It’s the end of the world as we know it…..

So reality is back!!!  Or rather I’m back in my reality….. either way, here I am…. again! It’s okay…. I am so unbelievably grateful for the wonderful experiences that I’ve just had….. but when you come back to my reality, it’s much less of a slap, and much more of a  whack over the head with a four by two. Such is my life as I have finally realised. When Trent suddenly died, I soon realised that my world would forever be a different place, and that I would never be able to view it through the same eyes I once had. I was right. I adored traipsing around the world again like I once did before kids, and I more often than not had a grin from ear to ear hearing all the accents, and seeing other families and people just living life as one does… but on the other side of the planet! It reminds you just how tiny we are in this giant planet we call home.  But not insignificant.  For the past 12 years since I started my little family, anyone who knows me well would know that “Escape to the Country” has always been one of my favourite shows. The girls and I still play the game that Trent and I thought up one night, where you “guess a room between one and three” and then watch excitedly as the host walks us through these amazing 15th to 18th century homes in the beautiful countryside of England, Wales and Scotland to see if we chose the Master with the incredible ensuite, the kids room or perhaps the study .  (Clearly we were all hoping for the Master!) Since I grew up next door to an English couple I’ve been a tiny bit obsessed with getting to the UK. Some of my favourite shows and comedians are from there, and Ive always found that the Aussie humour is much closer to the English and Irish than any other. The reason I moved to the hills was because of the greenery…. any kind of green is fine by me……and I knew that in the UK there was to be every shade that you could possibly imagine up. It was! It was luscious and divine. The rolling hills,  the quirky and wonky buildings,  the three hundred year old pubs with super cool names that hold more stories within their walls than any old library…… and the colourful locals, (particularly in the small out of the way towns that we tried to stay in) with their hilarious and gorgeous accents that can literally talk shit to you for hours on end and still keep you on the edge of your seat with interest.  They just sometimes seem a little bit  untouched by current society…… like they’ve kept a little bit of the original UK history in their humour and stories, just like their buildings.  I want to save my money and bring my girls back with me to do a road trip with a difference…. devonshire tea-ing it around the country side, intentionally getting lost down single lane roads in the small villages and seeing the ruins of castles and medieval towns that once were…. to me it’s just so different and interesting and beautiful. Of course I’m lucky to have gone at all, leaving behind my 8 and 11 yo girls with family. This was not the trip for them however… this was the “time to accept your husband is dead and you’re life will never be the same again” trip. I’m not sure how I fared with that one actually…… I’m home, it’s over, and I’m far from accepting my hubby is gone. Having two kids that were pining for me at home…. well I’m ever so grateful for them…… but when I saw and heard the love and longing  that one can only receive from a loving partner, and I compare it to hearing the pain and desperation of the girls over the phone who just “needed” me back…..  Well I might sound like an ungrateful cow, but it’s just not the same feeling you get from your partner in crime.  I know it’s an automatic thing for people to think “at least she still has the children……” but perhaps you forget that “she’s also left with the children.” No time to grieve, to fall apart…. to be shattered and weak, to be a human being that has lost their other half. Nope. There is only time to work, taxi them around, set up play dates to keep them happy, cuddle them to sleep, take them to psychologists, play therapists, kinesiologists, counsellors, specialists, pediatricians and whoever-ologists to make damn sure that after what they saw, experienced, lived through and have nightmares about won’t keep fucking them up for the next twenty years of their lives. Once again, not so sure how we’re faring there. We enjoyed a Widow & Widower Support Group catch up yesterday, and it was a fabulous turn out. People came from as far as Sale, and we have such a wonderful camaraderie now that it’s like catching up with old friends every time. Which they will be one day. The kids run off at the pub of choice for the month, and play in the kids play area together….. knowing that all of them there has suffered a terrible tragedy of some sort. They don’t always talk about it, but initially they might suss each other out, asking questions like “who died, your Mum or your Dad? How? When? ” And then they go on playing the pinnies and hanging off the rafters together for the next few hours while us parents vent, and support, and listen to each other about how far we’ve come, or how far we’ve fallen behind since the last meet up. It’s incredibly humbling to share these intimate and horrendously sad stories with each other. I know it has pulled me through the times where I just didn’t really want to keep going.  For that I’ll be forever grateful. After spending the weekend with another family, Poppy started talking about how she just simply misses yelling out “Daddy……. can you get me a drink…” “Daddy, can you read me a book…” and in fact it is devastating that the only time she gets to say that word, is when she is talking about him in the past tense. She howled for him tonight, for hours and hours. It will never be less heart wrenching when I hear one of the girls howling and begging for them to come back. She said she would be happy to just talk to him on the phone……. just one more time. Ouch. The irony is that after having a Dad that was not there for her, when Ruby started calling Trenton Dad on his 30th birthday, it quickly became hers and our favourite word on Earth…. after such a shaky start to life with her biological Father not coping with her, hearing her call out happily “Daddy” was the most divine sound in the world. And the smile it put on Trent’s face to be given such an incredible job to do will never leave my memory bank. Such a tiny word, such an enormous responsibility. And right now as I search in desperation for a Secondary School that will have the ability to nurture our girl through puberty and beyond with such challenging disadvantages to the other children….. well damn I wish he was here to help me decide, and calm my nerves, and support Rubes through one of the toughest transitions she’s ever likely to face. No one will probably ever be able to put my mind at ease as much as he did. We had  a language that didn’t need to be spoken, and a love that didn’t need to be explained. I won’t forget that, even if I never feel that way again. So onward and upward… and all that crap. Tomorrow is a new day, the beginning of a new week, and is happening whether we want it to or not! So I guess I’ll embrace it as always, and surround myself with love and support, so I can surround my kids with love and support. We only get one shot at it you know….. best we make it count. XXX

 

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