Luck?

Many people tell me how lucky I am. And actually they're correct, but not for the reasons they think!!

I'm not lucky to have a wonderful, loving and devoted husband who is also my bestest best friend.  We have done our hard yards.  When others may have given up and walked away, we both decided to swallow our pride and change ourselves for the better instead. And to work hard (I mean work DAMN hard) to build this amazing relationship we have today. And we keep working on it too. No luck there.

I'm not lucky to have a reasonably well adjusted, easy going, respectful and happy son.  It's been hard work raising him to understand manners, generosity and friendship. I'm not his best friend (although we are great friends) - I'm his mother. I set the rules and enforce them, I don't try to curry favour by giving in to his demands or try to buy his affection. He's happy and healthy and I have worked damn hard to make it so. Again there's no luck there, just more hard work.

I'm not lucky to live on a rural property just outside of Hobart with the most spectacular views of rolling hillsides and Mt Wellington in the background. We made some extremely hard choices to get here and have done lots of hard work (with much more still to come) to make it a reality. We have given up our comfortable home and networks in Perth for the unknown over here. We have jumped in feet first with no farming experience at all and are learning what we need to know very quickly as each new crisis hits. Not lucky or easy!!!

And I am most certainly not lucky to have survived breast cancer. The past 2 years were the hardest I have ever experienced.  I fought to survive. I did have great specialists (I hope) dishing out my treatments but it was pure will power and determination (and my amazing husband) that got me through them. I guess sometimes it pays to be stubborn.  Recovering from the cure was the hardest thing I have ever had to endure.  No luck there, just grit and determination.

I don't attribute any of those things to luck. All required concerted effort, sacrifice and in some cases huge mental shifts to make them happen. In most cases a goodly dose of courage too.

Where I do consider myself extremely lucky is that I have managed to learn the lessons I needed for each challenge in time to prevail. Perhaps The Universe dished out my lessons in a particular order for a reason, or maybe it was just blind luck. But when each challenge landed at my feet I somehow had the tools I needed to get through.

Perhaps The Universe had something to do with this too, but hand in hand with every challenge the most amazing and dedicated people have come into my life to support and guide me. And I am truly lucky that each and every one of them has remained in my life after the crisis has passed.

I am indeed lucky and blessed.

Self worth

When I look back I can fully understand why I have always had trouble with confidence and self esteem. And I can also see how different my teens, twenties and even my thirties would have been had I been able to trust in my own worth. How much hurt might have been avoided.

I remember there was a time that I was comfortable with who I was. I liked myself. I was doing reasonably well at school and enjoying jazz ballet and modern dance. I considered myself pretty enough and at age 14 that was important. I had some amazing friends and there were no major dramas at home.

But then something happened that changed everything for me. A massive betrayal. Something that I kept secret, not telling anyone about it for 15 years because I was made to feel that I was to blame. I felt ashamed.  I never told my family about it because I thought they would look at me differently, that it would change our relationships, or worse they would also blame me. And I certainly never told my friends, even those closest to me.

From that day forward my opinion of myself declined. I began to accept behaviour towards myself that I should have rejected. I allowed the hurt that the following 6 years dished up, and even believed that I didn't deserve any better. In fact for more than 25 years I allowed myself to be treated poorly.

Are you wondering why nobody stepped up to help me? Surely they could see my hurt, my saddness and self loathing? Well no actually, that was when I realised that I was very good at convincing everyone around me that I was ok. Everyone saw my bright dazzling smile, and that seemed proof to them that all was ok. Sadly that continued right up until my breakdown. A perfect example of how well I had everyone fooled was a comment made by a lovely friend on seeing my 40th birthday glamour photos "I don't think you can fake this kind of happiness" and that was mere months before I crashed.

What would I tell my 14 year old self if I could? To expect to be treated with love and kindness because she deserves it. To walk away from anyone who doesn't do so. To ask for what she wants and needs. Ask for help. Demand respect. To realise that she is a beautiful, kind and worthwhile person. That when someone hurts you it is NOT a reflection on you but on them!!

What would I like you to take away from this post?  Well if you are the one struggling then I urge you to reach out. Admit your pain to those who love you and ask for help. And if you're in a good place then please look closely at those around you who appear to be fine. Look past the bright smiles and cheerful facade to see if behind the mask is a scared, hurt and isolated soul silently screaming for help.

Loss

We will all suffer the loss of someone we love at some time in our lives. That's part of being alive. It's one of the most difficult experiences imaginable.

For me the greatest loss I have experienced is the death of my dad. Not a day goes by without me thinking of him. His bright blue eyes and cheeky smile. He could make anyone laugh and would do anything for anyone in need.  I always thought he was too good to be true. Maybe he was just too good for this life.

Every day for the past 24 years I have missed him and wished we hadn't lost him. He was too young and too vibrant to leave this life. Every day I wish my son and my husband had known him and that he had known them too. He would have been an amazing grandad. He would have loved all of his grandchildren and shamelessly spoilt them rotten. I know he would approve of my husband and he would have been proud of how we fought to get to this place in our life together.

Dad was just 53 when he took his last breath.  I was with him at the hospital that night. He had been in palliative care for a few weeks and some nights I would sleep in the chair by his bed. He couldn't talk to us anymore, the brain melanoma was taking away his ability to function. The morphine took him off to another place. But the pain was still there, we could see it in his face and hear it in every breath he struggled to take.

Usually mum would have been with him, but this night I had convinced her to go home for some rest. A few hours after she left I noticed Dad's breathing had changed. I called the nurses, they checked him and decided there was no need to phone mum to come back to the hospital just yet. A couple of hours later his breathing changed again, became really strained and developed a rattling noise. The nurses called mum and told her to come back to be with him. While we waited for her to get there I talked to Dad constantly. Even though we'd been told he couldn't hear us I didn't believe it. I told him what a wonderful father he was. How much my sister and I loved him. I told him how much mum loved him. I kept asking him to hang on just a little bit longer until she got there.

Around 3am his breathing became very strained, I could hear the pain in each breath and see how hard he struggled for each one. I held his hand and pleaded with him to wait for mum. But she didn't arrive and eventually I couldn't bear to see/hear his suffering any longer. So I squeezed his hand, kissed him on the cheek and told him that it was okay. That we all loved him and knew how much he loved us. That it was ok to let go if it was too hard to keep fighting. And just like that he let his breath out and didn't take another. That was his last breath. The struggle was over for him.

A few minutes later mum arrived and I heard her howl in pain from down the corridor as the nurse told her that Dad was gone. She was totally devastated that she wasn't with him when he passed and I believe it took her a very long time to forgive me for being the one who held his hand as he died. But in my heart I truly believe that he didn't want mum to see him take his last breath. He didn't want that to be her last memory of him. As it is for me.

Every day I wish my dad was here with us and I miss him still.