This is how I like to remember her most, happy, free and letting the joy of life flow through her. The truth is her death was long and slow, yet in this picture she is free of that. She is free to dance, to sing, to play and to look at the beauty and gifts her sacred sacrifice set forth on this earth.

I bow to her courage. I know my own heart through hers.

Norma Margaret, you paved the way for this moment. I love you forever.

I wish each of you reading this could taste and feel and smell the joy of this moment. I wish the love could permeate your whole being so you once again remember the truth of this life. Yet all I can do is find some frail words that shall never express the preciousness of this life nor this moment.

Our lineage is powerful. We take this breath because of the gifts and sacrifice of all who came before us. We stand as an offering of love. We exist simply as an embodied expression of truth, we exist to share and serve and bless all we encounter.

Wherever you find yourself in this moment, may you be blessed. May your gifts overflow to fill this whole wide world with peace and purpose, love and a gentle joy. May kindness be a salve that saturates your entire being and may it puddle at your feet, infecting the whole planet wherever you wander.

All love, KMF xo

The post Dancing through the richness of life – A precious moment when my Nan was still alive….. appeared first on Kate M Foster.

There is a danger in attending an amazing school like Montessori International College, you can become biased and shiny and spiritual and righteous about education and the best way to support children.

While I am often the first to share my love for the school my girls attend, the past year has graciously reminded me learning with presence is the ultimate gift.

My daughters have spent their early years in Yumi and Cooinda and their guides have been nothing short of exceptional. These humans are kind, clear and focussed on supporting the unique expressions of each child in their care. One danger for me is that all the awe and gratitude I feel for the gifts they impart can sometimes start to blind me to all the other ways of guiding and supporting children. This ignorance is entirely my own doing, it has nothing to do with the MIC School, i simply got comfortable and complacent and stopped looking for beauty in learning environments everywhere across this amazing planet.

On our travels around Australia our two girls who had attended Montessori from the start were fortunate to attend two other schools. The first was a tiny public school in a remote indigenous desert community in central Australia. The second a public school in Exmouth WA. They spent nearly 3 weeks in the community school and almost a month in Exmouth and over that time the gifts they received and offered were nothing short of amazing. It was a profound experience to witness their growth and learning over these varied chapters.

Was i scared when they first left my care and entered these ‘mainstream’ environments? Absolutely! I was afraid they might not be held or cared for or given the space they needed to learn and be supported within the traditional framework that is mainstream schooling. I was afraid this may negatively impact their self connection, that they may be negatively influenced or not valued for their sensitivities and learning styles.

Can you guess what happened?

They both thrived. They adapted. They learnt greater flexibility. They were brave and they were lovingly held and cared for by amazing teachers and communities in both instances.

One thing i know to be true is that there are good people everywhere. You see I have friends that teach and work in mainstream schools, private and public schools, Steiner and Montessori schools and some of these teachers have even chosen to home school their children. And you know what they all have in common? Kindness, compassion, care and a genuine desire to support children to grow, learn, discover and build a deep and lasting relationship with themselves through empathy and presence.

My ignorance sometimes judged other learning environments as less than. My fears blinded my vision for the goodness that exists in humans everywhere. Fortunately my rigid certainties were softened as my understanding of my children’s safety grew in these new and varied environments.

School days in the community meant no uniform, a wake up alarm would sound in the morning, another to remind you to have breakfast and a final call to come to school (although their enthusiasm often had them at school long before that last call arrived). School days often went from early morning to dusk. Nightfall reluctantly brought them home. The girls learnt in both a traditional classroom environment and with visits to country, living intimately with the land as an equally valuable teacher. They gathered bush foods, learnt language, dance and culture. They sat with elders on the earth listening to stories as old as 60,000 years. The first day they attended they ran out of the van, along the road and in the school gate. By the third day they would run out of the van, through the desert grass to the nearest 5 foot fence, scale it and continue running to join in with their friends. Formalities fell away, a new connection and presence opened within them. They shared meals with the whole community each lunch, they sang and read together, they built wiltja’s and found birds eggs and tinka’s (lizards) and had more temporary pets than we have ever had in our lives. They learnt about the richness of life and the interconnected nature of death. They ate maku (witchety grubs) malu (kangaroo) tjarla (honey ants) and damper with honey. They collected grasses, made jewellery with the elders, they absorbed through presence downloads from their teachers. It was a timeless sacred experience.

Exmouth offered other opportunities for learning. They had their first uniform ( Freya loved it, she found it novel she got to wear a ‘costume’ everyday while Pearl was tentative about looking like everyone else.) While lesson delivery and the work structure was quite different to their previous experience, the kindness, care and support from their teachers over this time saw both the girls thrive in their learning, expression and courage. Pearl danced and sang and found a new way to share, she read and did homework and questioned the why’s and how’s of the education system. Freya loved the social community she found herself immersed in, she even performed at assembly on her second day at school.

The teachers that guided their learning over this time were exceptional humans. Their willing hearts, their kindness and care, their devotion to supporting the girls learn and expand their education planted seeds that will continue to blossom and grow their whole lives.

I learnt so much over this time too. I’m celebrating I had the opportunity to remember it’s not so much about where they go to school, or the particular system they are in, yet rather the kindness, care and presence of the human beings who guide them.

When i was a little girl i would often call my teacher over to ask a question simply so i could rest in her presence. While she answered the question i would rest in the shade her kindness offered. Maybe it wasn’t the ‘information’ i needed to learn and grow but rather her presence, compassion and care. With my teacher nearby i knew it was safe to open up and explore life. Living alongside my daughters for these expanding times reminded me so much about the true gifts teachers offer.

In todays world there is often much pressure placed on teachers. It can almost seem like they have to ‘perform’ and ensure our children tick all the required educational boxes. I wish i could free them from that heavy load and reassure them that it’s the humanness they share with my daughters which leaves lifelong lasting gifts. I wish we could all remember that maybe it is less about the systems, structure and delivery of materials and more about the presence, kindness and care we embody when guiding others. To me it seems that kindness and care and holding everyone precious regardless of differences is really what the world needs right now. It seems to be kindness, acceptance and care that connects each of us together and ultimately results in learning, discovery and the realisation of the vastness of our human potential.

I bow in reverence and gratitude to all teachers the whole world over. May they be supported with empathy and deep respect, may they be honoured and given space to share their true gifts and may we each be fortunate to be guided by humans such as these.

Lets keep learning our whole lives.

With love and kindness, KMF xo

PS. Special thanks to all the amazing teachers and guides that have blessed my family with their presence, kindness and care. You downloads of ‘being’ are infinitely appreciated xox

The post Schooling and what my kids need most…  appeared first on Kate M Foster.

I often share about the richness of navigating blended families. How it’s messy and hard and beautiful all at once. And how even though I have the best intentions things sometimes go wrong. And today they did big time.

Our precious first born began flying alone last year. Up until that time her dad or Grandma had always collected her and flown with her. The decision to fly solo came from Pearl. She decided she could fly more often if she flew as an unaccompanied minor, the flying budget allowed for more trips, so a new chapter began.

I often say motherhood is one giant invitation to let go. Today was a fine example of that.

Each and every time Pearl flies alone I have to make friends with my greatest fears. One is that if the plane crashed she would not have anyone to hold her and love her as it went down, the other is that someone wouldn’t be there to meet her at the other end.

One of those fears came true today.

Through my own mistakes I had her arriving home at 1pm on the 11th January. We have been driving from Perth in WA constantly the past week to ensure we were home to meet her. We had made it as far as Gatton and this morning while we were out with Robs parents a text came through from Pearls dad saying she was on the plane safe and sound and all was well.

Lightning bolts of shock and horror…….

All was not well in my world in that moment.

I was three hours from my baby who was due to arrive on the Sunshine Coast in one hour. I wouldn’t be there for her, no matter what strategies I came up with. Being kind to myself in the midst of that raging ocean of shame was no easy task.

I felt immense shame for my mistakes. Awe at how I actually confused things. Shame for letting her Pearl and her dad down. Shame at myself because if he or anyone else had done the same I would have gone off like a frog in a sock because my safety buttons were so triggered. I felt shame that he was being kind and helpful on the phone when my tolerance of someone else in the same situation would probably be non existent. It wasn’t a pretty or comfortable.  I was in a grand funk.

My first thought was to seek help. I rang a dear friend on the coast repeatedly until she answered. I told her of my predicament and asked her if she could get to the airport in an hour? She was on board in a heart beat. I rang Pearls dad back, he was still at the airport, they got a message through to Pearl on the plane that someone else was picking her up and we went through all the security processes of changing such things. It was time for a deep breath. Safety needs met. Shame waves free to unleash their full force. (It was more a tsunami!)

How do you be kind to yourself when you are in the midst of such an ocean.
Prayer and one simple breath at a time is my only answer.

Bless my dear friend for her kind support. She video called me so I could greet Pearl as she landed. I apologised to her explaining how I had made a mistake and I was so very sorry I was not there to meet her. I showed my vulnerabilities. I told her how I missed her. (This trip was the longest we had ever been a part and I was stretched even before my crisis.)

Bless her heart, she told me it was ok, she loved me anyway and that she was so excited her best friend was there to pick her up.

I love the community we live in. I am eternally thankful for the kindness and support that exists. Today reminded me to keep trusting life, there is always someone willing to support and I was reminded it really does take a community to raise a child.

I bow to Pearls other family for their patience and compassion with me and my mistakes. I pray for humility to grow my tolerance and compassion to all.

Life is messy, hard and beautiful.

Lets be kind to ourselves even on the hard days. And lets be honest, I am pretty sure none of you have left your child in an airport and scheduled yourself to arrive 3 days later.

Bless us all!

All my love and frailties,

KMF xo

The post Mother of the year Award appeared first on Kate M Foster.

Did you know my nan carried me in her womb too? The eggs that would one day grow me were already planted deep inside my mama before she was born. That means my nan held me tight and has influenced me in more ways than I can ever comprehend. It’s the same for you too. Wild isn’t it!

Lineage is such a sacred powerful thing.

We are so much more than we could ever comprehend.

I love that. It also frightens me sometimes.

I’ve begun writing my next book, it may take another two decades? Who knows? One thing I am celebrating is the strength of the women in my lineage. In writing their stories it feels like I am somehow setting them free. I love honouring their remarkable resilience, love and dedication to all of life. They are the roots that have given me wings.

Over this past year I’ve visited family in almost every state. Ive met nephews, aunts, uncles, sisters and even a Grandma that I never knew I had. It’s been powerful and profound and healing and sacred. Its been a celebration of the mess and shame and guilt that was long hidden. Its been a coming together of all the fragments that were floating around me never quite knowing where they belonged. I love my lineage. All of it. The light, the dark and the shadows in between. I love the tenderness of shame, the brutality of guilt, I even love the fragility of my messy imperfect self.

You see if I can make peace with the whole big mess that I am, I believe it is possible for everyone and that’s entirely what I plan to share in this memoir.

It’s a book about how the holes make us holy. It is my biased account of the beauty, the richness and the sacred holy mess that is family life. I am that mess. Im glad for all of it. And no matter how shiny and sparkly any family looks we each carry the weight of shame, guilt and all that is left hidden.

It’s time to live.

How ever many days I have remaining on this planet are dedicated to love, kindness and truth above all else.

Are you brave enough to meet me here? To sit in the holes until you once again remember the unshakable holiness that never left your side?

With love from my heart,

KMF xo

The post The messy shame filled beauty of families… appeared first on Kate M Foster.

Check out my desk! It’s in the same room as the rest of my house! Yep, i write in my bedroom, the kids room, our kitchen, dining, lounge and everything else room. This is caravan living. Four of us in close confines. Mostly is amazing. Travel is amazing. Except when it’s not. Shitty days happen wherever you are on this planet. And in a caravan there is nowhere to hide.

It looks beautiful right now. See? That’s because it’s Monday morning and i’ve reclaimed some space for my very own. That’s my laptop, learning to use a mac has been nothing short of the richness! Slowly, steadily, as with most change we are making friends.

Can you see the purple meditation cushion, that’s the writing side of the table. See the other side, i slide around there when i need to edit things. The writing side is by far more comfortable for me. Life flows through me and I love the surprise of what comes out. The editing side is not as fun. Editing for me is a total brain melt. Shitty bits are part of every job, even the ones you entirely love. As for editing, we are at least looking at each other with the consideration of making friends. My editor is a saint. A miracle worker. I bow to her! I pray she goes no where any time soon!

This book is drawing closer to completion. I will be done at the end of the month. Pre-orders will begin in December because we all need some support and inspiration at the start of each new year, or in the least i know i do. Printing is a whole other world i know nothing about. Lucky I don’t have to manage everything! I believe it will be released in March, stay tuned.

Right now I am immersed in this labour of love. If you have a spare moment please send a little thought my way. When it arrives I will snuggle that energy close to my heart and in some way your kindness will flow out of me into the book.

Excited much.

Thankful beyond measure.

Scared? Of course! I’m showing up anyway.

Big love to each of you, please remember to be kind to you. You are precious in my world xo

The post This Travelling Writing Life…. appeared first on Kate M Foster.

Read on and gain insight into our hearts and the daily choices we face to show up real for the benefit of others, especially when we are afraid.

Kate’s words:
Our family is a blended one. When Rob and I got together I had already birthed my precious firstborn, it was the three of us right from the start. It must have been hard for him? To be honest I don’t really understand the kind of love and courage step parents bring. I’ve never been in that position, I can only imagine it’s richer and more challenging than I’ll ever truly fathom or comprehend.

In my life I am blessed with the honour of watching two phenomenal humans step parent their way to divinity. I look on with awe, deep gratitude and often bewilderment with how they manage to navigate the complexities of our lives with such grace, kindness and willing hearts. Pearl’s biological dad is the same. His kindness, patience and compassion are a gift to all that know him.

Is it easy? Of course not. Do we all get scared? I’m guessing absolutely, I know I do. Are we stretched beyond any known comfort zone? Entirely. And alongside all this richness we all show up real, communicate to the best of our ability and do our unending inner work, the kind required to navigate any relationship, regardless of its makeup.

Rob is my husband, Pearl’s stepdad and father to Freya my precious second born. When we got together he made a very clear intention of doing all he could to support Pearls relationship with her dad. He often shares that while he can never offer her what Danny can, his willingness to love and support her is unending. He has done everything in his ability to care, support, provide and love her, as does her dad. Pearl often tells people “I have two dads, one’s a Christian, one’s a Buddhist, and I’m not either”. It’s a grand stunning conversation starter with grown ups (and highly entertaining to witness as an inconspicuous bystander).

The truth is I was petrified when Danny and I separated. I didn’t know how I would ever be able to hand my child over to another woman. I spent a lot of time praying and leaning into my heart about who he may choose to re-partner with. In my scared moments I would remind myself of his truest heart, his kindness and that there was some divine order in this great colossal mess. Other times I would just cry and feel broken, afraid, responsible for ruining my daughters life. I had a lot to let go of. I prayed hard for a kind heartful woman. I prayed hard for wisdom to know the way.

The day I met Clare I new my prayers had been answered. My first thoughts about her were “I could be friends with this woman”, I really liked her. Apart from her great taste in fashion (she was wearing the same green dress I had) she was kind and clear and open. She showed up. She made the effort to meet me and actually share her vulnerability. I decided right then this blended family thing could work.

I thought about how much courage she must have to love a man who already had a child and I decided that it was time to trust. I was way out of my depth. Trust was my only option.

I’m not sure how she navigated the richness of it all to show up real, yet she did, time and time again. I think the day I really realised she was my child’s other mother was the day she called me to see if it was ok to take Pearl to church. For the first time I truly understood the beauty of her heart. And the gift I had received in mothering alongside her. I was no longer alone, I had a strong, faithful woman showing up with such deep respect that I no longer had to fear for my child. It broke my heart open again to realise I don’t carry the responsibility alone. We share the role. The little woman, the daughter we share is growing more beautiful and diverse and understanding because of us. She has two faith filled passionate powerful women guiding her to listen, reflect and grow her own way. She has shade trees to rest under. She is ok. More than ok. She is thriving. I imagine one day we will all stand together as women, equals, silently resting into the rich beautiful tapestry that is life.

Clare and I have spoken about writing a book together. A book sharing our inner hearts and challenges and how we navigate this rich arena of life. I kind of imagine it like a map for fellow travellers. And even though we are all travelling in slightly different directions I’m pretty sure we are all carrying luggage of some kind. Clare came up with the idea of calling it Blended Bliss. I think it’s a great title and an opportunity for us to expand and share our definition of Bliss. Not just surviving blended families, actually thriving and growing in our capacity to forgive, love and serve.

You see sometimes we whittle bliss down to some neatly packaged euphoric state of sublime divinity. And we get the idea that life is supposed to look this way, neat and shiny, unendingly. Or scarier still we get the idea that blended families are meant to be hell, hard and full of suffering. The truth is our experience is so much more than either of these. You see Blended Bliss is the whole shebang. It’s not either/or, its everything and more. And with permission to get real and honest and connected to big picture long term intentions I believe any family, blended or not can navigate their way to wholesome connection and purpose.

Stay tuned. We are dreaming on how to contribute our experiences. Remember you are not alone and while your family will look different to ours, when we show up with open vulnerable hearts, we bring peace where there could be war. We change the world.

Clare’s Words:
In the beginning little did I know…… that one of the biggest lessons in life was just about to hit me.
I used to pray for my future husband, praying for the typical things, like a man of God, intelligent, funny and creative. I’m thankful I got all of those things. Dan would often say that God doesn’t always give you what you want, but what you need.

When I first met Dan, he told me pretty early on that he had a daughter from another relationship, I was surprised but went with it, little did I know what that really meant. In the haze of starting a new relationship, I almost took the information in like other stats, like how many brothers and sisters he had.

Dan had such passion for his daughter and it was so beautiful to see how much he loved her.

The first time I met Pearl…..

The week before, Dan had been saying to come along to a family dinner. I would get to meet his whole family and daughter for the first time, we had been dating for about 3 months. All week he had been saying to come along and when he cancelled the next day, I could tell he was nervous. I was nervous too.

I was brought up in the Methodist church, always volunteering and helping out in kids clubs. Children would often flock to me and therefore I felt pretty confident that Dan’s daughter and I would get along.

When this beautiful little soul was introduced to me, she looked at me with concern and weariness, hugging Dan’s leg. I thought, it’s daunting for a child to meet new people, it will change, or so I thought. This continued for the next year, my heart was broken.

This is where your vulnerability kicks in. On your journey as a step mother you present your love, you hope for acceptance, but you are not guaranteed an outcome. Rejection comes often.

It’s a matter of always offering your love, open hearted and open handed. There is a fearful part of me that wants self preservation, wants to guard my heart but the other part of me knows I just need to keep giving my love to Pearl.

Meeting Katie and Rob I was so nervous, I thought about how hard it must be for Katie, leaving your child into the care of others, especially with me and what I represented as ‘the other mother’ but Katie spoke with such gentleness and this allowed our vulnerabilities and insecurities to breathe. I felt truly comfortable. I am sure this wasn’t easy for Katie of which I am truly grateful.

Being a step mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. It leaves me raw and exposed in ways I have never felt before. And in this, there is also true beauty and a refiners fire. A beautiful life doesn’t come without cost.

In closing, together we offer these words:

When women support women and families support families, miracles happen. Stay brave people, together we’ve got this.

With love and kindness

Clare and Kate xo

The post Blended Bliss… Blended Families and navigating the richness of life. appeared first on Kate M Foster.

Is it hard? Of course, all families are hard sometimes.

Do we agree on everything? No way, what family does?

Do we all show up when we are tired and grumpy and out of our depths? Yep. That’s courage, we couldn’t live without it.

Do we get scared? Overwhelmed? Feel out of our comfort zone? Absolutely, all of us, regularly.

You see blended families contain humans. And like all other humans on the planet we are fragile creatures. We each carry our own histories of hurts and heart breaks and dreams. All of us, without exception desire happiness and peace. And all of us would love to avoid sadness and suffering.

Do we manage happiness and peace all of the time. Of course not, and I’m not sure it would be helpful anyway. You see it is the seasons that bring change and growth and transformation. It’s the seasons that steal our leaves and scatter them at our feet. They strip our branches and then by some act of grace, when we’ve finally got to a place of acceptance on how our life really is now, that same fierce grace thrusts new blossoms upon branches, highlighting our vulnerability once again.

Regardless of how uncomfortable the seasons make us or what thoughts we have about their presence in our lives, we need them. They give us life. The seasons serve us. Support us. Encourage us. Guide us.

You see a raw diamond is nothing special. We may not even notice it. For diamonds require polishing. Lots of polishing. They are slow to submit yet once cut are profound reflectors of light and beauty.

Families are diamonds. Multi faceted diamonds.

To think we can have the light without the polishing is insanity.

Each family comes with unique challenges and blessings, so of course each family will require different tools and polishing.

For our family, communication has been the master polisher. Lots of it. More than is comfortable. Communication married to willing vulnerable hearts, clear far sighted intentions, life long motivations to support and benefit our child, and grace. Truckloads of grace.

You see communication creates trust. I’ve even heard it said that the definition of trust is communication. And with this definition, trust is never permanently lost, regardless of what has happened. Life asks from us a deep commitment to communicate, and when things are hard, to show up and communicate again. Supporting our family means regularly checking in with our far reaching intentions, communicating more than we find convenient and having courage to rebuild trust and connection in the hard times.

In families we are often very quick to jump to conclusions or judge others. We form ideas and interpretations of what things mean and can forget that first and foremost true communication begins with ourselves. Communication involves deep inner honesty and truth telling. True communication demands we show up and do our inner work. How can we ever be pillars of strength and trust and truth for anyone else if we have not made space to listen and honour our own hearts?

The most helpful and supportive learnings I’ve ever had for connecting and understanding myself and others is NVC. Nonviolent communication (or compassionate communication as it is also known) has become the foundation I’ve rebuilt my life around. When I was at a critical time of upheaval and change, in the early years of becoming a blended family, NVC, by some act of grace appeared in my life. Maybe reading this is the gentle nudge or invitation you’ve been waiting for? Maybe your way is different? Honour your guidance.

If you are interested I encourage you to google NVC. You will find countless free YouTube clips by its founder Marshall Rosenberg. There are books, teachings, retreats and more accessible all over the world. I rarely recommend teachers to others however I would not hesitate in recommending Shari Elle, a world renowned trainer I have studied with who is based in Sydney Australia. She runs regular foundation trainings all over the country. A two day time investment will change your life.

So whatever season you find yourself in right now and regardless of how your garden looks, I encourage you to take heart. To turn towards the insurmountable hills. To brave up and take time to get honest with the deepest parts of yourself.

And I assure you that with an open, willing and vulnerable heart, a dedication to learning and courage to move towards that which scares you, grace WILL find a way to move in your life.

Your diamond is being cut and polished, it is growing more luminous as you come to trust in the ever changing seasons of your own heart and life.

Take care my friend, we are not so different you and I.

Love and kindness
K xo

The post Every family is different appeared first on Kate M Foster.

In my dreams I am waiting to go in for a facial, I am almost desperate to know her heart and feel her touch just one more time. I’m ready to be renewed by their coolness and healing. I’m waiting. I didn’t ever go for the steam and creams, I went to be held, and to let go and to discover my own beauty. You only come to know such things in the hands of a heart that can alchemise even the darkest of shadows. She was a master alchemist. It may seem strange but I have not had a facial since.  Part of me knows there is no one on the planet with her exact heart and mostly, I’m petrified i’ll forget what her touch felt like. So for now I’m content to remember her warmth while I ever so tenderly hold my memories of her precious. I’m not ready to risk letting them go. Those precious moments are a salve for my being until I fall into something greater.

Suicide for me is a dark word. It’s hard to type, I wish I couldn’t even spell it. It’s so neat and short and contained and does nothing to express the tyranny of anger and bone shaving grief it has birthed in my life. And somehow at the same time I refuse to go to war with it. It rips me open again and again, my bones bare and melting and naked. It’s messy and shocking and hard to make friends with and for the seven little letters it contains its ripped and broken my heart like no other word on the earth.  It’s wild and out of control. And maybe that is how people feel when they complete suicide? Maybe people who end their own lives feel so wild and afraid and out of control they somehow feel like suicide seems like a safer option? I don’t know. I don’t have the answers.  And for all the times I’ve wished that I could have done something more or less or different, what I have learnt this last year is that it’s a wild and crazy life and that despite my broken heart i’m still here showing up.  I’ve also learnt that no matter how much I love or wrap my heart around another, in the end maybe I can only ever save my own sorry ass.

I get into conversations with myself a lot, sometimes I tell myself she packed so much god damn beauty into this world in 35 short years that she lived 50 lifetimes in one. And I tell myself it is entirely selfish of me to want her here to listen to my stories, to share more tea and mangos and avocado on toast. But sometimes I do wish she was here to unleash her trademark feist on me just one more time and tell me how it is. I really don’t mind what ‘it’ is, I don’t mind how wild or funny or randomly true it is, I just want her, going off like a frog in a sock, telling me the truth according to the way she sees the world. I get scared I’ll forget the little things, like those rare occasions her lips hadn’t caught up with her brain and they did an ‘official lip wag’ just before they spoke. And the way her nose wrinkled when her eyes were shut and she was snorting cause we were laughing so hard it hurt. Often at highly inappropriate things. And that filthy look she would give me when she finally opened them and had decided that was enough ‘out of control’ and it was time I stop the ‘carry on’ and get our shit together. She was a master of ‘that look’ that conveyed ‘I totally should listen and follow through’ cause no one knew, especially her,  what the force might unleash if I pushed, another, second, more. And I miss the silence. Those terrifyingly loud silences that her wrath or her love could inflict on me or any unsuspecting soul in less than a heartbeat.  Those silences, that over time, I learnt to trust, because she was just like the moon. Her beauty and power intoxicated even the ocean and her forces were equal in courage and presence. Her waves could be gentle, caressing, life-giving or relentless and deeply polishing. And each month she was new again, sometimes many times over. She grew big and bold and shrank small and vanished. Then she had the courage to show up and do it all again. And this courage is what I miss most.

I forget she is not here sometimes. America is so far away that at first it conveniently allowed me to begin conversations with her in my mind, silly little conversations about anything really, even confessions when I put a towel in with my ‘clothes load’ in the washing machine, I would forget she was gone.  I am sad that the frequency of these conversations are slowing. At first after she died, most days I would forget she had gone and it would break my heart open anew when I would remember. And guilt, what could I even say about guilt other than in the end you have to open the door and sit down together, and eventually make friends. It’s rare now that I begin a day forgetting she is gone, the reality of her absence is so much more real 12 months on, mostly because the hole in my heart makes it presence known before I slip into ignorant bliss.

Those first few months I was sure that hole would swallow me. Its darkness was complete and I struggled to even see my children. I had no choice. I was petrified. I was scared for all the times in my past I didn’t know how to go on and even more afraid the darkness might eat me alive as well. I saw her over and over in my mind, alone in her final moments. It haunted me. My grief was like crazy weather, unpredictable, scary and completely out of my control. Over time I began to learn my only protection was to dress appropriately and remember my umbrella and even well prepared, there were no guarantees of staying dry. And that’s the truth. None of us escape the reality that death and loss bring.

I’m not sure exactly when, but  at some point I began wondering if maybe that black hole in my heart was the same black hole she had in hers? And it became very clear that I was the only one of us left sitting here. And then I wondered if maybe that meant I was the one that needed to make friends with this abyss of all consuming darkness?  Because it wasn’t going anywhere fast. You see, I knew the depths of her darkness, because I knew the depths of mine, and our hearts had sat and thrashed together through all kinds of weather. I’ll never understand the forces that bound our hearts together yet I feel so grateful they did.  We used to call each other ‘the friend I knew before I knew’, because, when you are friends with someone before your earliest memories begin, you share a language that’s rare in this world. It’s a language that says I know you to your core because we learnt human together and I taught you how to use scissors and you taught me to love and let go.

It wasn’t an easy ride for her. From the outside it looked like she had it all together.  And that’s the bit I think most of the world didn’t know. They saw her luminous shiny eyes, her radiant beauty, mischievous fun, her walk, the charisma that puddled on the floor wherever she stood. And they didn’t realise it was hard earnt. That while she made it look effortless, it really wasn’t. From the moment she opened her eyes till the moment she fell asleep she was growing herself and perfecting her ways. Yes, she was born beautiful, but the kind of beauty she spread around this earth, that breed of beauty, it came at a cost. It was a price few could pay and in the end she paid all she had to give it to the world. Maybe we all thought she was immune to the darkness, that she had found a unique way to navigate this beautiful messy life while overflowing with fun and grace and wisdom. Her mastery was effortless. Or maybe that’s the way i saw her. Maybe I forgot she had gifts that only came through countless dark hours alone questioning the world and being polished. And I forgot that she polished herself over and over and over again. And that dedication and unrelenting effort made her a master craftswoman. And this is why she shone. And i’m guessing it also made her tired, which might be why she left so soon?

I wish there was one great lesson that I could harvest from this mess, but there are only countless small ones. And right now as I sit here in the middle of the night, almost a year on, I’m willing to bring a new kind of loving to the world.  I’m asking myself to ease up on all the polishing I do to myself and others. I’m asking myself to put the sandpaper down, to let go and trust life has its own ways of polishing me without needing to turn in on myself.

A year and a half ago i began the Lifeline crisis training. At the time i was not really sure why i signed up, navigating suicide and the mess of life was never something i was comfortable with. I certainly wasn’t the type of person who would call lifeline. I was more the type that suffered alone, in the dark. When she died i realised i was wasn’t so different and my life could have ended the same. Her death came one week before my last Assessment. Completing that Assessment is one of the hardest things i have ever done. I almost didnt show up. And my first shift live on the phones made me sick, for days, before it came. Im still not sure how i managed to show up? Its been a year of the messiest richness and at the same time, most potent beauty i have  ever known. I may not yet be the kind of person that is brave enough to call Lifeline. However, i do intend to embodying the kind of vulnerability and courage required for such heroic acts. Cause for the most part, in this great big ocean of life, its the ones that wave their hands in the air, vulnerable and flailing, that the lifeguards come to save.

Even now it’s never easy to go in to lifeline, to begin with i was petrified i wouldn’t be able to help ‘that caller’ save their own life. But all the listening i have done to other people’s pain has reminded me of a lot. I’ve made peace with the truth that i couldn’t help her save herself. Every shift i think of her and dedicate my service and any peace i have to the world and all who are suffering. And while deep inside of me there is an abyss of darkness so fathomless it doesn’t have a bottom, that abyss and i are on talking terms, we don’t turn from each other any more, and all the holes it has poked in me seem to be the broken bits my light is leaking from. And if that serves the world, i am willing to be flailing, vulnerable and a shining mess for the rest of this short life. And that is where i will go on the anniversary of her passing, I will haul my petrified butt into that call centre with the hope that i can listen and love and shine a light for who ever appears on the end of the phone line. And that my love, somehow, finds a way into her heart, where ever she is in this miraculous and rich world.

Stay brave people, the world needs your light…. and maybe we are not so different you and I?

Please take care xoxo

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Today this first born is boarding a plane for the first time alone, and heading to Sydney for 4 days to see her dad and other family. Mostly, we have the blended family thing down. It has its challenges, but parenting with two biological parents does too. Her dad and I are blessed to have remarried people with enough love in their hearts to see the truth of this precious soul. These new partnerships have given her a sister and brother. We set clear intentions at the start that carry us through any challenges that come. There is no one I would rather be dancing this dance with than her dad and his new wife. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Mostly in life I find the most worthwhile things can be the hardest to show up for. In two days she turns 8. It’s the first time I won’t see her on her birthday, and me as a fragmented whittled down mama self feels sad about that.  Underneath that i’m thankful she has a loving family that want her to visit for Father’s Day and her birthday. Im thankful she has so much love and courage in her heart that she leads us all out of our comfort zones again and again.  And it’s still hard for me to let go. I want to wrap her in my love and guard her from life’s sharp and broken bits. But, I can’t. In truth its those hard broken bits that polish us and make us round and soft and kind. I can’t deny her that.

When it came time to hand her over to the hostess, I smiled, I hugged, I loved, I said thank you. Inside me I wanted to ask if she had children? Had she handed them over to a stranger before? Would she hold her hand if she was scared? Could she hug her if the plane crashed? But I didn’t. I got over myself.

This brave soul has given me so many lessons on surrender, of remembering ultimately nothing is really under my control. On the surface that is a scary and petrifying thought. Yet in the depths of my stretched and fragile heart a little seed of stillness and peace stirs. It’s worth it, breaking my heart open again and again, letting go again and again. We all have to let go of everything sooner or later. So if you happen to see a teary snotty mess at the airport, know that at least part of her is courageous and brave and committed to serving and loving this life bigger than she knows how. And that she has promised life she will keep showing up again and again and again….

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Society seems to build this huge world of ideas around children starting school and the stark reality that once they begin, it will never be the same again. It is like a silent subscription service we all have to the milestones and doorways that we must pass through. Of course this is truthful, life does change at these gateways. And I wonder, what else is true?

What I have come to is this. While those major doorways we all know of and speak of do impact our lives forever, for me it is actually the little everyday ones that make the most difference. The seemingly insignificant moments I choose kindness, gentleness, compassion. What I have really been reflecting on over the past month leading up to Freya starting school is do I trust myself as a mum? Have I done enough? is she happy? To be honest when I dropped her at school this morning what I was really asking myself was “If this was the last time i got to see her, have I given enough?”. All big questions…

And for me they lead to guilt and shame. These two friends tap dance in with all their flashy style and for a time I lose myself in their invitations. How many times have I lost my patience and got angry, raised my voice, ignored her in a time of need, god forbid I even smacked her one day when I had NOTHING else left….. at this point my chest and tummy is so tight its hard to breathe…. my body takes over and that deep breath I just took, well it begins the process of airing the musty staleness of my inadequacies. Cause you know what, for all my failings as a mama, I love. I so holy fully love with my whole being that I could swallow the world before it knew what was coming. My devotion to my children is palpable, I have the strength of a lioness and at the same time I am willing to be the naked struggling fool time and time again if that is what it takes to open to life’s truest heart.

It has been a big week for me, I had my skin check on Monday and need to have two more moles off tomorrow. I dread going, I get scared and at the same time know it is necessary to care deeply for myself if I want to hang around and watch my girls grow. The past few days have been filled with that delicate yet intoxicating mixture of dancing with my fears around dying and resting in the deep gratitude I have for my life. I truly love every aspect of it, there is nothing I want for. I am happy.

On the weekend I caught up with a girlfriend who recently lost her mum to cancer and she shared some really powerful wisdom with me. She spoke of the beauty of death, of how truly sacred and special it is and how as a society we miss out on so much of what it has to offer. And she shared that for her, she felt her mum had given her everything she needed, that she now deeply trusted herself as a woman and mother, that her mother had been an incredible mum and guided her to trust herself right until she died.

What a gift, to leave a daughter who above all trusted in her own blessings, wisdom and goodness.

It is inevitable we will all have to let go of our precious ones. It is my greatest hope that when my turn comes to die, my girls can stand strong and yielding in themselves, that they understand I have given them all that I can and that I deeply trust them and their unique ways of travelling this adventure of life. That above all they know they are loved and never alone.

When I kissed Freya at the door this morning, I guess what i was really saying was thank you. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to love you, to grow alongside you and to let go of you. I can hear my heart gently whispering “Enjoy yourself precious one, this is a safe beautiful place and while this life is short, it wants nothing more than to serve you.

It feels like time for tea, so I’m off to put the kettle on and choose a beautiful cup to drink from. Thank you for meandering with me along this ever winding path.

With love from my heart xox

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