The one I never wanted to write

My Mum was a vibrant soul; one of those people who literally lit up any room she entered. She was so full of life, so full of fun – sweeping up people on her way, pulling them in along with her as she went on her way through this life. Even as her illness started to pay a bigger part of her day she was always keen to go out for a lunch or dinner with friends – or organise a get together for a sing song and a few wines. She seemed such an unstoppable force. Mum managed to raise three boisterous boys under the age of 5 – and never looked back from that initial challenge. She was always there for us through the years. She was the glue that bound us together as a family, and later as my brothers married, her net grew to take in her daughter in-laws and her grandchildren as well. Mum had an inherent love of music though the years. She purchased a jukebox after she retired and filled it with all her favourite 45’s. At any time of the day you could hear a big “woomp” as she turned it on – you knew it wouldn’t be long before here favourite music came blaring from the conservatory. Mum and Dads 54 year wedding anniversary fell this month. Their first date all those years ago, from an offer of a ride home from a social, to a date the following week; from small things do great things grow. Dad’s job as a teacher took us over the South Island –from Marlborough to Canterbury. When all three boys had finally arrived on the scene the family started looking further afield – finally settling on a posting to the Cook Islands for two years. In those days it was much harder to Mum to stay in touch with her family in New Zealand – initially it was tough to be so far away from the people she loved, but Mum rallied and starting playing Netball with the local girls – even staying to have a drink or two after the game to ensure she fitted in – and was immediately adopted as a result. Our family time there was filled with wonder and joy – our connection to Aitutaki remains to this day. Upon returning to New Zealand we eventually settled in Dunedin – which has since become our families cornerstone; Mum helped Dad in the office in his first school in Mosgiel, before joining him at Brockville school, where they both stayed until Dad retired in 1996. In their retirement Dad shared Mum’s love of travel. While I’m sure Dad might have liked to spend more time around the house, Mums preferred to spend more time visiting friends in Australia, as well as making new friends on the increasingly frequent sea cruises they took together. Later they embarked on a longer journey to Europe and Great Britain where Mum used her amateur genealogy hobby to look into her past and discover new friends along the way. Mum was raised in a small town on the West Coast of the South Island, called Westport. She had one younger sister Julie. Life was tougher in those days. While her mother Lily was recovering from serious surgery, Mum was tasked to look after the cooking, cleaning and running the household. During that time she found it difficult to balance her school and home commitments, but she maintained long-term friendships and interests from her school days, and always emphasised the importance of a good education to us all. Through the years Mum has been the cord that has wound and intertwined through our lives. Her love of life has steadied us when our own lives haven’t always seemed so bright, and her pragmatism has been instilled in us all. A strong feeling of family runs through us – a testament to her influence and positivity. Even at the end, when she was taken to the hospice, she was joking with her doctors and caregivers – sure that her visit would be a respite visit only, and she would soon be back at home telling Dad to hurry up and get her a cup of tea. Unfortunately this was not to be. Mum passed away peacefully last Thursday after an epic battle with her nine-year illness. At times like this – in the midst of so much loss - I think its important to say that although she may not be with with us in person today, in so many ways she hasn’t really left us at all. I’m certain there will be times we will feel her presence even though she may not be there - We will hear her words even if she is no longer there to say them. Her friends and family will tell stories of fun times and journeys past – and through all this abundance of love Mum will live on through us all. Because; while we remain in peoples‘ memories and thoughts, we never truly fade away. So please tell her stories, and laugh out loud (or cry if you need to). Just be happy that our worlds touched each other’s. Celebrate it all – good and bad – Mum wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Because I do.

Today, more than ever, unchanged.

Epitaph

Old Friend

Yes

RIP Matthew

My cousin killed himself on Sunday.

Mum called me as I was going into my drum lesson on Monday. The first thing I thought after hanging up was “Should I still take my lesson”?

I walked in, told my instructor I’d have to cancel, paid for my upcoming lessons - all the time thinking “This is a pain, I’ve been practicing hard all week - I really had the part I was working out sussed”.

Obviously mentally I was pretty fucked up .

This week was also the one where I found out if I was successful in my new job. Frankly with all this going on I was thinking that redundancy and a trip home for Christmas would have fitted the bill perfectly.

Instead I find myself here on Saturday night- job secured - working on a funeral slideshow; 4 minutes and 29 seconds of life, for a life that is no more.

Initially, after the shock of it all abated slightly, I thought i’d be fine. I didn’t know Matthew that well - I was always closer to his sister Toni. For the last few days I’ve been helping where I can - It never feels like its enough.

It’s never enough.

As the week has wore on I I’ve become more despondent - tired in a way no amount of sleep can counter. But this isn’t about me.

He was obviously unhappy - people around him unaware. He was a perfectionist, perhaps only happy when he had a project or plan to work toward.

Oblivious to everyone but himself, he pushed away those he was closest to, before leaving entirely.

I’m sure if he knew the carnage he’s left behind, the suffering that will will eventually become his legacy, he would have chosen another path. 

Perhaps a path where he would have asked for help, a path with a happier ending, a path leading anywhere but a funeral home this coming Monday.

But I know now he couldn’t rationalise that.

I wonder how I’m supposed to learn from all this? 

Should I be working at being happier? Should I be less stubborn ? (can I be less stubborn)?

Should I somehow cut the ties that bind me to NFG ?- can I even do that? I don’t think I can.

Fuck it.

Regardless, It seems to be in poor taste to make this all about me. 

No matter how bad or sad this all makes me feel, I realise it’s a multitude of times worse for my cousin and my aunt. 

And knowing I just can’t make it right - just makes it harder to stomach.

But I’ll do what I can to learn from this, and help those around me. Be more aware.

And that can be his legacy to me.

https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/4489505/Matthew-HD%20(720p).m4v

Birthday Cake

A journey to a destination unknown, however long, is still a journey – is it not? 

Is it possible that it is the journey alone that matters?

I care not.

I do not know what awaits me at my destination. I am not a planner, but in some ways I could be the antithesis. For I know what I don’t want.

Cake.

Ok – I lied. Everyone likes cake – and those that do not, simply cannot be trusted. It crumbles they may cry in defiance – they will claim they’re biscuit people, expecting me to believe in their twaddle. But they are wrong – they believe in nothing – for there is only cake – or no cake at all.

In the beginning I did not understand cake, but those with older wiser heads than mine nodded, and said nothing. The truth would come – as it does to all of us in the end.

When I saw cake as it truly was for the first time, I loved it for what it was, but like so much cake before it, an asshole I knew stole it from my grasp, while I was out of town on my Christmas holiday. But that was a Christmas cake – and a story for another day.

So many (many) years later, I look at Cake with a fond heart, but no stomach for it’s empty promises of fulfillment.

I’ve seen the cake that’s bad for you; the cake that you devour and instantly regret. I’ve watched cake spoil – left too long unattended to the elements. I’ve seen cake that costs too much, and delivers far too little.

There are too many to count. And I do not count.

Cake is for optimists, Cake is for dreamers. Cake is not for those who calculate, or those who attempt to curry their favours. (Curry is a condiment you see).

Cake is a young persons crumpet, or perhaps more correctly, Cake is for the young of heart.

Cake is not for the old. Cake is for the bold.

Today I find myself thinking of Cake – perhaps the most rare cake of all. Perhaps only a promise of a Cake yet to be, waiting for the right combination of ingredients come together, to make a sum better than its parts.

And today of all days, my love - may your birthday cake be a good one .

True story

[posted from Tumblr]

I saw this elderly gentleman dining by himself, with an old picture of a lady in front of him. I though maybe I could brighten his day by talking to him. As I had assumed, she was his wife. But I didn’t expect such an interesting story. They met when they were both 17. They dated briefly, then lost contact when he went to war and her family moved. But he said he thought about her the entire war. After his return, he decided to look for her. He searched for her for 10 years and never dated anyone. People told him he was crazy, to which he replied “I am. Crazy in love”. On a trip to California, he went to a barber shop. He told the barber how he had been searching for a girl for ten years. The barber went to his phone and called his daughter in. It was her! She had also been searching for him and never dated either.

He proposed immediately and they were married for 55 years before her death 5 years ago. He still celebrates her birthday and their anniversary. He takes her picture with him everywhere and kisses her goodnight.Some inspiring things he said; I was a very rich man. Not with money, but with loveI never had a single argument with my wife, but we had lots of debates. People are like candles. At any moment a breeze can blow it out, so enjoy the light while you have it. Tell your wife that you love her everyday. And be sure to ask her, have I told you that I love you lately?

Be sure to talk to the elderly. Especially strangers. You may think that you will brighten their day, but you may be surprised that they can actually brighten yours.

I want this story, to be my story.

Maybe this too is true

I think this would be nice.

The truth is simple

Reasons

There is a very good reason we are who we are. We can let life have it's way with us, and be what it moulds us to be. But we can also choose certain things along the way - refuse to be a certain way, refuse to bend to the whims of the events that would serve to shape us. Perhaps to a greater of lesser extent, that is how we are all unmade.

It can be difficult enough to be who we choose to be. It is harder when the ones we love cannot understand our choices - sadder still when we can not bring ourselves to explain those choices.

My stubbornness has shaped my life. A refusal to accept and move on. I am always amazed at those who can let things go - move on from something they wanted. I have often given that advice to others, and I live in wonder at those who have taken it and run.

I cannot. I relive moments of wonder - I cannot forget. The memories remain long after - both the good and bad. They continue to influence, cajole, remind.

For the most part it's OK, but when friends serve to tear away and look for reason behind my decisions - I'm suddenly put into a position where I have to defend them - to speak words and concepts of reply that have no meaning for others. A futile exercise, but one that brings a certain sadness regardless.

And I think I may have to wait forever.

Office Space understands me

I have a job.

That statement should have brought a smile to my lips - it really, really should have.

Except it really, really didn't.

A few months ago my manager was saying things like "You should really start thinking about your future in this company - where do you see yourself in 5 years. Vacancies will be opening up shortly and you should think about where you want to be."

I wanted to be on a tropical island - but I don't think that was what he meant.

Of course I did not say these thoughts out aloud - I often keep my inner monologue well buttoned down, and this moment was no exception. 

The trouble is - I positively HATE the possibility that a mid life crisis may be lurking. It is such a cliche - and wherever possible I avoid cliches like the plague  (heh).

Many would say that a midlife crisis would be wishful thinking, and my aversion to a regular exercise regime has meant in fact that any opportunity for a midlife crisis rests long in the past. 

So I did then the sensible thing - prepared for, and said the right things, at the right time. 

I remain gainfully employed.

I am also very very very unsettled. 

Should my inner monologue ever see the light of day, I would very possibly take it out - wine and dine it for being so brave. Thank it for saving me.

From what, I'm not entirely sure.

Because I have a job.

More words that mean stuff

“It’s strange, isn’t it, how the idea of belonging to someone can sound so great? It can be comforting, the way it makes things decided. We like the thought of being held, until it’s too tight. We like that certainty, until it means there’s no way out. And we like being his, until we realize we’re not ours anymore.”
- Deb Caletti, Stay

Jackson Browne

When I first started to listen to music I was very young. I'd drive my parents crazy lugging around a portable record player wherever I went, playing the same Monkey's songs over and over again. I'm pretty sure I was about 4...

My musical choices have never been that popular with my peers. I discovered Jackson Brown in the early to mid 80's - This song is a pertinent  to me now, as it was way back then...



Running on Empty is an awesome live album.

So - I've been listening to old Fleetwood Mac albums. My stereo lights my room with memories, and then this happens.

A gem of a song I've never heard.

Every hour of fear I spend 

My body tries to cry

Living through each empty night

A deadly call inside

Possibly the saddest/loveliest Fleetwood Mac song I've never heard :)

Enough

Wondering why I've only just discovered Emeli Sande

Yet more about Love

“I love her and that’s the beginning and end of everything.”

—	F. Scott Fitzgerald about Zelda Fitzgerald in a letter to a friend dated Febuary 1920

I like this one too

“But you, you’ve always been the rain, the wind, inside my mind. I taste you when I sleep, when I wake, when I breathe.”

—	Nalini Singh, Archangel’s Kiss

Apt

“You have my whole heart. You always did.”
Cormac McCarthy, The Road.