So Much…

My life has become akin to a highball glass full of water, with sand settled at the bottom.  Every grain of sand represents the memory of a challenge I have overcome in my life.  Mostly overcome with the inner strength that I can’t tap into by choice.  Experiencing times of hardship, tragedy and pain lead me to access this strength by instinct; and only when I need it most.  The sand gets stirred up from time to time, leading me to relive the memories.  Sometimes the emotions push me over like a full-bodied wave, taking me right back to the place that hurts the most.  At other times the emotion is like the tide gently ebbing up the shore line, and I am able to carry on without pause.

My glass has been stirred.  There hasn’t been enough time between triggers for the sand to settle this time and for life to carry on. It has stirred up a grief that changed me.

The first was reading a very poignant post by a good friend, Renza on her blog, Diabetogenic. It talked about the permission to grieve for the loss of good health at the time of a diagnosis of diabetes.  The next was reading a post that Renza had referenced, written by Mia Freedman about how people manage to, and not manage to deal with grief.  Later, I spent some time with a woman who had recently lost her mother.  I detected her voice was a little flat, & her gaze fell upon children around us with a very subtle, yet heart wrenching pain.  Then I connected with a new friend through the Diabetes Online Community who recently lost her husband.  We shared some pain over a phrase I quoted from Mia Freedman’s post.  Today was the final blow when I attended a function.  A gorgeous woman, with the very best of intentions said, “Oh Kim, your Mum should be here… she really should be here with us.”

That was it.

My glass of water was suddenly housing a frenzied whirlpool of sand.

Just over two and a half years ago, I lost my Mum very quickly, unexpectedly and tragically.  There’s nothing more to be said.  The event changed me for life.  To begin with it felt as though the changes in me were only ever going to be negative.  Some days getting out of bed to tend to the needs of my daughter, Aspen felt impossible.  How on earth could I not want to care for the little girl who I adored almost more than life itself?  Slowly but surely, the grains of sand began to settle and I found the strength to draw out some positive aspects to this life changing event.

The lyrics to Newton Faulkner’s song, “So Much” became a theme for me.  It is the song I remember listening to when travelling back and forth to the hospital to visit Mum during her last days.  After Mum passed away I chose not to listen to it.  Hearing Faulkner’s mellow voice echoed a pain within me that I didn’t recognise.  So I began to read the song words instead, not wanting to completely turn my back on such a beautiful creation.  Much like not wanting to ever let go of my Mum.

From these lyrics I made the following choices about my life after losing my Mum:

– I will fight hard to live the life that I know I deserve.  Living with diabetes will become an asset to my existence.  I will pay it forward and affect positive change.

– I will teach my children to enjoy my company and feel my support by weaving my spirit into everything that they do.  When the time comes to lead lives without me, they won’t have to.  I will always be with them.

– I will show the people who I love how proud I am of living our lives together.

So Mum…

Just so you know…

“There’s so much of you in everything I do… Its one thing that time will not erase… My life would not have been the same.”


4 thoughts on “So Much…

  1. Renza says:

    This is a beautiful, heartfelt post, Kim. Thank you for sharing. x

  2. Beautiful post, Kim. I think it sucks that our cups get stirred sometimes, often unexpectedly. Sending you all sorts of love and support. Hang in there.

  3. Megan Hatfield says:

    You stirred my cup & bought me to tears. I also lost my darling mum quickly, unexpectedly and tragically in 2009. Let the memories live.

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