF1* is getting married and the bride hails from the next suburb to grandma's house.

This trip breaks a number of rules.

For starters, I have only met Alex once. We have heard of each other's names and escapades through our mutual love, Mandy but we had only met at her wedding earlier this year. For someone I've only spent a day with, for me to be helping out at his biggest day - now that's definitely a rule-breaker. And let's not even go to where he wants to "present" his bride to me before Sunday so I can give the BFF seal of approval.

Secondly a WEDDING. As Donald said when I rung to make plans for tomorrow evening "I thought you DIDN'T DO weddings?" For the life of me, I can't even recall attending the wedding of one of my closest cousins ~ still not sure IF I had gone, and too embarrassed to 

ask to clarify.

Lastly, I am actually announcing ahead of my impending return. Trying to see as many friends and family as possible. Which is unusual to say the lest! And judging from some of the responses I've gotten - family seems pretty pleased that this prodigal one is going back, even if it was for just a weekend.

"I didn't realise your return was such a big deal," said the groom. Yes - not many people would either. Simply cos not many people knew how I was back then, how prejudiced I can be and how strongly I can be defiant when the maggots form preconceived notions in my head. But the family always did, and kept their own counsel.

Add to it, most know why I have always resisted going home and to hear of me voluntarily, eagerly and happily heading down south - perhaps they can all breathe a little easier knowing that I am no longer as damaged as I was when I left.

Perhaps as I get older, I realise that while I may have chosen a separate set of individuals to call my persons, it doesn't mean that I have reason to neglect those I am connected to by blood. As such, it is once again a joyous thing to look forward to - sitting with the family and talking into the wee hours of the morn as we once did as our tradition.

As an old friend from the days of school on top of the hill said to her sisters ~ Even though we've changed and we're all finding our own place in the world, we all know that when the tears fall or that smile spreads across our face, we'll come to each other because no matter where this crazy world takes us, nothing will ever change so much to the point where we're not all still family.

So yes. A wedding may bring me home. A bond of loyalty may make the stay sweet. 

But it would be the blood that runs through our veins that would make me leave with a twinge of sadness.

A Few Good Men

A friend of mine is all up in bolts right now as his family court hearing date draws near. It is perhaps a bit of a tough situation to comprehend seeing how my friend is the father parent. 

Traditionally, the physical raising of the child rests on the shoulders of the mother. She is expected to give up whatever she can afford to, to ensure the child is properly taken care of. Yet, traditions are changing. More and more fathers are stepping up to play their role. Doing everything within their powers and abilities to be the best parental figure possible.

I must say, I am somewhat prejudice against this changing tradition. Perhaps, I defend my stand simply because I have known fathers who have been nothing but selfish and irresponsible. And I know I must change my perspective soon enough.

After all, as my circle of friends change, I am presented with an increasingly evident set of dads who are far more capable of taking care of their own than most mums I know. 

And it is in them that hope remains.

These few good men.

Lessons from Beyond

I’ve never been one good at receiving compliments of any kind graciously. Somehow, when pointed out, the things I do don’t seem extraordinary in my eyes.

Earlier this week, a 3^rd party commented through my friend how amazing a parent I am when Mandy recounted something Lydia remarked last week. Something about feeling bad cos she’s the only one going to a school that was a fee paying one. And that she had said it was alright if she didn’t go to her school just so I wouldn't have to put aside huge amounts of money for her schooling.

Of course I am almost amazed by how Lydia and Luke are. But never once have I credited it to me. And what was said over the end of the week – bout Little Nyonya being Lydia’s fave show and her having a maturity and how I have done well in that respect – made me seriously sit down and think if perhaps there is some truth to what everyone says.

At the core of upbringing, the most important thing one can ever impart, I feel, is a sense of respect. Instill that in anyone and everything else will fall into place. But how does one teach respect? For if we force it upon them without any understanding, then it is only but a mere watershed ~ it will not last when they form their own way of life. Yet, I believe that if we lead by example, coupled with explanation and rationalization, then yes it will stick, and not just stick for the now, but for life.

And so I do it my way – a vast difference from the culture and environment that I myself was brought up in. Many have doubted if my way would work. My best friends shell me for telling my kids that we cannot buy a particular toy or eat at a certain place cos we have to be careful with our finances. My parents want to kick my butt when I send the kids to a corner or make them wait out their dinner when they misbehave. My aunt wants to take a cane to my behind when she learnt that I have Luke earning his way around the house for a toy (needless to say, she went and bought it for him when I wasn’t around!)

But people can say whatever they want cos I have validation that my way works. Not just in the comments I get about the two but because I know one such person who has benefitted from quite possibly a somewhat similar upbringing. A person who is kind-hearted, intelligent yet humble, focused and successful, and of course, adores his mum!

They say the best way to learn is to go to the source. Unfortunately, in this instance it would be rather impossible and frankly, quite eerie to think that I could actually go to the source :o)

I believe that children are our one and only legacy. Not some business we leave behind, the bungalow on by the beach, or the many kind acts that we did in our lifetime. For those are transient – existing only when we exist. But if they continue, under the banner of one’s off-springs, then that would be the ultimate legacy.

So there you go – yes, Lydia and Luke are great kids. The best as they can come. But how much they have grown emotionally and mentally in the last year and months is really not all credit to me. If you have ever wondered why I offer Masses for a particular lady whom I have never met – it would be precisely for the parenting lessons she imparts from the great beyond – through her son.

While it may have sounded strange to any of you who heard - He talks to his dead mother - you must admit. If you had a child and after you've gone, you would want your child to still felt that bond you shared. You'd be damn proud if that happened, and not wonder if he was losing his marbles.

So there you go. Why I do not think it strange. For this lady, whatever she looks like, how she was, etc etc etc - I know this for a fact - she left one heck of a legacy, despite all the odds she had to overcome. 

If I can achieve one-half of what she did, I would be damn proud of myself! 

Perhaps only then would I graciously accept all glowing remarks about how beautiful human beings my kids are.

Unk-ka

One of the things I have learnt about being an adult and a parent is the importance of keeping to one's word. Try breaking your promise to a child and you'll never live it down.

We've just come back from afternoon tea with the children's uncle (so very tempted to say long-lost but heck - water under the whatever!). And I was most surprised when he messaged last night to set up the meeting. Surprised because it was one thing to had wanted to take us to lunch two weeks back, but weeks on, it's not something I would expect him to honour.

Perhaps this low level of expectation stems from my personal low level of obligations ~ I never hold anyone to their word in this sort of instances for often it was said without being thought through and thus may be just the polite thing to merely say and not do.

Perhaps it is because his brother never kept to any of his promises way back then. And so, the thought of a common value system comes into play.

He's just made plans for the kids to catch up with him again next week, and later in the month for some outing when their blood cousins come down from Penang for their hols. 

Do I do expect him to follow through on these? Yes, I do. For he's always been the better son and adult. And if he has been diligently going back to Penang every fortnight to see his kids, I know for a fact that he's knows the meaning and value of making and keeping promises to children.

And people like that in Lydia's and Luke's life are far and few. Which is why, there is no doubt at all that I will allow them to continue to catch up with him, their Uncle.

A Fresh Chapter

ob⋅li⋅ga⋅tion ~ noun

1. Something by which a person is bound or obliged to do certain things, and which arises out of a sense of duty or results from custom, law, etc.
2. Something that is done or is to be done for such reasons
3. A binding promise, contract, sense of duty, etc.
4. The act of binding or obliging oneself by a promise, contract, etc.
5. A debt of gratitude

One of the things that has changed about life as I know it (even though technically, there should not be any changes!!) is the reconnection of old ties. Ties that got severed when bridges burnt down. Ties that extend from my own self to Lydia and Luke. And for the better part, the tale of reconnection is not mine. It is theirs.

We begin life with few obligations. We pledge allegiance to the flag. We swear to return our library books.

For all their lives, when one mentions 'grandparents', these two only know of my mum and dad. They are the ones they see, day in, day out. They are the ones who nurse them when they are ill, dance with joy when they get great exam scores and beam with pride at each and every school function.

They have always known they have another set of grandparents somewhere out there, but it has never been a subject of discussion due to some persona non grata thingy. This other set are virtual strangers to my kids.

But as we get older we take vows, make promises, get burden by commitments, to do no harm, to tell the truth and nothing but, to love, to cherish till death do us part.

Tonight they will meet them, in person, technically for the first time. And both sides are nervous as hell, with me stuck in between. 

Luke and Lydia both have questions - plenty. Where have they been? What are their names? Do they know who we are? And my folks and I have been trying our level best to prepare them for the meeting ~ yes, these sort of meetings cannot be left to chance so some preparation needs to be done and out of the way first.

I have given them a rough physical description. Have told them the language barrier challenge. And the very high likelihood of how they might want to "hold your hand, touch your face, give you a bear hug" because they are a reminder of what is now gone.

So we just keep running up the tab 'til we owe everything to everybody and suddenly ... what the.

I also know that the unsaid behind this first step is that I am effectively casting my children into a different set of cultural shoes. From now on, Luke is the eldest grandchild. If we were royalties, he would now be the first in line. And with that, in our culture would come certain responsibilities that would need fulfilling when the time comes.

I also know the old folks would not ask this of me but I could not possibly be so callous as to always leave the offering to come from their end. I would have to occasionally consider doing a road-trip with the kids so they "go home" instead.

And I am wondering if this would keep up.

So we do what any sane person would do. We run like hell from our promises, hoping they'll be forgotten. But sooner or later, they always catch up. 

Regardless of what happens from here on out, it would have to be something I factor into my life, our lives. But as with everything else that I have done in the last 4 days, I'm not dreading it. In fact, I am pleased that the children would get to know a different side of their life.

After all... sooner or later, this would all have had to take place anyways.

And sometimes you find the obligation you dread the most isn't worth running from at all.

How's That Charlie Brown?

The dictionary defines grief as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.

For 2 days, friends, colleagues and cousins have asked me if I am okay. For a spell, I wondered “Why?” What is the rationale or reason for asking? Is there any reason why I should not be? Is it not all water under the whatever now? After all, it has been years and it’s not as if I do not still know how to love or be happy. So why? Why should I not be alright? Why do I need to grieve? WHAT IS THERE to grieve about?

There are five stages of grief. They look different on all of us, but there are always five.

Ben told me to keep the head’s up – that all this sudden rush of mention would find a way to duck me when I least expect it. I silently laughed at his text. And coolly told him that I was only going to go say my peace, for the last time and then be done with it.

Grief may be a thing we all have in common, but it looks different on everyone.

But because he is my Jiminy Cricket, and because he has been in his way, preparing me to accept death as part and parcel of life and living, he also saw all the demons I have been keeping at bay, toying with them in lil bits and then saying I’m done.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

In many ways, my mourning started years ago. And if this finality is anything to go by, it sees me moving into the last of it. A calm acceptance of how things had turned out, that I had given it my all, have been giving it my all. Perhaps I could have done a little bit more but there’s nothing I can do about it now. And all said and done, we’ve done well for ourselves in the end, in our own way.

But what I did wrong was imprint onto my children that they too should feel and think the same way I do. I did the whole gung-ho thing on their behalf when Ben said it was sad, to think that Lydia and Luke now shared the category of having lost a parent, by telling Ben they never had him anyways.

It isn’t just death we have to grieve. It’s life. It’s loss. It’s change.

I should have seen it coming when Luke, age 6, solemnly told me that my analogy of his father-and-son relationship is akin to Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker (complete with the ‘Luke I am your father’ saying) WAS NOT FUNNY AT ALL. I guess in a way I did, as did my brother who was in the vicinity. But I brushed it off as Luke having one of his moments and not understanding or appreciating Star Wars.

Lydia had her complete meltdown at night prayers, with her legendary heart-wrenching sobs with a smeared howl of “I can never say goodbye to him anymore.” And of asking if she could see him one last time.

My brave lil soldiers kept it all in, in my presence until their little hearts could hold it no more.

The very worst part is that the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again. And always, every time, it takes your breath away.

Sitting down in my folks’ front porch this evening, they wanted to know everything. What does he look like now? Who is there at his memorial? What is he wearing? Did I take a photo of him in the coffin? Why did his heart stop beating? Why did he go away? And... Did he love them?

Grief comes in its own time for everyone, in its own way. So the best we can do, the best anyone can do, is try for honesty. 

I did not want these two youngsters to think they were not loved, or they were at fault. And so I forced myself to remember all the good times, all the good things. But they were slow in coming, because I didn’t want them to. Cos to remember the good times would only bring me to my feet and wept for a life past.

The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief is that you can't control it. The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes. And let it go when we can.

But I know that whatever I said this evening will come back again and again ~ kids being kids, what they do not understand or comprehend, they do not retain. And so I had to do it. I had to dig out everything from the box double, triple sealed and go through everything that was once life as I knew it.

And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes, has to hurt so bad. The thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime. That's how you stay alive.

So yes, I am grieving tonight.

Grieving for a life lost not quite so old.

Grieving how he will never see any of his children step up to receive their scroll, don a white dress and veil, giving him their hand to walk down the aisle, stand at the altar beaming as his would-be daughter-in-law come up to them.

Grieving how Lydia and Luke would never have the chance to say “You are my father and I am your son, daughter.”

Grieving for how I would never be able to say again “You can see them if you wanted to.”

When it hurts so much you can't breathe, that's how you survive.

I can smile now. Not a false bravado smile. I can live with the far-fetch thought that if Lydia wanted to put one of the framed pictures out by her bedside, I would not avoid going into her room.

By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly, you won't feel this way.

I have been here before. And I came out of it.

It won't hurt this much.

The three of us will be alright.

3 Musketeers

I sat and waiting in anticipation in the midst of a frenzied crowd.. just one name and when it was called, I had to do all I can do stop the tears from flowing. Luke Rayson was named in part by a man who was so proud he wanted everyone to know whose son Luke was. And when that name was called, an unfamiliar emotion ran through my being like a flash of electricity ~ where was this man that Luke was named after?

Then I looked across and up at the stage, as a young boy, walking tall and erect, face full of solemity and promise stepped forward to shake his Head Teacher's hand. And it didn't really matter where this said man was, cos in that child, it was me.

He had a mortar board a size too big, but yet, he never moved from his position to push it out from his brow. He did not fidget nor did he fuss. And that again told me, he is my boy.

There was nothing I wanted more than anything to have them do at this young stage, the moving of the mortar tassle - there is something very profound in the act of having the tassle being moved from one side to the other, as a symbolic act of a change. While it is a small, tiny change - going from pre-school to proper school, something tells me, with Luke, it would be so much more than that.

So yes, I am feeling a wee bit melancholic and old today.. my youngest has finished pre-school.. my eldest is actually making diary entries in the way we did when we were 12 or 13 .. another decade, before my 45th birthday, I'd be standing at some Departure Terminal, sending her off on her way to college or university...

  

Time flies. We're months away from 2010 and the future still uncertain but awaits us. And while for now it's the 3 Musketeers, I must start readying myself that soon it would be just two and then just me. But I look forward to it without a pang of sadness - cos if what they say about being parent is true - I have 2 fine persons to carry on my legacy, that I am very sure!

Learning

Ah the weekend has come and gone. Gratefully, this silly thing I call my body decided only to start defying orders to "Don't fall sick now" only on Sunday evening - which meant that I had a grand weekend with Lydia and Luke.

I'm trying to get them to move away from picture books to word-based books. It's an up-hill climb I tell ya but if it works then Yeay and Hooray for me! As I cuddled up with my latest book, Bone China on the carpet, Luke had his new set of Winnie-The-Pooh books (bought for only RM 24.90 from Bookxcess!!) and Lydia her High School Musical series.

As it was 9/11 weekend, the telly was also full of documentaries and war-type movies. We caught the commemoration ceremony on CNN on Friday, following it with Black Hawk Down.

But yesterday, we took it a step further. For there was a documentary on the History Channel entitled: 102 minutes that changed America. It of course came with a viewer discretion warning which I in-turn relayed it on to Lydia and Luke. Lydia decided it would give her nightmares. So did Luke actually, but he was too intrigued by what he saw on Friday night, he decided to risk it.

Now, it may not have been have graphic as the movie World Trace Centre and of course, 8 years on, we have seen the slamming and dust-cloud images too many times to experience an acute sense of despair and pain. But to a 6 year old, who was trying to remember where he was when it happened (most likely in heaven as an angel still was his answer) - it was quite a gripping afternoon.

Okay - I may be chastised for allowing Luke to see something such as this. I had doubts myself. But knowing him, he would be bugged not knowing the whos, the whys, the hows, etc so it was a risk worth taking.

Did he actually understand any of the 102 minutes? I'm pretty sure he did. Will he remember it? I'm also pretty sure he would. Simply because at the end of the show, as the 2nd tower fell, he snuggled up to me on the couch and said "Mummy, I'm feeling sad. Sad because a bad man did all this and killed so many people. And because of that, so many people are fighting wars now."

I hope that he remembers that documentary, that moment and that feeling. Because if he does, I know my son would never then be able to find it in him to do damage - to the world around him.

And I hope I remember that documentary, that moment and those words. Because if I do, I know I would always fight to be child-like in my thinking.

On Her Way

A lot of my friends have been telling me that I should not underestimate just how much Lydia understand about the way things are around her. I guess it's not so much that I did not believe them, but rather, I was more concerned that if she did understand her family structure, it would tell me more than I am able to handle right now.

Me and a couple of my closest persons have been very worried and distraught each time she has one of her meltdowns. Her latest told me that it wasn't so much the departure of person(s) in her life that is high on her list - but rather the fact of not having 'one' when all her friends do.

I've been speaking on mail with a colleague who is a retired psychologist with grown children of his own. His wife and him have very kindly been sharing their time with me on comforting emails, filled with gems of their experiences - professional and personal, in a grandparently manner. And their advise was simply this: 

1. It was alright to talk it out. It was NOT alright to sweep it under the carpet.
2. It was alright to not know what to say at times as a parent. It was NOT alright to pretend I knew everything and fib about it just to make the story flow.

So that's what I've been doing. Not pretending that her crying didn't upset me. Not pretending that she was in a normal family structure. Not pretending that her concerns were not real. And it appears to be working.

This weekend, Lydia brought a form home from Sunday School - it's the same form that I've been completing for her the past 3 years since she started. Today, the form was different - the was a 'dash' in the space marked "Father's Details." As she gave it to me with the instructions to fill up the rest, she casually added what she had done, following it with "because he's not coming back."

As simple as that. No fuss. No hysterics. No mama-dramas of any sort.

And yesterday, she asked if her dad and I had "broken up." Caught off-guard with a head full of shampoo, I uttered a miserably soft "yes" with a much louder "Where did you learn that phrase from?!" She decided not to answer me but instead tell me that it was alright - people get over it and meet over people. Ah life according to Hannah Montana, Jonas Brothers and High School Musical. 

Once upon a time, I did not think that my girl and I would reach a point where we could brooch this subject in this slightly non-chalant manner. But we're there.

I guess, the hopes of Gilmore Girls can still be hung on to. After all, as Mandy says - Rory and Lorelai always comes back stronger than before.

Wonder Boy

Luke shocks me to no end with his thinking process.

His latest - to buy loads of oranges, cook them down and sell orange syrup for cordials (he's taken a liking to orange squash drinks lately.)

It's not so much how he is thinking of ideas on making extra monies that blows me away... it's his implementation process thought out that is causing this jaw to drop.

He reckons we can sell them at the junction corner to my mum's house - there's always a traffic jam there and people can buy stuff while they wait for the lanes to move.

And he reckons that he could sell them at the following prices:

1) 1 bottle = RM 15.00

2) 2 bottles = RM 20.00

3) 3 bottles = RM 25.00

Packaging it on the principles of economies of scale? From a 6 year old? Hell - I know some adults who would go blink blink blink when I even mention this principle!

My son - the wonder boy!

Earth Calling Angels

I have always pondered on the wisdom that couples, in a failed relationship, hold on to ~ keeping up a farce of a marriage when clearly neither is happy. I have always felt that it would be far better for both to part ways, give life a second (or third or fourth or n-th) chance to get it right. 

Spen/S$~rKC time waiting

for that second chance

for a break that would make it okay

there's always some reason

to feel not good enough

and it's hard at the end of the day

Some have mentioned that they stayed together for the sake of the children. And as a parent myself, my argument has always been - Don't you think the children has eyes to see what's happening, and ear to hear it as well?

Yet, the last few days have made me re-think my position on this whole issue from a completely different perspective. A re-thinking process that has been shared only with a few, trying to find perspective on an old issue; an issue that I wish I could leave as sleeping dogs lie. But as BFF Mandy says: it never ends.

I need some distraction

oh a beautiful release

memory seeps from my veins

let me be empty

oh and weightless and maybe

I'll find some peace tonight

And I don't think it would end anytime soon. Despite some well-meaning advice from experience to give a time-frame as to when "all would be revealed", I know this child. She, like her mother, would not have the inner patience nor peace to wait till she's 21 (tho I think in this day and age, 16 would be more like it!) 

So tired of the straight line

and everywhere you turn

there's vultures and thieves at your back

the storm keeps on twisting

you keep on building the lies

that you make up for all that you lack

In all honesty, if I thought I could find all the right words, string them in the correct sequence, with its appropriate punctuations, that if I did all that and she at 8 would understand, I would not wait another 8 years. Cos there is nothing worse than a mother walking on egg-shells with her child. 

It don't make no difference

escaping one last time

it's easier to believe 

in this sweet madness oh

this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees

But what else is there to do ~ When some distant memory creeps its way to the forefront of her mind, giving her snippets of conversations, quick stills of images from a time now gone? When her surroundings get the better of her carefully created sanctuary, bringing her (and me) to her knees, wanting to know why is it that everyone else has one, but she doesn't? When a normal Friday movie night ends in shreds, simply cos you picked the wrong movie (Mama Mia!) and under-estimated the power of a song (Winner takes it all) that has moved adults to tears, to not affect a child?

I suppose those who have or are living in my blatant and harsh categorisation of a farce of a marriage have more foresight than me. Cos for a child, regardless of how dsyfunctional it may be, it is far better a position to be in, than to have none.

I never thought I can say this: if I had known that this tale would not come to its own end, many years later, I would have gritted my teeth, swallowed all the emotional poison and just put up with it all, come hell and sunder. Never mind that I would probably feel like crap everyday for the rest of my life, so long as my doh-doh feels that her world is right, and at peace. I would have sucked it all up.

But I cannot turn back time. And I know that this caving in of regrets is only cos I am at my wits end and the 'end' is the truth, for I am drafting an email to a colleague in Ireland who happens to be a retired psychiatrist, asking for professional advice.

If I believed firmly in angels, I would call upon her Guardian Angel - to nurture, counsel and heal... I would call upon the Virtues - to bring the answers she and I both seek in words of love... and I would call upon the Seraphims - to bask her in the illuminating light and love of the Almighty.

For Lydia is aching and slowly breaking, despite all the nets that we have weaved around her and there is nothing more in my power that I can do except to hold her as her tears gush forth but to deliver her to the angels.. so that she may find some comfort there...

In the arms of the angel

fly away from here

from this dark cold hotel room

and the endlessness that you fear

You are pulled from the wreckage

of your silent reverie

you're in the arms of the angel

may you find some comfort here

Ma on Sticks

Me mam had a slip yesterday morning and landed on one bended knee. Now touching 58, that is not something one wants to be doing. It has a very high possibility of making bones break. Which is what has happened in her case.

I only managed to get round to seeing her in the hospital today cos of the fears of the flu virus going abouts and having the kids home for the weekend. And as much as I told myself - I've worked in a hospital, I've been admitted into hospitals, I've visited hospitals; none of them prepared them for the sight of seeing mum in a threadbare hospital gown and hobbling about.

The kids made a video on my phone for me to show to her cos they have been banned (by mum no less!) to go visit. And they also demanded I take one of her for them in return.

As I told Ben last night, my mum - these days, her 6 grandkids are who she lives for, and in particular to a grand extent, my two. She has helped me nurse Lydia and Luke from the day they were born. And even at 58 with creaky joints, she still carried out her role as grandchild bather for the 1st month with our newest member Gabriel.

It all rang true as I watched her watching the video, fighting back tears as her "doh-doh" and "lukey" said their hellos and I-love-yous.. and recording one back in return for them, I realised that mum may still look the same as she did 10 years ago, but mum in truth, is not quite the same anymore.

For the last few years, I inadvertently started a personal pre-birthday tradition of pondering if mum is proud of me, and all that I have achieved. This is something that she does not know about cos it's never been spoken of. Kissing her good night before leaving her with a room full of strange-bed-fellows, I asked myself: Why have I never ever asked her in person?

It's not a major surgery, this fixing of a patellar fracture. And while she is not resting in the comforts of a 5-star private hospital, I am confident that she is in good hands (half of the surgeons are Irish graduates!). And hey, when she gets round to eating hospital grub again, I'm not too worried that it'll be congealing gunk ~ afterall, if they are sending food around in a RM 75,000 Burlodge trolley - it'll at least come to her at the right temperature. (And if I find that it is not, words will be said at the Customer Service desk for sure!!)

Nonetheless, thinking ahead of how a bed's gotta be fixed up for her in the living room, the navigating of tight corners just to get to the bathroom, the weeks of watching the rest of us run the house (which is her domain), I am pretty sure this experience is gonna change mum somewhat.

A year ago, when I decided to take her back down south for her birthday weekend, it was referred to as Barbsie doing the adult thing. Never did I reckon that a year later, just as I was wondering what to get her for her birthday, that the best gift I can give her would be ACTUALLY doing the adult thing.

We often forget the nights that our folks stay up to nurse us when we were wee lil rugrats. And it's sad in my case, to see my ma on sticks to be reminded of the times she has held my hand as my temp rose beyond belief.

Regardless of the hospital policy in place, I am hell bent to do whatever necessary to make sure that this time round, when ma opens her eyes post-op, I'm there holding her hand and giving her water or whatever else it is she wants.

As I was duly warned last night - it's gonna be painful personally to see her wince in pain. But I would be always appreciative of the fact that I was able to walk it thru with her.

If I have one wish this year, I will spend it wishing that I will never grow so callous as to never have time to do the lil things that matter, such as making time, effort and energy when it counts and for the people who count.

Turnip Thoughts

I am exhausted. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. And today was not a good day to be in such a state.

A former colleague who specialised in Neuro-linguistic Programming had this idea that a person's state does not normally last beyond minutes. I have defied the law of NLP perhaps then today. And it has drained me just as a machine drains a stem of sugar cane.

Mandy said I really shouldn't be in this state. We had always known that said bastard of the year (pardon the French but as you can see, there is still residue rage going on) was my rubbish. And she is right.

Last night, before I closed my eyes, I whispered something to the wind and in it there was the thought that whatever it was I had stated, is not meant to change anything for it has always been the way it was from a certain point in time.

And if I applied the same to this scenario, whatever new 'knowledge' that I have now in my possession coming 24 hours, really shouldn't change anything as well. Lydia, Luke and I, though not rich, have been doing alright. 

They may not have had that trip to Disneyland they have been hankering for the last 2 years, but they have food on their plate, clothes on their back, roof over their heads and a bed to lie in on at night. And I - I have not appeared as tomorrow's headlines for abuse, fraud or as a puddle on the ground floor of some high-rise.

Perhaps I am just sad. Sad that my children were not wanted. And indignant that they have been denied whatever is owed to them.

But I'm going to give myself to the end of this blog to feel that way on their behalf, for when I saw them this evening - they were not sad nor indignant. Their world turned as it usually does today, like any other day. So why should I carry this weight around me any more for my life?

I have done enough. Enough with that entire episode. I had once drawn to the tip of my tongue a retort that if I thought, really thought and believed that by dying myself, right now, could go back and undo all the wrong decisions I had made back then, I would do it. But no, I don't really think that way, nor believe it to be true.

And so, I shall take the advice of Paulo Coelho:

Welcome and live sadness intensively for a determined amount of period.

Be completely submersed in this feeling.

Once you’ve let sadness pay you a visit, 

then kindly ask it to leave. 

Sadness is then satisfied and leaves.

Sadness, I have welcomed and embraced you today. I allowed you to follow me around like a shadow everywhere. It was a fruitful day and I hope you had a blast of a time. But the sun has set and the moon has risen. In hours, a new day will begin, and I would like it to be my own. With that, I am asking you politely to leave me now.

Thank you.

Being Mumsy

Every once in a while, it's good to be have reminders of why we do the things we do... This is mine!

Decision Making

"I think the call's yours to make. Want what's best for her."

We make decisions all day long, every day of our lives from the time we are able to conceive a thought and form an opinion. Some of them as trivial as what we would wear for the day, and other bearing more consequences such as a change of job or the mate we'll wake up to for the rest of our lives. 

Turn left. No - turn right. No - go straight. No, no, no - make a u-turn.

Some are made in the shower, others made glancing across green meadows. Some just come to us with a light bulb *ding* Some, after many cups of caffeine, sticks of nicotine and lots of counsel.

The blue. Definitely the blue. But wait - maybe the yellow would be better. Yes, the yellow. Hmm, tho I haven't worn the pink in a while.

I have made quite the many decisions in my years of living but the one I face today is one of the hardests I have to make by far. 

Hardest cos it would impact not my life, but that of my child and I have already made one too many mistakes on her behalf that have proven to be nothing but detrimental to her emotional growth.

Hardest cos it is one I have to make on my own. Sure I have been thinking "Who can I turn to?" that can show me the way, the right path to take. But then again, deep down, no one would be willing to assume that kind of risk. And I loathe to place any of my friends in that position.

Many years ago, I was all gung-ho and optimistic that this so called blended-family thingy is not a myth that exists only in highly liberal societies of America and Europe. I was all so determined to bull my way through the wisdoms of my elders and prove them wrong. I was all ready to be the new age mum who will bring up new age kids of the new millenium.

I read somewhere on the Net yesterday the musings of a young girl who said "A father is one who makes babies, but a daddy is one who takes care of you." And in that line, lies the answer to my question of "What should I do?" For taking care of a child, no matter what age,  requires a world with no boundaries or limitations. It cannot be done at your own adult leisure or convenience.

One of my favourite sayings in life has been this: In life, the moment of absolute certainty never arises. And today it cannot ring more true. For today, I stand in tatters, bits of hair torn out and clutched in my fists, veering from left to right, and then to left again. I wish that I had a magic crystal ball that would allow me to peer into the future, so that I know despite the pain that she goes thru now, she would turn out alright. Despite how she might be filled with hurt now, she would learn not to shut the door to her heart completely.

They say parenthood is never an easy task. I bet them who said it never had to decide to tear their child away from one they loved, even if it was for the best.