SPECIALparent

For me, writing (like creativity) is another way I express myself.  What I write captures how I might feel on a given day, or during a certain stage of my life.  We are hopeful one day to publish a book that shares our experiences and feelings about our children. 

I wrote this piece about six months ago, and may post current writing now and again on my blog.

World Watching 

We all sometimes find ourselves doing it.  World watching.  Sitting in a mall or on the corner of a busy street or in a café and watching other people.  Not staring, just casually observing. 

While waiting for someone at a cafe, I begin unconsciously looking with a certain amount of envy at people younger than myself – teenagers or early twenties.  As they stroll past me in their ones or twos, I try to pinpoint exactly what it is I am envious of.  Because in many ways it is a difficult time of life – lots of big decisions to be made, peer pressure to deal with, finding yourself and your significant other.  Ok, so they have young bodies – that’s something to envy!  But that’s not it.  It’s their faces, their expressions, their laughter – the optimism and freshness that is contained there.  Eager for the future, they seem unaware or unafraid of what may come.  They live spontaneously for the day, happily naïve, invincible.  Death or sickness hasn’t entered their world yet.  It is still at an arms length, safely tucked away in the distant future where it is unseen and unthought of.  Time stretches lazily before them like an eternity with limitless possibilities.  Dreams can be dreamt, plans can be realised.

Do I still have dreams?  Plans?  Optimism?  Not like I used to.  Although I am only in my late thirties, I’m starting to realise that I feel much older than my years.  I see the world through weary eyes, eyes hollowed out by tiredness, disappointment and resignation.  Lacking energy and excitement, I sometimes have to work hard to motivate myself into action.

I wonder what it was like so long ago when I felt young and excited about life’s possibilities.  It’s difficult to remember.  When I was only 24, I began to watch my 5 month-old daughter die.  It didn’t happen as quickly as the doctors had thought it would.  It took 12 long years.  When I was 26 I began to watch my 3-month old son miss milestones.  It has been 12 long years and intellectually he is still a baby.  When I was 32 I watched my mother die of cancer.  It took 8 long months.

It has taken its toll.  Life has slowly been wrung out of me and it is only now that I wonder where it all went.  It has slipped silently away, leaving me with an empty dry shell and I look through sceptical, cynical eyes, struggling to understand how people can be happy.  Don’t they realise what life is really like?  Haven’t they figured out that someone they love will die one day?  That they themselves will die?  Don’t they notice the reality of the world strewn around them?  Or maybe they are aware but would prefer to ignore the obvious?

In many ways life’s pleasures seem so frivolous and self-indulgent now.  What’s the point in fashion, entertainment and latest fads?  Even music, reading, art, gardening – things I enjoy – all seem like extravagant optional extras compared to the big things in life. 

Yet I find myself sitting in cafes drinking flat whites with the rest of them, aimlessly wandering around shopping malls, flicking absently through shopping catalogues or real estate guides, and blobbing mindlessly in front of TV most nights.  Trying to forget.  Trying not to think.  But it doesn’t work. 

My experiences have changed me and I need to allow them to change the way I live.  Others may have seen a mother nursing her dying child on the news or on a movie, but I have experienced it first hand.  Others may have watched medical emergency shows in awe as parents coped with trauma.  I have been that parent.  Experiencing sickness, death and grief first hand changes you forever.  The experience of sickness and death demands I do something.        Because I guess my experiences have changed me; changed the way I think, the way I feel; and I need to allow them to change the way I live too.  Others may have seen a mother nursing her dying child on the news or on a movie, but I have experienced it first hand.  Others may have watched a medical emergency show, in awe, as a parent has had to cope with disaster.  I have been that parent. Absentmindedly, I stir my coffee again, glancing up to see if my friend has arrived yet.  No sign of her.  I sigh and take another luke-warm sip.  I feel as if a huge responsibility is weighing me down.  What am I meant to do with my experiences?  What am I meant to be doing with my life?  The lessons I’ve learnt and the grief I’ve carried are too valuable to ignore or to pretend away.  My children’s lives are too precious not to make a difference to the way I live.