I am that Wife

I am that Wife…



2012 Thailand

The jungle trek was proving to be a bit frustrating for Sam.

Sam being the elephant who was taking them deep into the jungle’s of Chaing Mai. His master had already told them that Sam was upset with them. As he went onto explain why, Sam’s trunk again extended over his head in desperate search for the banana treats that most rides provide. Fleur and Saul’s hands were unfortunately empty.

They had forgotten or rather hadn’t realised they should have bought those 40bht bananas as they mounted their safari cage. Fleur’s mind was racing, this was their wedding day, here in the jungle, on an elephant dressed in a white embroidered cotton caftan and matching white fisherman’s pants, Saul was in matching gear, minus the embroidery. How did they get here?

2010 Australia

‘If I was to ask you to marry me what would you say?” said Saul over his shoulder as he was packing the final bags into their new home. Fleur looked at him, wriggled her nose, this was the 6th time he had spoken like this, and she knew better than to fall for his set-ups. The first time he asked Fleur was outside a Domino’s pizza joint waiting for their Tuesday cheap date deals. ‘So, what would you say if I asked you to marry me’? She recalled her reaction, wide opened eyes, a light blush; she was in no way ready for that. Before she could answer he laughed it off, ‘Just kidding, wow you should have seen your face! By the 6th time, she wasn’t falling for it.

2012 Thailand

And yet here they were, in Thailand, on an elephant, 1000’s of miles away from Australia, family and friends. As the trek continued along and Sam’s trunk eagerly awaited the possibility of a miracle from their cage Fleur looked out to the mountains. Something bright was shining and then it disappeared. ‘No way’, she whispered under her breath…she glanced again. ‘Saul, do you see that’, she touched his wedding whites and pointed to the hills. There thru the trees was a cross. Saul tapped the Masters shoulder and asked for their ride to steady them closer to that mark.

The trek thru was easy; a tribe was set at the foot of the cross-called the Aka’s tribe, the long necks. The tribe lived in huts with dirt floors and hammocks, bare in it’s form but with all the needed necessities. As they walked thru they saw a church at the end of the town. Saint Nicholas was the chapel and Fleur and Saul were still a bit in shock as they entered the Catholic Church.

A pastor was passed out at the base of the altar, ‘Perfect’, said Saul, ‘We have our witness.’

They were both so bewildered by the day’s events; this was not at all what they had been expecting. They set about setting up the camera to take self-shots, when a German family walked in. A young son with his parents, the boy looked to Fleur and Saul and asked if his family was interrupting a wedding. Fleur and Saul just looked at each other and said, ‘Well yes and no, a wedding yes but you are not interrupting. The young boy offered to take the photos and with that in agreeance the couple went about composing them selves for their hand written vows.

2010 Australia

She had just finished her morning shift of clients and was packing for their first weekend away as a couple. Both sets of children were with their respective ex’s and Saul had organized for a weekend away. He wasn’t giving anything away, all he said to Fleur was ‘just pack for anything’.

He had also handed her his book, the very book he had started writing 2 years ago and was now on the market. ‘I need you to read this, it’s about me and maybe if you think I am too much for you hopefully by after this weekend we should know where we stand with each other.

That was last night and after her packing she had a few hours before he was to come pick her up. Fleur opened the first page and set about getting to know the man behind the writer.

2012 Australia

Excuse me miss can I get you to stand to the side. It was midnight; Fleur, Saul and Cupid were standing at the border patrol waiting to go thru. Saul had gone first and they had spoken of this the night before. Once he goes thru passport he can’t come back thru. As frightening as that possibility was Fleur knew there was no other way around it.

The past week had been a blur. From the moment she had seen the Fb message from her sister to the nightmare that had unfolded in front of her. She couldn’t get a hold of any of her children, she was being accused of murder and drug smuggling. The arrival into Brisbane had been with much fear, She had been threatened with jail upon her arrival back into the country. Threatened with her children never having contact with her and all this on top of a horrible suicide. In the days leading up to finding Cupid she had only been able to see him under watch at his school. The whole school she was to find out later had been put on lockdown just at the sheer mention of Fleur and Saul arriving into the country.

From there she was able to organise a visit with Cupid her youngest. And from there everything just went faster. Cupid was in shock, he had just lost his Dad and was now telling his Mother that he was sent to the police station to write a statement to not have anything to do with her.

‘Enough, enough!, Fleur closed her eyes and started to breathe slowly and calm herself. Action was required. Fear was not an option. How this all happened was irrelevant what was needed was reasoning and distance.

So she did what every Mother would do to protect her young, she kept her son. He agreed. The days that followed were nothing short of a nightmare, screams of threats from family, cries from her daughter pleading with her not to break the children up. Heart wrenching, as that was Fleur knew her In-laws were wrong. And they had intimidated her long enough.

She called Saul, told her her plan and he quietly said, ‘I got your back baby.’ Thank you she whispered as she put down the phone and looked at Cupid, ‘Are you sure about this’…Yes Mom, I want to do this.

2010 Australia

She could hear him pull up in the driveway. ‘You ready baby’

Fleur looked up over his book and smiled. ‘Well’, she said, this could be a very interesting weekend’. She had just finished the last page of his first book, Fighting Your Demons, Denny Denholm.

2012 Australia

As the situation was unfolding to Fleur and police officers were now heading towards her and Cupid, she started to crumble. Cupid was crying in her shoulder and tears were running down her face. Saul had already gone thru, she was on her own.

As another police officer was walking towards her and Cupid, he stopped suddenly and headed to the direction that Saul had just been thru. Actually now she realized all the officers were leaving her side as a seen was starting to unfold. All she could see was a man’s arm with a passport coming back thru, it was Saul.

‘I won’t leave you Fleur, I am your family’.

I am married to a hero, I am that wife, I am that rebel who took action, I am that survivor who said no to fear, I am that Pirate who used the broken rules in her favour, I am that victim who stood up and said NO. I am that Mother who would do anything for her kids…. even letting them go. I am Fighting my Demons…and I have been given the strength to do so.


I am that Chick

I am that Chick…

He was late, their first ‘coffee date’.

As Fleur started to close the studio and put the possibility of morning coffee on the back burner, she started to recall who he was.

They had met two years before, Fleur had needed to update her qualifications as her studio was busy and she was looking to increase her knowledge for her clients. He had been at that same course, and he was late then too, she remembered.

The thought of their conversations from that weekend two years before had started to flood back. He had just returned from War and he spoke of the other War he was now in …divorce. He spoke of his little boy and the love for him and his fight to be in his life. He also spoke of his love of writing and how he had been in the process of starting a book.

I am that chick from the course.jpgShe remembered he was funny, engaging and he spoke of finally enjoying his life and all the ladies that came with that. She remembered thinking then what a great friend to have met and they parted ways and that was that.

Fast forward two years, Fleur was in exactly the same War he had spoken of all those years ago.

And so that is how Fleur ended up here in her studio, recleaning the same floor pretending she wasn’t all that fussed if he was a no show. After all it was silly to be waiting for this man she couldn’t quite place.

As she turned off the lights at eleven past eleven, the studio door opened…She remembered him, he was that guy from the course.

I am that Chick from the course

I am that Raw

I am that Raw11146517_10153262897352456_4094010243376757395_n.jpg

They had arrived on the island from Dubai, all fresh and worldly, corporate and clean shaven. The island that they were to make their home was world’s away from that, it was in fact the exact opposite, motorbikes and bikinis, sun downers every afternoon, earthly and free of all societal traps.

It took awhile for Fleur to settle in, she had been a white picket wife for years and this new freedom was intimidating. As an artist she could see potential, but how to incorporate art onto an island of hardened divers and DJ followers. Saul needed to write, he needed his space, as did she. Both were trying to decompress from the whirlwind of the oil business, Middle Eastern politics and of course family they had left behind.

Fleur was having trouble fitting in, her guilt and loss of her past were getting in the way of her relaxing and trying to understand the freedom of the islands minds and their blatant lack of wanting to know anything from the other world.

Saul asked her to go back to her roots, her art, and find some peace in that. He was agreeing with anything her mind would race to, to fill the empty spaces of her turmoil and so the day she told him of this great space she had found for her art studio, he gladly welcomed the distraction for their peace.

The space was above an already established bar, well known for it’s individuality and DJ presence, however it was a misfit for the island, in the fact it was an effort to get to. But for Fleur it was perfect, quiet, out of the way and perhaps peace of mind was waiting for her there. Her project firmly made on a handshake she set about trying to figure out how to build an art studio. Once the space had been cleared, a thought of setting a bar within the studio seemed like a good idea, and with the help of the local Burmese community, bottles were recycled, bamboo cut and cement was churned. A bar/ art studio was forming before their eyes.

But the other world was hurling towards them and their bliss of a new marriage, a start to a home and a new project was about to change course.

They had taken a month sabbatical to just get to know each other without the dramas of the past. A month travelling South East Asia, a marriage in the jungle and a Buddhist silent retreat meant their bubble had been preserved. Halfway during their retreat Fleur was feeling uneasy; she was instinctually feeling she needed to be back to base. They had been offline and not communicating with the world, for now what would be nearly one month. Saul felt the same unease and with that they packed their belongings and headed to the dock. The boat ride home was 45 minutes but to them both, it felt like an eternity. They arrived home to the island and their villa with trepid steps, each one with the feeling things are getting quite surreal.

Fleur was on the computer first, a message from overseas said it all…her sister wrote, “We don’t know if this is a joke or not, but your daughter has just written rest in peace Dad….”


Fleur looked to Saul, “Don’t unpack we need to get the children.

Within two days they were back in it, that world that they were so desperately not wanting to be apart of.

A month ensued and on the final day of court the judge layed down his gavel . He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes thoughtfully…he addressed Fleur ‘And what will you call this place you have created’, Fleur responded…Raw your honor, it is called The Raw…..

I am the creator of Raw





I am that home…

an excerpt from I am this Woman…I am that home.

They say home is where the heart is, but, to be honest, I have been struggling with that phrase all of my life…

I have had many dwellings, in many countries, each one has been unique and was the space necessary for that period.

I was born and raised in British Columbia, Canada. Brought into this world in a little town called Salmon Arm. Born to young parents who divorced by my first birthday, I then had required two spaces. My Mother’s and my Father’s….

I discovered that although these were where my parents lived, they hadn’t included me in their environments, not on any reliable level. Just as the little girl who went to her Dad’s for the summer or her Mother’s for the school year. I may not be to quick on the uptake sometimes, but it did eventually rock home to me that whenever I drove into my Father’s ranch, the names of all my brothers and stepmother were on a sign by the edge of the driveway. My name never made the list….even when my youngest brother (RIP) was born, his name was put on with additional chains and proudly presented. Lisa never made the cut.

Over the years I stacked up 13 schools, one of them was even for the mentally challenged and blind, to this day I can sign the alphabet…so all things considering I learnt from each experience. My Mother moved what seemed like every two years, for whatever her reasons were, I still to this day can’t say which place was my childhood home. But through that I became adaptable, needing to survive in any situation that came my way…I was always the new kid on the block.

My graduating year my Mother entered me in a beauty pageant… I won. Every weekend I was away, and I was cool with that, as that was exactly how my life was any way. Packed, in a bag, waiting to head out.

I moved to Australia by the age of 24 and started a family. This was a family home that had many lives in it. All of my children were brought up here, Christmas, Birthdays Primary school, and then the fire. A 13-year-old boy one night decided to randomly pick my kids’s home and light it a flame. …that burnt everything I had collected within those 15 years of calling it my ‘home’ to the ground in 7 minutes. Those pictures that I had collected of the kids, art, children’s toy’s and their pets…all gone .

So it got me to thinking as I roam the earth over the past four years as a person with No Fixed Abode. I have travelled 3 Continents, lived in 11 countries and seen more of airports than most do in a lifetime. This, by the way, is not a complaint in fact the very opposite.

‘My home has always been within me.’

I am that home….
On first foot into my home, you would enter into an environment quite sterile, clinical and verging on OCD cleanliness. Please don’t feel awkward that you are the first to see this, as once inside my home you might be shown more than just the front landing.

After a few more visits, my door will open a little wider and as I invite you in you will start to notice slight changes, some subtleties that on your first visit were not there. Maybe a hint of color catches your eye or the smell of my favorite fragrance or even something yummy cooking on the stovetop. Enter into my home and cast your eyes down my hallway, what once looked to you like a cold and long descent, slowly starts to fill with pictures and art that I made myself and proudly placed on my walls. As you entered into the first room you might have felt at a Doctor’s office but wait on a little longer and you will start to notice the collections of my travels and the knicknacks that meant enough to me to pack across the globe.

Oh, please don’t open that door. That room has been locked for awhile, in there is pain and it has been dealt with for now. My home has it all, a room for pain, for laughter, but especially for love. This is my home, and my home is my heart and so I decorate it accordingly. You might not like my layout; that’s ok you probably only got to the front door. For those that have seen the colour and embraced the atmosphere, I hope you enjoyed my hospitatlity because I wanted you to see my house.

I am that home where the hearts of the people I have loved and embraced along the way decorate my halls and fill the pantry with the song, wine and laughter…they are my home, and I am there’s…one needn’t always a roof or a hanging picture to prove that you are home when hearts touch hearts and eyes lock.

I am that home….

Miss Chase, 1986

I am that StepMom


….excerpt from I am this Woman

I am that StepMom

I met an Angel 8 years ago. He came bursting thru my studio behind his father with energy uncontained, bright eyes and mischief. He was the image of his Father. Beautiful brown eyes, dimples and a smile that could stop you in your tracks. He also had no fear; the boy could jump off anything, turn anything into a springboard and double flip on the spot.
As Angel grew he taught me things, things about myself that I thought I had already conquered and understood.
As our time together was to be filled with trials and tribulations, it was through him that he taught me forgiveness, loyalty and family.

As Angel grew, his life grew and within it came harsh realities based on lies, deceit and much anger. His confusion was where his loyalties should lie.
We received a call one evening while in Thailand from a friend who was very concerned for Angel. He felt he was falling into the wrong hands, those that he had defiantly tried to protect, were now the ones that imposed danger. A few phone calls, a one-way ticket and a short ferry ride, Angel arrived on our island in Thailand.

There was still many questions as to why he had returned to us and so quickly, but as Angel being the loyal creature he is, answers were limited, eyes were not met. And so he began his adventure. School became not a subject of sitting in a class room but one of diving, filming and learning to ride a motorbike. He was starting to relax; he was starting to trust again.
Days turned to weeks and before you knew it, a month had passed. Calls were made and his time with us was increased, you could physically see him start to unwind.One evening I had arranged for the three of us to have a Buddha blessing at our bar and decided to celebrate with fireworks later on at the beach.
As we threw the fireworks into the air, a moments hesitation was to change all of our lives forever. His Father had miscalculated, and from that one second of hesitation his hand was ripped apart. I screamed, then quickly swore more than 100 times with the same phrase,’F$@£’…
As the smoke settled and the ringing in our ears was easing, Angel walked up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘It will be ok’ he guided me to the bike, and I drove the three of us to the small clinic in hopes that they would be open.
His Father safely squeezed between us; we drove the steady pace back for help. All the while Angel was patting his Dad’s shoulder and whispering to him, ‘it will be ok Dad’. He was 14 at the time, but one would have said he spoke with the authority of a man way older than his time.
That moment changed our relationship forever. It was Angel and me, stepson to stepmom, friend to friend, we were shoulder to shoulder in this crisis. He never flinched once, even as his Father’s pain was so unbearable for him and we watched him deteriorate, Angel was calm, loyal and there till the end.
As his Father’s haze of pain and much-needed painkillers started to take their toll on our relationship, it was Angel who stood by my side. He was there for each Dr’s visit; laundry runs, gym sessions, food runs and a much-needed shoulder to rely on.
That explosion took us from Thailand to Scotland, where he was back to his roots. I watched this little boy become a young man who was learning that honesty was always the best policy even when the truth hurt.
Lies were uncovered, tears were shed, and the little boy grew into a man. He was now head of his school, had not only grown from this experience but had started to trust in his feelings towards me…his StepMom.
We didn’t want him to go back to Oz, but he felt he was ready. Nine months he was with us, the first time he and his Father were a real family and not just the weekend warriors. Everyone grew for the better, loved for the right reasons and trusted in our family values. His return to Oz was hard, but he wanted to prove how much he had changed. He had gone from the protector of dishonesty to the warrior of truth and wanted everyone to know it.
Our history is immense in our short time together, he is my stepson, he is my kid. We are a modern family and with it comes baggage. I am that Stepmom, who undoes that baggage and does the laundry. Cleans it up, packs it tidy and says welcome home, wherever we are, this is your home, and I am proud to have you as my own.

I am that Stepmom who knows what it is like to be a stepkid; I am that Rebel who won’t stand down to traditional ways, and I am that Pirate who welcomes castaways with an open heart on board my ship.

I am this Woman




an excerpt from..I am this Woman by LXO


I had Cupid in aisle nine at the grocery store. It was Valentines day, and he wasn’t due for another month. In full pregnant style, I dressed in a red and white striped jersey dress to show off my growing bump and headed to the local shop to appease my cravings with Valentine goody’s. As I headed down aisle 9 with my cake and ice cream, a weird and warm bloop dropped. Contractions happened almost immediately but now in shock I walked to the checkout to pay for my ice cream, I was worried it would melt!!

The cashier kept asking me to step outside; I found out later that was so they could help and not be sued. A phone was handed to me, people came from out of nowhere, and I was hemorrhaging so much now my red and white dress was now vibrant red from the waist down. By the time, I was at the hospital the blood was swishing on the floor, and I was ebbing out. I was in surgery for 2 hours to stop the blood and a clot the size of an orange was removed. So was my ability to have any more children. They had tied my tubes, a decision not without its weight but one that meant I would be around for my three kids rather than they are without a mother.

Right here one would declare, Ironic, life is full of them.

Cupid’s orginal name was SheKnows. I awoke to the tune of morphine and said husband informing me that he had already named our son. For the record we had never discussed SheKnows and it was on my first night home with my newborn that he had a terrible night, and all thru it I couldn’t bring myself to call his newly acquired name. The next day I walked into the registrar and changed his name to Cupid, the original name that we had decided on.

During the separation and the lead to my childrens father’s death, Cupid was taken from me three times. School holidays, a disappearance and search for him after his Dad’s death and then the final one from Thailand.

I am that Mother, who is watching her youngest son be taken as well. I am that Rebel, who refuses to be treated terribly by her children in the wake of all this madness. I am that Mother, who was told by her son that his Aunt was now more his mother.

A new word for empty is required because the battle has been so long that I need to protect myself, for I can’t afford to fall again. I am picking my battles, the war is just to big, to fierce and to long.

I am this woman saying enough is enough.

Hard choices and sad scenarios with each one interwoven with the other, overlapping like a scrapbook with too much glue. The lines on the pages have been blurred to the point I don’t even know where this one will end or if more glue will salvage it.

Cupid has been the glue for so long; I am not even sure how he has managed without now finally breaking. He lives with his brother and sister, the 3 of them stood in for each other, neither one able to face me or this pain. And because of this he is now tired, has lost who he is. Self-confidence shattered and the faith in his Mom gone.

At the ripe old age of 15, his words are in my head..This is so fucking sad Mom!

I am that Mother who now has stood down, who has been not asked, not needed and not wanted. Yet to look in from the outside, It can only be me who fixes them.

I am that Mother.

Sometimes that is not enough.



His father was adamant from the day we heard I was pregnant that I was going to be having a boy and his name was going to be Gracious.

Gracious arrived on the afternoon of August, my Father and stepMom had arrived only a week before from Canada and had come out for his birth specifically. I was handed a healthy, baby boy with the most amazing mop of ginger curl

Here we go
Here we go

y hair. To my surprise and the ward’s delight, they had discovered that he also had 2 front teeth, or milk teeth they called them in Australia. It is considered normal but very rare, the embodiment of Gracious. Normal but very rare.

Normal boy for sure, jumped on everything, turned everything into a sword or gun, climbed, swam, ran and had to be held down to get him to eat. He had no time for eating, grazing was Gracious’s preferred method of eating and one which was always a constant battle.

By the age of 2 he was stll so tiny I took him to the Doctor. I was concerned for his development, his high energy yet lack of eating. I was now 29 and my two children were everything. But having such a placid, calm little girl was playing havoc with my roles of this wild, flaming red haired freckled boy. I entered the Doctors office with two very different versions of me, a little boy who ran up to the Dr and started opening the drawers and climbing on the room bed and the little girl who quietly sat beside me and said nothing. Dr. O I said, please help me! I went on to describe the very different natures of each of my children. He listened patiently and then sat back in his chair. Lisa you know howWisdom is a girl? Yes Dr. of course, I am now leaning on the edge of my seat for his pearls of wisdom, guidance from the experts to show me the errors of my ways. “Well you know how Wisdom is a girl? At this stage I am pretty sure I understood it the first time he said it ( Must be my Canadian accent that he feels he has to repeat himself!) Well, Gracious is a boy.

Gracious is a boy! Thank you for that Captain obvious, umm sorry Dr.Obvious. And from that moment on I knew Gracious was going to be exactly what the nurses had said, he is normal but rare.

Gracious left my home one Sunday afternoon at the age of 14, he had been told he was a man by a faux councillor. She had said to him that if his Dad couldn’t be a man then he had to be the man. So he called his Dad, he did stand up and be accounted and really all he wanted was his Dad’s love. We all did, unfortunatley his Father just didn’t know how to be that man, or that Dad.

By the time Gracious was 17 he was burrying his Father. I wasn’t there, I was only told that it was Gracious who had saved his Father, had given him an extra few days in hospital. He did it, he proved he was that Man. It was only in court that I had a glance of my raven haired, son. He was so tall, at least 2 head taller than mine. I was so proud of him, who he had become and how he had to be there. Not many people have been in the situation of giving CPR to anyone let alone their parent.

He is 20 at the time of this writing, he has asked for no contact at all. I have heard he has suffered some depression and great loss, yet I have never been contacted to help. I am not needed. I heard he is an apprentice plumber and starting to feel good about himself.

I am that Mother who misses him.



..an excerpt from ‘I am this Woman.’
by LXO

I became a parent at the age of 25, Wisdom arrived too early for her little body to cope, and so thanks to modern technology and the dedication of some amazing Doctor’s in Australia, she spent the first two months of her life in ICU for premature babies. With a hole in her heart, collapsed lungs and the will of the Gods, she survived. Her body was so tiny she could fit into the palm of my hand. There wasn’t a place on her little body that didn’t have a tube or needle coming from it and posted above her crib was one typed word…Paralyzed.

I recall one evening, a night nurse came round to see how I was and look in on Wisdom. Her words make more sense today than they did then. She said that Wisdoms intense fight for this world would leave a mark on her. Not one that we could see, but one that down the road would make me stop and question how she came to her strength and courage.

A fighter she became. She beat the odds, she grew, she ate, and she was walking by her first birthday. By the time her brother Gracious arrived almost exactly two years later, she was amazing. Her big blue eyes and cupid bow lips never caused me pain. It was almost like she knew our time together would be tested and so she embodied the very nature of a content soul. Her happiness was always found in journals and books.

I made the dreaded mistake on her 8th birthday to make her a dolls house. To be clear she was not one for Barbie or Ken but in my moment of Florence Nightingale I thought what a romantic surprise. Her day arrived, and she woke up to her presents. She unwrapped the doll house, opened up each little doll table and chair, quietly not saying a thing. On her last opened present, she thanked me very much and then asked,’Where are the books?”

Her graduation was difficult; she almost didn’t make it through. The divorce and the pain were taking its toll and because of this she didn’t get the marks needed to be that Journalist she always talked about. My last time with her was on her 18th birthday. We had drinks together at a lovely place in NewFarm. I remembered I ordered her a martini and shot of sambuca. She drank it down and then said, ‘Actually Mom, I’m more into beer.’ Got it wrong again.

I lost her not long after that; she came home from her father’s very upset. Crying uncontrollably she asked me for a private word. We were standing downstairs, and I was a little confused as to what would make her so sad. ‘I have to make a decision Mom, I have been given a choice and as hard as it is I need to choose me.’

You see her grandparents were offering to pay for her much needed college funds, one which I couldn’t afford. But the choice she had to make was college or me. Her decision through tears was College and to live with her grandparents, I agreed with her, as in my naivete I didn’t believe it would be this long. Her decision was based on my break up with her father and how much it had affected her and her future. She didn’t want to make that mistake again, and I agreed.

How could I have known it was the start of the end.

I’m that Mother

I’m that Mother

…an excerpt from ‘I am this Woman.’
by LXO

The next time I heard from Zazzie, I was heading to Dubai. I was a deflated Mother, who in one fail swoop of a Judges gavel had lost the right to see my children for another six months. It broke me; it made me look at my eleventh-floor balcony as hope might be found on the bottom floor.
She texted me, Dec.27th 2011 as I was boarding the plane, two words…’Be Safe.’

The next time I was to hear from my daughter was the 25th of August 2012. An email explaining that her Father had died and that I was not to come back and help. I wasn’t needed.

I wasn’t needed.

A funeral, a court case, a win…still to this day I am not sure what that win was.

The next time I was to see my daughter was three years later, by accident.

It was a strange day, as we had only been back in Australia for three days. We told no one; it was a surprise to me for my 47th birthday by my husband to bring me back to Australia in the hopes of a reunion with all of our children. We had surprised one of the boys and were in the process of doing the same to the other when her car pulled up.

One of two things could have happened; she could have turned away and walked inside, or she could have walked towards me and said hello.

Choices, we are all given so many important choices based on seconds thought that will last a lifetime in memory. She chose to walk to me, give me a brief, yet warm hug and tell me in a few short words how she was now a Dental Hygienist. I was in such absolute joy and disbelief; I think I repeated myself with the overuse of,’ I am so proud of you’, well done, your beautiful.

My husband was in the other car and quickly reversed to catch the moment on camera, he was in just as much shock. It was a weird interruption that needed to be done as he wanted it to be a kodak memory. She obliged and said she would have a picture with me.

In summary that is all I have, I am that Mother to her. Not in her life, not needed and all those little choices that we took along the way for each of us has led us here.

I am that Mother, who has had to make a stand not to feel that tug anymore.
I am that Mother, who has to protect myself from her absence in my life.
I am that Daughter, who did this to my parents 25 years prior.
I am that Wife, who left her father in hopes of salvaging her childhood.
I am that Rebel who refused to accept anything less in my life than love in it’s purest integrity.
I am that lost without her, that my bones will always ache.
I am that spiritual that I know this is part of both of our journeys and that nothing is final.
I am that victim that has mourned our time lost together and has had to look at herself every day in the mirror and find some bout of courage to say…I am this woman; these are my wounds.

It happened. My worst nightmare. Even as I write this, it’s hard to believe. I’ve lost them, all of them. Do I blame myself, damn straight I do. Have the choices I have made brought me to this? Yes. For they were the hard choices I had to make. The same rules applied to my choice to have children, did I make the right choices then?

Yes, and this will always be the answer.

Sometimes you just gotta talk this stuff out

Welcome to iamthiswomanblog....

We all have a lot in who we are and what shapes our 
choices, decisions and of course our attitudes 
towards each stage of our life.  

What type of woman are you?  

I’m that Daughter
I’m that Wife
I’m that Mother
I’m that Sister
I’m that Survivor
I’m that Victim
I’m that Rebel
I’m that Spiritual
I’m that Artist
I’m that Lost
I’m that Happy
I’m that Step Mom
I’m that Friend
I’m that Lonely
I’m that Empowered
I’m that Trainer
I’m that Citizen
I’m that Pirate
I’m that Traveller
I’m that Divorcee
I’m that Widower
I’m that Cougar
I’m that Raw
I am This Woman