Mastering the moments and the gift of grief.

A belated Happy New Year to you all, dear readers and friends. It’s been a bit of a bumpy start to the year and to the end of last year.

I’ve been wanting to write about the way that I’ve been gifted by the grief I’ve felt. Unfortunately, the grief has become a little heavy handed and, until today, I haven’t been able to get the words out. Now I’m trying to lstep into the moment. I may not achieve all I want to, in one fell swoop, but if I can find a moment and master that, I can be satisfied.

Here goes:

The gift of grief

When we heard, when I heard, when I shared with my friends about the death of our beautiful 48 year old friend Jo, I felt so warmly connected. Connected to people I knew well because we shared our sorrow. Connected to friends across states and countries and time because we all experienced this loss to some extent or another. Some massively and my heart hurts still for them. Connected to old friends I hadn’t spoken to, for a while, because it was worth making that extra effort. Just to say,”I’m here. I see you. I know you are hurting. You are not alone.”

Powerful words to say and hear. And then more connections.

Let’s have dinner. Yes let’s.

Catching up with friends who are close but the months do fly by when you’re all busy. How lovely it was that it hadn’t been an entire year since we’d seen each other. We might not have made that effort if our dear friend Jo hadn’t passed so suddenly. I’m not saying that it’s in any way good that Jo died. Not for a minute. The sorrowful truth is she did and what shall we do, what shall I do with the this life I’m still living? Not out of guilt but out of gratitude. How can I connect with the people I care about? How can I build bridges and restore friendship with dear ones I’ve lost touch with?

A message.

A phone call.

Dinner together.

Any meal together.

I believe in the power of breaking bread together. Not because of some religious sacrament but because eating together brings us closer.

I’ve always thought that ‘communion’ in church was such a small nod to the way we can truly ‘commune’ with each other in life and in a spiritual way. I’ve heard that the Passover meal is quite the feast. One that honours God and one another. They’re the kind of meals I want to have. That’s the kind of life I want to lead.

It’s not always easy. And some days feel like a stale cracker and a sip of very watered down grape juice. It’s been a bit of a ‘stale cracker and weak juice’ couple of weeks.

I haven’t been honouring myself. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t honour God either. Although I’m also pretty sure that God’s not in any way fussed by our performance or efforts in honour. Far more in our heart’s true cry. While I keep returning to the thought that I’m so grateful to be reminded of this precious gift of life, I haven’t been able to embrace the act of living. No, not suicidal, just not really living. Actually, quite afraid to live.

Afraid to treat myself well, to be kind to myself or to treat myself with respect. I can encourage and care and nurture so many people around me. I can speak those words of bravery to your spirit. I can stand beside you while you face your fear, your challenge, even your demons. I am loyal to my friends, to my children, to my family…but not to myself. Oh dear.

And yes, I have some beautiful friends who speak light and life into my world. Who encourage me, who stand by me. But where was I?

I deflected their words.

I diminished my value.

I lowered my worth.

And then today…my psychologist, yes, I have one I see regularly, suggested I work on mastery.

Mastery in the moments

You might have heard of it. I had but I’d managed to forget.

In order to have mastery, one needs to do or try to do, with the likelihood of success, things that are a little bit challenging. I’m a tad embarrassed to say, for me, it was the dishes. Yes, the dishes. Not difficult at all. But while I was on my own, I hadn’t made any effort. I mean I wasn’t like the man in the picture book who put all his dishes on his truck in the rain because he’d never done them, but there was always something soaking in the sink.

Since my son had returned home on Monday, after a terrific time holidaying with his dad, I had managed to cook four meals. That’s four more than I had cooked while just looking after myself. This reminded me that I was already doing it. Mastery of cooking for us both.

And while I could spend hours, days even, going down the rabbit hole of WHY I don’t take care of myself; it was a better suggestion to simply try mastery. Just little things…like dishes.

Or even writing…

This is quite a big thing for me. Not difficult to tap away at the keyboard but challenging to open myself up, admit my shortcomings and own my truth.

So I’m going to try to have mastery in the moments. I’m going to try to show myself the respect I deserve: the respect I’m so good at showing others’ they deserve. I’m going to continue to be grateful for what I have, every time grief comes up to remind me of all that I’ve lost. Even if it takes me a while some days to get there, I’m still going to try.

And most importantly, I’m going to try mastery of self worth. This is a journey friends. Ahh, don’t we love a journey. (No not really, I like the start and the end. I don’t like the middle bit…the journey) I’m going to try to treat me like someone I like. Like a friend that I’m fiercely loyal to. Like a loved one I’m willing to stand with. Like a sweet child who deserves to be loved and cared for.

I make no guarantees. This is not a New Year’s resolution. This is my grateful heart doing it’s best to live a life of gratitude and love of each moment that I try to master.

Blessings to you dear friends, whatever 2019 brings you, may you find mastery in the moments and gratitude through the grief.

Much love always

Sair xoxo


Christmas requires a certain kind of courage.

I’ve been pondering my Christmas blog post for quite some time. I’ve thought of witty ways to play with words; It’s supposed wonderful time of the Year. The 12 days of Missmas for all the things I’m missing this year. And then today, I heard the news of a beautiful woman, I’ve known for around 30 years, died in her sleep. She was an amazing person. Ten years ago, or so, she battled and survived a vicious strain of cancer. We’d lost touch in recent years. I guess that happens over the years. It happens with divorce. Her husband and my ex husband were friends as kids. Life happens. But then death happened.

Thankfully, her best friend sent out a group message on fb to let the old gang know that Jo had passed. All day my mind has been on the times of togetherness we had with Jo. She was the kind of person who was always offering friendship. She was…..just writing about a friend in the past tense is hard. It still doesn’t quite make sense. She was one of those people who are glue for a group of friends. Always opening her home. She inspires me to be generous. She inspires me to be brave. So much so that I had a feeling my ex-husband didn’t know the sad news, so I called him to let him know. We do things like that when it matters. Well, I like to think that I do things like that when it matters. And today I did.

This Christmas is another hard time. But I think it will be so much harder for her family than mine. Yes, it’s our second Christmas without Mum. For my sister in law, it’s her first Christmas without her big sister. It’s our first Christmas without my Aunty Judy; Mum’s only sister. She passed not quite six months after Mum.

I will be all right though. I still have beautiful friends and family around me. I have friends facing greater challenges than me. They will need a special kind of courage this Christmas.

I am well. I am loved. I am strong. I am safe. I have enough. I am truly blessed.

This Christmas I will do my best to reach out. And I’m letting you know that I’m here for you too. Reach out to me, if you want; if you need. I will respond.

I wish you peace and joy this Christmas. Deep abiding joy that runs right through the depths of sadness. It’s there. Sometimes it’s harder to see than others. But like a seam of opal, it glistens with beautiful colours and light. It might be hidden but it’s there. You are braver than you think.

Merry Christmas my dear friends.

Much love


When tomorrow becomes yesterday

Hello lovely readers of my blog and beautiful friends. Yesterday was exciting and quite scary, but actually, a really fun day.

As some will know, my job and my passion, is the performing arts; Musicals, Broadway, The Westend, Opera, Theatre, Singing, Acting and even some dancing: I love it all.

I have spent the greater part of my life getting to sing and perform on stage. I’ve be able to perform to small groups and interact with audiences in all kinds of lovely ways. I’ve sung arias in beautiful theatres and performed musicals for hundreds and hundreds of people. I’ve sung with outrageously talented musicians. I am blessed indeed.

I have also spent a great deal of my life missing out on that job, not being cast in that show, not getting the callback, getting down to the last two, and not getting the part. It’s all part of the deal.

I’ve been so fortunate to teach students how to audition. How to be the best ‘Orange’ they can be; and if the director is looking for oranges then you’re in with a chance. Sometimes they are and sometimes they actually wanted popcorn and not oranges at all.

I haven’t auditioned for any professional theatre in quite some time. The last time I did, my mental illness, because at that time it wasn’t mental health, gave me a very hard time. I became very unwell. Not because of the audition. It was a terrific experience. I didn’t get that job either but it was a good day and I left knowing I needed to learn more about dancing. And so off to Zumba I went. Yes I know, not the traditional way to learn, but I flung myself into it, doing seven classes a week. Sometimes more. And then, I became really unwell. You know there’s more to that story but suffice to say, when complex PTSD, anxiety and depression gang up they become very loud, nothing much else can be heard. And so everything kind of stopped and I got the help I needed.

As I began to recover, much of my work became about getting well, staying well, and staying alive. It still is. Staying well takes work. And by work I do mean therapy.

So, as excited as I was that I might get a job in a musical, I was also a little afraid.

Would my mental health suffer again?

A: if I didn’t get the job


B; if I did…..

As you know, I’ve been trying to embrace that girl in mirror, the one who is still brave; so I applied, got asked to audition, booked a flight and travelled interstate to audition for a chance to get a job doing what I love.

And you know what…I do love it! I love to sing and dance and act and perform and tell stories and make people feel good. It’s what I do.

At the audition the dance call was first. I danced with abandon. I learned the choreography. I got all the steps right most of the time. Zumba disco moves were all coming back to me. I laughed, I sweated, I was glowing with heat and with the joy of the moment. Then we all sang together. Singing is what I do, so this was, comparatively, easy. Dancing for a couple of hours is a great way to warm up too. Feeling alive and invigorated with the kind of dancing I hadn’t done in years, I relaxed into the singing time.

And then out we all went and they told us to wait for our names to be called for the next part, the solos. There would be a cut before they heard our solo singing. I wasn’t concerned. I knew I just had to be the best pineapple I could be. If they were looking oranges, that wouldn’t diminish my pineappleness! I had been a terrific pineapple and now this pineapple was going to show them how she could sing!

They didn’t call my name.

I was cut.

No solo.

No more singing.

No callback.


I felt myself stop. I felt everything stop. Like I was waiting to fall apart. Waiting for sobbing tears to come. Waiting for the rage of injustice to pour forth. But it didn’t…

Was I disappointed? Of course! Was I sad? Absolutely! Was I broken???????

Was I?


No, I’m not.

I’m not broken!

I was brave. I tried. And while I was doing it, I HAD A BALL!!!! That doesn’t have to change, just because I didn’t get the job.

That doesn’t change just because I didn’t get the job.

I loved, for an afternoon, I got to dance and sing and smile and laugh and learn.

So now, tomorrow was yesterday. The sun has set. The sky is beautiful.

I’m sitting in the warm evening, writing and drinking a yummy cocktail made by the fabulous Jayden, yes he totally wanted me to mention him, and I’m quite content.

I think this brave thing might be working.

Yesterday I did something daring. Yesterday I did something I’m proud of. Yesterday I remembered what I knew how to do. Yesterday I was kind to myself. Yesterday I was brave.

And today I can say, “Well done!”

Here goes…

Tomorrow I’m doing something daring.

Tomorrow I’m doing something I’m proud of.

Tomorrow I’m throwing myself in the deep end.

Tomorrow I will remember that I know how to do this.

Tomorrow I will be kind to myself.

Tomorrow I will say, “Well done!”

Tomorrow I will be brave.

And in just a few short hours tomorrow will be today.

Bring it on!!!

Respite in the relief

30 degrees one day 12 the next!! Oh Melbourne, I do love you!

The funny relationship we have with our weather in Melbourne is something special and unique and, unless you live here, really live here, I don’t think you’ll understand.

Melbourne weather can be a flighty, tempestuous, magical quick change artist but oh how I’m so very grateful to live here.

As spring has sprung so have my roses in my new garden in my new rental house. They’re glorious and red. Some light pink ones popped out the other day too. And while the spring weather may be as unpredictable as any Melbourne week, I do know it’s nearly Cup Day weekend because the roses are always in full bloom for the Melbourne Cup. Yes, that’s another sporting event in Victoria for which we have a public holiday….feel free to have your own judgements on that. I know I do. 😜

I was genuinely thinking of why I like these drastic changes in weather so much; especially when I am not, in any way, shape or form, a lover of change. I like tradition. I like to know how things will be. I like to know what to expect, what I’m supposed to wear or bring or do. I do not like surprises!!! You would think that from my very narrow minded views regarding change that this weather business would freak me out and yet…I truly find comfort in it. I know I can’t ever put away my winter coat or my boots. That my pyjama drawer must have every seasonal variation and that layering is an art form in Melbourne.

There are so many things in life that are challenging. The constant struggle it is to keep showing up every day to do this thing called life, can sometimes, be exhausting. There are seasons in life , grief and loss, for example, that take time to process. There is no shortcut. It simply must be processed. And grief will pop and and surprise you some days. Just when I think I’m truly coming to terms with my Mum’s death, over a year ago now; a day will come with its challenges and I will miss her terribly. Another layer of grief will be felt and the process will continue. Much like summer in other states and cities of Australia. My friends in Sydney put away their winter coats and boots and take out their summer things. And that’s terrific. They’re used to it. It’s how they roll. But I won’t do that, because come Christmas Day it could be anything from heatwave 40 plus degrees to white Christmas and barely reaching double figures.

How delightfully changeable!!

So while I cling to my need for stability maybe that’s what I love about Melbourne’s weather; the relief that comes with the constancy of change. If it’s hot, it won’t be for too long. If it’s cold, a warm day will pop up soon. That respite from the constant is such a relief, especially in summer.

Finding those moments of respite in the thick of the middle of a ‘winter type season’ of life can be equally a relief. That catch up with a dear friend. That book you still get moments in the day to read. The laughter of children. That song on the radio that makes you smile. Learning something new. Asking for help when things are hard.

Thanks for sharing with me. I’d love to hear some of your moments of relief in the comments below. Doing life together certainly helps.


Sair 🌹

These are a few of my favourite things

Rain drops on roses and

Whiskers on kittens

Bright copper kettle and

Warm woollen mittens….

I’m sure you know the rest of the lyrics… Recently a friend of mine wrote a brilliant blog about things that make her happy and so, in tribute to my co-blogger Annette Hill, and in an effort to find goodness and light when it all feels a bit dark; here is a list of a few of my favourite things…

  • Sunshine on my back
  • Coffee in the morning
  • Coffee later
  • Coffee…good coffee
  • Shiny Spring mornings
  • Crisp Autumn days
  • Wearing boots and jackets in winter
  • Melbourne’s weather…most of the time. Especially because I know it will change soon.
  • My cute doggie
  • And still getting to watch my son sleep
  • Flowers
  • The smell of blossoms in the evening
  • Rainbows
  • Sunsets
  • Sunrises
  • The rooftops of Paris at sunrise
  • Sitting for ages in a cafe with a book
  • Dashing into a cafe to grab a cappuccino because I’m off to do something fabulous
  • Travelling
  • Airports and planes
  • Flying
  • That feeling the day before the flight. It makes me smile even thinking about it.
  • Singing
  • Listening to my sons sing. They’re both really very good.
  • Teaching my singing students
  • My piano, even though it’s rather out of tune.
  • The Renoir print above my piano that my Dad bought especially for me.
  • Still having my Dad around
  • Knowing my Mum is no longer in pain
  • That happy-sad feeling
  • Movies that make me laugh
  • Movies that make me cry
  • Reclining seats at the cinema
  • Homemade popcorn with real butter
  • Movies that make me think and challenge me.
  • Books
  • The feel of old hardcover books
  • Bookshops
  • New stationery
  • Fresh bed linen
  • Old teddy bears of my childhood
  • Cooking for friends
  • Sharing a meal with friends
  • True friendship
  • Good food
  • Loyalty
  • Kindness
  • Laughter
  • Hugs
  • Kisses
  • Ice cream especially gelato
  • Having the right words at the right time
  • Knowing silence is just as good
  • Big band swing
  • Old records
  • Listening to music my mum and dad used to play on cassette in the car on road trips
  • Christmas Eve
  • Christmas lights and decorations
  • Singing Christmas carols and songs
  • Painting
  • The impressionists and the way they capture the light
  • Wishing to capture that light in my own art
  • Art galleries and museums
  • Writing
  • Hope
  • Faith, well grounded faith at that.
  • Knowing that when I’m down, really truly down, I have risen before and I will do again.

I’m sure there’s a million other things, the moment I hit publish, I’ll think of them. I’d love you to share your favourite things with me. Let’s count our blessings together. Let’s draw courage from each other.



Mamma bear

It wasn’t until I had my first baby, my first son, that I began to know what it is the be a mamma bear. Some of us are lionesses. Either way. We are fierce and not to be messed with when it comes to our cubs.

Even in those first blurred months of feeding and not sleeping, I remember so well that feeling of closeness. Like my heart was now outside my body. I carried my heart around. And more than I would have ever fought for my own life, I would fight forever for this little person in my arms.

And this mamma bear/lioness doesn’t only come in the ‘I grew you inside me!’ method. Although, of course, I do like to throw that line at my kids every now and again. It might be a little facetious, and, ok a lot, but I never forget how truly blessed I am to have grown these two real live human people in my body. Of my three pregnancies, I am blessed to have two beautiful sons.

Yes, three pregnancies. I, like 25% of all mums, have had a miscarriage. Mine happened very early. But the time that I knew I was pregnant for the very first time, was very special and heartbreaking when it ended so soon.

Some mamma bears become so through fostering or adoption. I’m part of that equation too…yep, I was adopted at ten days old. My birth mother was single and 17 when she became pregnant with me. Society was not kind to her but she was brave, and went through with the pregnancy, and grew me inside her and then gave me up so that my parents, who desperately wanted a daughter, could take me home and raise me as their precious baby girl. Their precious baby girl who grew to be this fierce lioness and mamma bear.

Four and half years after son number one, I gave birth to my second son. By this stage my lioness was already in full flight. My tiny new baby stayed in my bed from the first night in hospital.

I had learnt through the first four and a half years of motherhood that I had this fierce mamma bear inside me. Who knew that I was an ‘Earth Mother’. I had no idea. Thankfully, I met a few women along the way who encouraged me to trust my instincts. Trust the way I wanted to feed my son, the way I helped him grow in courage and independence and emotional intelligence and spiritual integrity. That son is now 19. He is strong and independent. I miss him and I miss my little boy. I am still his fierce mamma bear. I still keep an eye out for him. Always will.

My second son is also strong and not quite as independent…although I believe he wishes he was. He’s 14, nearly 15. Around the age of 9, he was diagnosed with a few ‘learning challenges’ or disabilities as I find I need to call them when I’m asking the educators of Victoria to stop expecting this ‘fish to ride a bike’!

Yes, my sisters, I know that statement is about another topic altogether but feminism and being a brave mamma bear work together for me. Especially when facing the male dominated positions of authority in schools.

Again…another topic for another post….and breathe!!!!!

Being the mother of a creative soul who sees the world through very literal lenses (unlike these actual words) has its challenges but so many more joys. Much as I could go on and on about my brilliant sons and their brilliant abilities and gifts and hearts and all that; this is not the purpose of this piece. It is to encourage all us lionesses, be they aunties or mothers, adopted, big sisters, darling friends or biological mamma. Be you! You are the best you that we have. You are the only you that we have on earth at this time. We need you. We need your voice. The children who’s lives you effect need you.

Trust your instincts.

Trust your heart. Take this moment to listen to what your heart is saying about you mamma bear. You got this. Whether it’s working, teaching, playing, doing life in any way with those beautiful cubs, you got this.

I want to be like those women who encouraged me way back when. So if you’re a new mum an older one, aunty, carer, guardian, big sister or friend; hear my voice cheering you on. You can do this. I believe in you.

Yay you!!!!



All it takes is one….and I got heaps more!!!

So the battle is beginning and she has come out of hiding. Thank you for the deeper magic you sent, the prayers you prayed , the good vibes you vibed.

The encouragement that I have received is so much more than I thought. I knew people had my back but this is special. This is history. This is what it is to be known. Sometimes the history is long and others not so much, but the knowing…ahh the knowing is deep.

Stand beside me; you did, you are.

Walk a mile in my shoes; you have, you will.

Hold my hand while I climb this mountain; you are, you do.

Hear my story; you listened, you nodded with understanding.

Help me out of this dark hole; you reached down, you held on.

My heart is so full of gratitude right now. And no, it’s not just the people who commented. Although I do love your comments and your beautiful words. Always love the words….

But I can feel it. The darkness of the deep dark hole is fading. I feel the help coming to climb. I sense a strength to stand in my truth.

It just takes one to say,

I’ve got you.

I’m with you.

I hear you.

I know you.

I see you.

You are not alone.

So if tonight is your turn. Please know that I see you. You are not alone. I hear your hurt. I nod with compassion and empathy. You are not alone. I know how much it can hurt, I’ve got you. The darkness will fade.

I mean I knew it would. I did mention that it would but wow!!! I knew there was a shift. Take that! Whichever part of the universe tried to slog me down last night. I am not alone. I am seen. I am cared about. I am enough. The things that are hard do not alter who I am. Nor do they alter who you are.

My beautiful friend reminded me this morning, after my reply to her asking how I was,

was, “I’m shithouse!”

She said, “No, you’re not. You’re wonderful. This situation is shithouse!”

And she’s right. Very wise this one. And I get to call her friend.

So if you feel that tonight…if you feel shithouse…well you’re allowed to feel it. It’s not who you are, it doesn’t define you. You are not shithouse.

Come on say it with me….

“I am not shithouse!”

(I’m not sure if that is a quintessentially Australian term but I’m sure you get the gist)

Oh my goodness, it happened. I see her, she’s there. She’s not hiding and yep, she’s still brave!!

Much love


I feel a shift in the universe…..oh, you were just adjusting your stance to punch me again.

The past few days I’ve felt like something has lifted. Like things were finally shifting in my universe and in my life. I feel stronger. At least I did….

Then universe took a big Ol’ swinging punch at me this evening. Something I thought I had dealt with. Something I had sought advice on and done what was suggested and then heard nothing more: tonight I heard the more.

What do we do with that?

How do we stay strong and rise above the blows we take emotionally? If you’re anything like me, you feel it physically too.

Nope, no one actually punched me. It’s ok, I’m safe. But I don’t feel safe. I feel threatened. I feel frightened. Yes, these are just feelings. They’re not ‘doings’ or ‘beings’ but feelings. I am not physically threatened, yet my heart beats like I am. I’m not physically in danger, and yet the fear I feel makes my skin cold and my fingers cramp.

My head hears the words that ‘I am enough’. And these recent days I’ve been feeling it, walking it, rocking it and tonight….dropped it, fumbled it, failed it.

I want to encourage you that you’re brave, you’re perfect as you are, you have what it takes to get through this next hurdle too and….yes, I don’t seem to be able to do it for myself. I will try. You know I will try. The depth to which I might sink, will be just as dark as other depths but I already know I have risen from such dark depths before. With that knowledge, I have a glimmer of hope that I will rise again.

The system is really rather stuffed and I will fight again. Even just writing that, I doubt myself. But somewhere deep inside, I must believe it or I wouldn’t have written it. Somewhere, I know she’s there. That brave girl. She’s hiding pretty darned well right now. But hopefully, no; assuredly, she will come out of hiding. She will stand strong. She will face the giant. Even if all she has is a slingshot and some smooth stones of truth. That giant can fall. There is a deeper truth. A deeper magic.

Tonight I will try to sleep. If you’re the praying kind, feel free to send some up and out for me. If you vibe or send strength and love, bring it on! I’m looking for the deeper magic, my friends. Whatever you think you might have access to, send a little my way please. There is a giant to fight and I’m pretty little by comparison. Surely government departments can see the truth and light too? Even if it’s just little ol’ me doing the fighting.

Thanks in advance.


Fathers and forgiveness

If you’ve read anything of mine before, you know of my deep affection and love for my dad. What I haven’t written about is my father in law or I guess, my ex father in law, or perhaps better, my ex husband’s dad. You see, I will always think of him as my father in law. From the moment I met him, helping to lift my car out of a bad situation. And yes I do mean lift, it was 1988 and he was strong. I didn’t know who he was. Just a kind man with a bit of a pommy accent helping me in a church carpark. I was just 18, not a good driver….But I remember him.

If you know me personally then you know to whom I’m referring and if you don’t, that’s ok. Out of respect to him and his family I won’t be naming names.

I was truly blessed to be his daughter in law. Even after I was divorced from his son, there was kindness between us. I will always know that the last time I saw him, our farewell was with a big squeeze of a hug and a ‘love you’ from each of us to the other; just like we always had. I didn’t know then, it would be the last time, but I’m glad it was such a loving moment. Not only did it show love, it showed forgiveness. His son’s marriage to me was over but we were still family. Such a man of grace.

Last year he died; four days before Father’s Day. I don’t know all the details, I know he went to hospital for heart surgery. I know he didn’t live long afterwards. It was heartbreaking, unfair, and it still seems so wrong.

My two sons were with me on Father’s Day last year. My dad had a rotten cough, he was home, tucked up, getting better. We went to visit my mum. She was in hospital. She’d heard about my boys’ grandpa’s death. My mum was sad about it. She sent her condolences and love with my boys as they went interstate for the funeral. I was asked to not attend. I don’t think it was how my father in law would have wanted it but he wasn’t there to guide the rest of the family through the grief. He would have been open and gracious. Of that I’m certain. So much so that I asked my brothers and my sisters in law to be prepared for when my mum would go. Mum had been sick for a long while. We knew she would die soon. Just not how soon. Only 16 days later Mum slipped peacefully away in her sleep. She was home, out of hospital, had a brilliant dinner and been to the theatre that week too. The death notice of my Mum that went in the paper, included all the family, wife, sister, mother to my brothers and I, Nanna to six beautiful grandchildren and mother in law to three, including her son in law.

Out of a heart of forgiveness from my father in law, I wanted to celebrate my Mum’s life with openness and forgiveness too.

So here we are at Father’s Day this year. My Dad has always been good and kind and so supportive of me. I’ll give him a quick call to remind him he’s the best dad I ever had, just like we always do. He never liked Father’s Day. Too many sad memories of a childhood of divorce; a rare thing in those days and being shunted around. My father in law was one of those ‘salt of the earth’ people. His gracious kindness to me was constant. I’m truly blessed to have had him in my life and sad he’s not around still.

But my Dad: I’m so lucky he’s still here. So very lucky to have had the amazing trip through Europe with him this year. Excited to know that he has suggested plans for us to go to Maxim’s in Paris, next time. Next time….what precious words.

And so til next time, as the sun comes back again, spring is sprung, I’m lucky enough to still have my Dad, my boys, and my precious puppy Tiggy.

However you remember Father’s Day this year. I hope you feel some connection and love. Even if it’s a hard day for you, it is a bit hard for me too. But you’re strong and we are brave.

Much love