The Angel in our midst...

This is a post I wasn't sure I should write.  A very difficult one to write too.  But I was encouraged, by someone who has known hard times too, to share because there are people out there who might be going though this right now, or know someone who is.  And perhaps my story might help someone else see that, though the journey is hard, they will come through.

Today is the 20th of May.  It's my daughter's birthday.  My first daughter.  Who would be, should be, 10 years old today.  Her name, chosen years before she came into the world, was Morgan Grace.  Morgan for the Celtic goddess, Grace for my beloved grandmother.  She was born perfect, full-term...and still.  I won't go into the details of why and how, the things that perhaps should have been done that weren't, that I should have been told but wasn't.  I went into labour not knowing I carried Group B Streptococcus.  I had none of the 'risk factors' whatsoever, so no-one suspected it could be a problem.  But it proved fatal for my little girl.  I ended up having an emergency caesarean to no avail.  I can remember the exact moment as if it was yesterday, that my world tipped sideways and nothing could ever be the same again.  Lying on the operating table, wondering why I couldn't hear her crying, the Anaesthetist came up to me and said "I'm sorry, your little girl is very sick".  "Will she be OK?" I asked.  "No.  I'm so very sorry."

That moment began a journey that I'm still on.  I will probably be on it for the rest of my life.  That isn't to say I'm still grief stricken all the time, or that my life is grey and sad.  I'm not, and my life is mostly pretty good, and terribly normal.  And I have two beautiful little girls here with me to bring me all the joys and frustrations of being a mother!  But when you're a bereaved parent, there's always a gap, the awareness that your family isn't quite complete, the feeling of missing something important.  There are the days, like today, when you mourn again for all that you, and your child, have missed.

I have told people that I know what Hell is like, I spent 6 months there.  Everyone is different and grief is a very individual path.  For me, it took about 6 months before I started to feel human again, before the colour that seemed to have been bled from everything began to feel its way back in, and the flavours that had gone leaving all food tasting like cardboard began to return.  The pain subsided, I began to live rather than just exist.  But you don't forget.  You can't forget.  And I was quite simply not the same person anymore.

I discovered too, that grief affects others in vastly different ways.  And the death of a baby sometimes brings out peculiar notions in people.  The old idea (thankfully mostly forgotten these days) that you should 'try not to think about it' surfaced in an unlikely quarter, friends who seemed to have trouble understanding the depth and profound nature of my grief.  My simple need to talk about my baby, to acknowledge that I really was a mother, that she was real.  And kindnesses too from unlikely quarters.  The uni friend of my brother's whom I'd never met, who turned up on his bike to their class clutching a bunch of flowers, and pressed them into my brother's hand saying "For your little niece."

I have learnt so much in these years.  I understand profoundly that death is part of life, not something you can push aside or pretend doesn't exist, as we often seem to do in this modern world.  And it is not morbid, or perverse to acknowledge it and talk about it.  Or laugh about it sometimes too.  It will come to us all, and it is sad, and tragic too when it comes to the young.  But it is part of the cycle of life, and we must accept that.  If there is any advice I can give to someone going through this, or who knows someone who is, it is this.  Grief is a journey.  You must go through it (and we all will, at various times in our lives), you cannot block it out, or deny it, try to circumvent it or ignore it.  It is a long, hard journey, and something that no-one ever tells you, it is SOOO tiring.  You feel as if you cannot do one more day.  But you can, you have the strength, you will come through.  And, most importantly, it is YOUR journey.  There is no right way to grieve, don't let anyone tell you you're doing it wrong, or you should be 'over it by now'...it takes as long as it takes.  And if you are watching helplessly as someone you love is walking this road, remember that you CANNOT take their minds off it, you cannot make them forget, you cannot drag them away from the edge of the abyss, you cannot carry the burden for them.  But you can walk with them.  Stand on the edge of the abyss and hold their hand until they are ready to step back themselves.  Let them talk, cry, scream, laugh.  Be there.  And if your friend has lost a baby...please, speak their name.  There is no sound more beautiful in all the world to a grieving parent, than the sound of their child's name.

We will celebrate Morgan's birthday as a family, my girls know and understand they have a big sister, a guardian angel, in Heaven (or however you wish to think of it).  We will make her a cake and sing happy birthday, because she is part of this family and always will be.  And I will leave you with a portrait my mum drew of our beautiful girl, and a poem written by my friend Rita, who has herself known great loss and pain, and found that life goes on, and joy returns.

Tangi for Morgan


Small voyager, swim well.  The eternal 
ocean will, for you, surge and swell
gently, for the waves
only tumble 
and crash
on the shore of our memory.
You are safe.


Seabourne, seamaid, navigate straight for 
the horizon, let the tides carry you,
small seasprite
on your way.
We will sit awhile here on the shore.
You are warm


It's a little dark now, and cold here.
It will pass.  Days will come
when the breeze is your touch 
on our face
and your breath
in our hair.  We sing you on 
your way.


Go, small Morgan Grace,
wrapped safe, bright
within our love,
journey for the light.

Busy, busy, busy......

I haven't got any new pictures to show, so I've 'decorated' with a couple old ones.  This top pic is a pencil illustration I did years ago for the cover of a book of essays of speculative fiction published by Eidolon Press, titled "The Fantastic Self" (second book in list).  He he, that's lovely, I just looked it up to see if there was any kind of a link I could provide and found that review...how wonderful, the reviewer thinks my cover 'is gorgeous'!  I have to agree with them about the rest of the book though, a mixed bag, a few good and very thought provoking, but too many that appeared to be rushed and from the school of 'let's state the bleeding obvious for 3 or so pages'.  Also, a 5 page synopsis of a novel does NOT in any way, shape or form a critical analysis make.  But enough of that.

I shouldn't really be writing, because the 'Vagabond King' needs to be finished in time to drop it off before noon on Saturday, and I haven't even finished the front yet!  I haven't even got time to take and upload any photos of where it's at now (soon, soon, I promise!).  But, it's been a while since I last wrote, so I thought a quick post might be in order.  It's a gorgeous day, a bright sunny, and gloriously cool Autumn day.  It's supposed to be raining of course, and we certainly need it, but I do love these crisp bright days.  It's the kind of day that makes me feel happy and content, and reminds me of all the wonderful things in my life, all the things I should be thankful for.  My very wise grandmother always used to tell us 'count your blessings' and I think it's very good advice...too often we let ourselves get annoyed and frustrated and upset over dumb things, things that don't really matter, when in reality our lives are lived in paradise compared to many people in the world.

This pic is a 'green woman', a small plaster mask I painted.  I have another big one hanging out in my garden.  I think I DO need more green on this blog.  I should take Hildegarde of Bingen's advice and put some 'veriditas' into my life...I so love her concept.  By combining the Latin words 'veritas' or truth, and  'viridis', or green...

12th century mystic, healer and philosopher, Hildegard von Bingen created the word veriditas to describe her vision of the greening power of Nature which was the divine force within all life. She described veriditas as the agent of God which was the animating life-force within all creation, giving it life, moisture and vitality. Regardless of whether it is divine or science, we are connected to and need the natural world around us.

I'll finish with another couple of short scribbles, before I go back to my spot on the couch with my sewing over my knee.  Here's a little Tanka I wrote years ago for a uni assignment.  I like the Tanka format, just that little bit longer than the Haiku, the final couplet makes it feel more complete to me than a Haiku.

Now, gasping for air

I burst through the still surface

And breathe, lungs aching.

Solitude beneath a sky

Eloquently speaking rain.

And finally (speaking of greening), 'The half closed door', written many years ago too.  The Grinning Jack has a name, but it's a secret and he won't let me tell because as we all know, real names are powerful magic and he's a wild thing and doesn't want to be tamed.  You could also call him the Green Jack, it would be just as apt.  I'll leave you to ponder that mystery yourselves ;-)

The Grinning Jack waits at the end of the path

He wears my fox mask and holds out his hand

From each footprint a memory grows

I have sown a garden of things forgotten.

Back to stitching!

A room with a view

Ooops!  I forgot to mention yesterday that a piccie of my humble abode appears on Terri Windling's blog feature this week!  She's asking for 'views from your window' to be sent by Friday, and it's wonderful seeing such amazing outlooks from windows all around the world.  Just go to her main blog here, and you can scroll down for a whirlwind tour of global views!  It's also interesting to see the views from the work spaces of so many artists and writers, and how those views might inspire or influence their work.

I have a small confession to make though...I did have to move Mount Washing-Tonne off the couch, and carefully avoid the coffee table in front of it (well, I THINK there's a coffee table under there somewhere).  I have so much housework to do, and the 'Vagabond King' needs to be finished Saturday week!

Oh look, another book!

I'd just about forgotten about this, and it took me a while to hunt down the photos in our highly efficient (ha ha ha) photo filing system, but here it is, another book I made with my own fair hands.  In 2007 I started painting 'professionally' (ie. I did more of it and actually got myself an ABN...Australian Business Number) and among the first pieces I did were a set of 4 paintings of Goddesses based on the 4 elements.  I began with Fire because I'd attended a workshop on the elements and decided I didn't have enough 'fire' energy in my life, not enough action.  A lot of thinking and daydreaming, but not much actual making things happen, and I thought it was high time I did something about it.  To go with the paintings, I created this book to explain my ideas, inspirations and meditations on each element.  The idea was that if (miracle of miracles) someone actually bought the whole set (and they were quite large), they would also receive the book, and if the paintings sold one at a time, I would keep it myself as a memento.  And lo and behold...someone did indeed eventually (the following year) buy the whole set.  It was a heady start to my career as an artist, and in many ways, a validation that I was truly doing what I was supposed to be doing in this world.

In the book, I kept to the original painting sequence, beginning with Fire, rather than ordering the elements as they traditionally are...Air, Fire, Water, Earth.  I felt it was important to tell the story of how each one was created.

Introduction

Fire

Air

Water

Earth

Back page

Closed.  I also made a slipcase for it, but unfortunately didn't take a photo.

So it seems I do make books, even if I'm not a writer!  I think there will be more.

Hello, my name is Christina and I'm a frustrated writer...

...is there a support group out there for me?!

Oddly, when I was a kid, about the only vague idea I had about 'what I wanted to be when I grew up' was a writer.  Well, a writer and an artist, but art was something I just did anyway, and presumed that I would carry on just doing.  A writer seemed to be more of a 'proper job'.  I was a terrible bookworm as a kid, I really did read 'with a flashlight under covers' as Robin Williamson says in his glorious "Five Denials on Merlin's Grave".  So I wrote...lots.  Stories and poems mostly, believing that one day I would write a real proper book, just like all my favourite authors.  Herein lies my problem.  All my favourite authors were...British.  Raised on a diet of C.S. Lewis, Susan Cooper, Alan Garner, Rosemary Sutcliffe, Penelope Lively, Alison Uttley, Enid Blyton (I still love 'lashings of ginger beer') and Tolkien, I wanted to write books like they wrote.  And I did...once.  When I was 15, for an English assignment.  I think (but this is 29 years ago so I can't be sure) that the brief was to simply write a children's story.  Me being me, I decided to make a real book, with 'pictures and everything'.  It was called 'The Magic Sword' and I have to admit, HEAVILY influenced by 'The Hobbit'.  There's even a wise old owl called 'Gandaf' (hmm, remove the 'l' and no-one will know my influences, ha HA!)

Here's the opening page.

So by the second line, there's already a problem.  We simply don't have villages in Australia.  We have little country towns, but not villages.  I had no idea what a heath was either.  And I was 22 before I clapped eyes on a real live oak tree, and a young one at that, so not twisted at all as I had imagined them to be.

Somehow, to be a real writer, I had to write about that kind of stuff and unfortunately, I had no experience of it.  All of my favourite writers, no matter where they're from, seem to bring a very strong sense of place to their work, a real appreciation and eye for the details of nature, and I wanted to do the same, but didn't know how to fit the magic and myth of my ancestors into the landscape around me.  And I think somehow that it stopped me from trying.  So this remains my one and only finished book.  But I read it again today, and actually, it's not bad (for a 15 year old).  I might read it to my girls and get an expert opinion.  And who knows, maybe I've still got a book of some sort in me!

Apologies for the dearth of posts this last week...I've had a horrible dose of the flu AND a thumper of a headache on the weekend, so not the best Mother's Day ever.  I do look forward to the time my girls are big enough to put the kettle on and make me a cup of tea in bed though!

The "Green Heart" in detail!

Just for Danielle, who wanted to see this up close!  A higher resolution pic, if you click on it, it should be big enough to read the text!

Perpetual Motion.....

This is how this big piece (1m x 1m) looks now...well, 3 pictures of it (and some details) because it's so hard to photograph.  It's dark and has a high gloss varnish on it, so any light reflects off it, and the camera insists on using the flash!  So it's somewhere between the three...ironically the truest is the one with the throw rug blocking one corner!  I thought I'd finished it around 12:30am this morning (yawn!) but when I got up I decided it needed the four directions added.  Then quick photographs, and varnishing.  Then nervously waiting for the varnish to dry, while clock watching, as it had to be dropped off before 11am.  Phew!

I went to the opening of the Canning Art Award (my local shire) on Friday, and won a Highly Commended Award for this little piece.  This is the second 'heart' piece I've done, I rather like them, so there will no doubt be more to follow.