#005 A good-looking tie

[About this story: I was hospitalised, recovering from surgery. A recognition of beauty shone a light on my day, and I smiled at the meaning. A two-minute read.]

Double glazing shut out the traffic noise.

I was grateful for that big, low window and the view it afforded. Never before had I considered a busy highway a view, but from my hospital room, it was a splendid view. Vehicles of every imaginable design hurrying, passing slow-pokes that either couldn’t rush or couldn’t be bothered rushing. Buses, wide-loads, motor cycles and push bikes, all claiming their bit of space amongst the throng of ordinary commuters. Push and shove, to and fro.

A swathe of gum trees lining the far side of the four-lane road satisfied my need for some sort of greenery. Nature, and its healing calmness.

I drew the blind closed, pushed the door almost shut, and settled down for a nap. Painkillers were doing their thing.

A knock on the door announced the doctor, accompanied by a nurse.

“I’m sorry to disturb your siesta,” said the doctor, matter-of-factly.

He was an odd little man, both in manner and aesthetics. A broad toothy grin, that I appreciated, was topped with a salt and pepper three-day stubble moustache, the rest of his face clean shaven. The combination never altered.

His manner could be condescending. Rarely did he wait for me to finish asking a question or making a comment; he would cut me off as if my question would simply be a standard numbered question from a text book that his previous patient might have asked. His response rarely answered my half uttered questions. I launched into a question, abbreviating and rushing, trying to complete my words, but time did not appear to be the issue. He’d cut me off anyway, reciting the answer to question 35, or whatever, from his memorised medical manual.

“I like your tie,” was my cheery response to his greeting.

“That’s good,” he replied. “That means you’re not thinking about yourself.”

There is always good amongst the bad, beauty in the unattractive. It wasn’t a new concept for me. It is a deep and established part of my be-ing, an everyday awareness. Beauty is a gift, everywhere.

I liked his response to my comment about his tie. We were at least on the same wavelength in that regard.

In the dimness of the closed-up room, his pearl-white and bright-red diagonally striped tie almost shone iridescently. Slightly gaudy, but immensely cheery, the colourful tie lifted the little man’s demeanour, leaving me with a glow of something I couldn’t quite put a name to, as he disappeared without answering my dismembered queries.

And I slept soundly.

Beauty is everywhere

and in everything.

Open your heart to the beauty

- truly open your heart,

and your pain will subside.

Photography by Gaye Drady

  

#004 Bullies and boundaries

[About this story: I found myself being bullied by a loved one, and as hard as I tried to manage the situation, nothing improved. My mental health reached a dangerous point and I knew I had to do something drastic. A three minute read.]

Feeble waves lapped at my feet. The bay was at peace, languidly turning over and under to a monotonous rhythm.

Daylight was melting, laying in shimmering pools across the ocean’s surface. Chilly breeze ruffled my hair, and flung a salty puff onto my face. The briny aroma and icy nip provoked my senses, letting me know I was still alive – the emergency had passed.

Minutes previously, (or was it hours?), the tranquil waters had beckoned to me. A watery end would be achievable. The bullying had toppled me. I tried to avoid being toppled. I failed. The darkness finally had me in its clutches. Despair swamped me.

Despair only descends upon me when I have nowhere else to go. Despair is a temporary haven, comforting me with an invitation to a place where the light always shines and unconditional love prevails. Soft cushions in a hard world. It was a tempting invitation. It wasn’t my soul directing me from the beach that evening, it was despair.

Complacency had me believing that I had permanently conquered despair, but there it was befriending me after years of absence. I was unprepared and alone. I was frightened. A soft place to fall verses a relentless battering of words.

A hazy tunnel bridged the shore and eternity – a well-worn path. There would be no battle; liquid fingers would pull at my clothing until I reached the timber piers that would anchor me. Bliss would take me to a place where bullying did not exist.

But not today. Thank god, not today.  

I slumped cross-legged onto the sand, overcome with guilt-polluted relief. I was alive, but at what cost? Tomorrow would bring more of the same unless I could find the courage to let go.

I was caught up in the wild winds of a desperate person, a person so consumed with victimhood that she believed her demands and toxic spiels were valid because emotional pain of decades past shaped her. She was addicted to her story and her pain, not ready to begin to heal herself.

And she loved me, albeit love tainted by the lack of trust. What the hell is love without trust anyway? A farce. A painful struggle. Ours was a dysfunctional love destined for heartbreak from the outset, disguised by naivety and neediness.

I picked myself up from the damp sand and walked to the beachside restaurant, sitting alone in a corner easy-chair and watching the last rays of sunlight cast shadows to the water. It was a beautiful scene, serene and bathed in glorious soft golden light.

Wine lulled me into a more pleasant headspace. My glass sat on the window sill. I kicked off my soggy shoes under the table, and ate my fish and chips with my fingers, staring into space.

And then anger was there. Anger allowed me to feel again. I was oddly grateful for the anger. I walked home in the darkness, mumbling and crying, giving my anger room to be. And it passed, as all things do.

Sleep came, and daylight came. Images of a bridge to inner peace resurfaced. I knew I’d be safer amongst people, so I sat in a café knitting and sipping tea. A stranger gifted me kindness. I absorbed her warmth and I started to heal.

Through the pots of tea and knit-one-purl-one, thoughts came and went. Some thoughts stuck around long enough for me to absorb bits and pieces of value. I recognised why I suffered. What you allow, persists.

I accepted that I played a part in my own suffering (as we all do). Why the hell can't I wise up and learn my lesson and be done with the suffering? Universal law declares that our assigned soul lessons will repeat themselves until we get it, that's why. I get it alright, but I just haven't got the guts to follow through.

Emotionally abusive relationships have been the norm for me. Self-compassion is my lesson. I've figured that bit out, but standing up for my rights is a hard call - to follow through with no when I say no.

There might be other people who will mistreat or manipulate me, but after turning down the ocean's call, I'm determined to deal more wisely with these challenges. My psychotherapist says I have to learn how to set and maintain boundaries.

"Boundaries are necessary for healthy relationships. If others don't respect your boundaries,” said my therapist, “they do not deserve to be a part of your life. Forgive them, send them love, and move on.”

So I figured out it was time to move on. Now I had to do it.

I ended my day of recovery and reflection with a long walk on the beach. Walking is energising. Time amongst nature is nurturing. The sad and painful process of disengagement and letting go of a love that I thought would last a lifetime, will carry me along my path in the direction I am meant to journey. And whatever comes or goes, I will be okay. Eventually.

No one wants to give up on someone they love

such as a relative, friend or lover. But, sometimes we are

forced to make hard decisions
by extraordinary suffering.

Eventually,  you begin to

realise that your powers to guide

or heal others are limited. You finally accept that

their emptiness, pain and dysfunction requires more

than you have to give. You can not love someone

who doesn't even love them self.

Letting go is heartbreaking;

but let go, forgive them, forgive  yourself

and begin the process of healing.

Photography by Gaye Drady

    

#003 Synchronicity at work

[About this story: I met an old acquaintance randomly, but later when I thought about it, I realised that the meeting was anything but chance. A two-minute read.]

Recognition was instantaneous and mutual. He was several years older, but as scruffy as ever. I was a little larger and a lot greyer. We hugged warmly in the hospital corridor.

I was an hour from home, and he had travelled half way across the country. I was leaving the hospital after visiting a friend, and he was supporting his father through surgery. He'd just returned from smoking in the car-park. A strange coincidence I thought at the time, meeting like that, especially as I had not intended being at the hospital today.

He asked me about my family and we chatted comfortably. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He has beautiful eyes that generally speak of happiness, whilst masking pain. I've glimpsed just a fraction of the pain that dwells in his heart.

"I've always had a soft spot in my heart for you," I told him, with genuine fondness. He smiled that lovely smile, and I kissed his prickly cheek. He hugged me tightly, and then he was gone. The odour of cigarette smoke lingered. My cheek itched from the roughness of his seven-day stubble.

Alone later, I contemplated the meeting, realising that 'chance' played no part in the incident. It was much more than that. It was synchronicity at work; the Universe working magic, bringing the right people together at the right time.

The purpose of today's unlikely meeting is obvious to me; the Universe assigned me to be his Earth angel for those few moments, to lift him up and shine a light on his path so that he might find his way. This unscripted assignment was cultivated by Universal light energy to provide much needed guidance for a floundering soul, and although I wasn't aware of my role in his life at the time, I fulfilled my part by simply allowing my soul to direct me. By being myself.

I pictured the scene behind the waiting-room doors: his mother perfectly groomed as always, beautiful, but impatient with her adopted son's nature. He didn't fit the family mould like his biological brother. She would show her disapproval of his untimely laughter, his unkempt appearance, his stumbling for the right words. As always, he would feel inadequate and adopted.

His tears were probably his personal pain spilling over, rather than distress over his father's health crisis.

Unintentionally, I validated his worth with my words of praise, my expression of equality and encouragement. There are no coincidences. The Universe placed me on his path today because I was the right person for the task.

We probably won't cross paths again.

There are no coincidences . . .

We are always in the right place at the right time.

#002 The world rushes by

[About this story: my first car accident - people rush by without offering assistance and I wonder if this could really be happening. A two minute read.]

A crunching metallic sound shunted me sideways. Scraping metal, ripping plastic, shattering glass. Sound was my only sense functioning in that moment of inattention. Instinct veered my car off the highway into the service station drive-way and steered onto the footpath, coming to a surprisingly smooth stop. It was only then that I noticed the truck pull into the curb further down the road.

I sat behind the steering wheel, too shocked to move, too frightened to feel. A motorised scooter slowly negotiated the narrow gap between the undamaged side of my car and a concrete curb. The driver didn’t look at me slumped in my seat. He hurried on.

A young woman drove through the debris on the drive-way, and got out to fuel her car just a few metres away. Her eyes met mine briefly. Did she notice my tears? She hurried on.

Did anybody wonder why a damaged car, with a driver, was parked on the footpath?

My body felt weak, I couldn’t get out to survey the damage. The truck driver arrived, genuinely concerned for my well-being. “Yes, I think I’m okay. No, I won’t need an ambulance. Yes, I do have family to call. No, I don’t need coffee. Thank you.” I responded to his questions. His warm-hearted attention and gentle nature was a comfort in a world that was rushing by. He wandered off to check out his truck and make the necessary phone calls after he was satisfied that I was physically uninjured.

I sat in my car on the footpath, alone, for ten minutes. Motorists slowed down as they drove through the mess on the roadside, some stopped for fuel, and the rest motored on. The whole world rushed by. I considered the possibility of being trapped in a dream. My apparent invisibility seemed too unreal for the situation to be real.

A man knocked on the windscreen, and opened the door. He squatted beside me, and touched my hand. His hand was warm, his voice was kindly. His humanness touched my soul and a fresh trickle of tears dripped from my cheeks. He stayed with me until my daughter arrived. I can’t recall his face, and I don’t know his name, but I will always remember the warmth of his hand and the light in his heart.

My daughter dropped her children off at school, and came to my aid. She hugged me and I finally felt safe. The police and fieries turned up and did their respective jobs. I apologised to the truck driver, and he hugged me warmly. My daughter took me home. My car was taken away.

That was yesterday. Today I am alone with my thoughts. The voice in my head shouts at me, admonishes me. I tell it to shut up, but I am practised enough to be aware that it’s impossible to win an argument with the repetitive, know-all chatter in my head when I am emotionally compromised. The commentary goes on and on, cursing and blaming.

I settle myself comfortably in the late winter sun, calming the inner storm. I am human, and I make mistakes. The Universe gives me struggles that contain lessons vital to my growth. I raise my head and speak to the sky: “I am grateful for my life lessons, thank you.”

Ahh, the sunshine is warm and comforting.

Do not ignore the lessons in

your struggles and suffering,

PAIN can be your greatest TEACHER

      

#001 A different path

[About this story: We were prepared for retirement, planning to move from the Hunter Valley to settle in the semi-arid north-west of NSW, when we made a sudden change of plans. A two-minute read]

Sister Cottage just happened out of the blue, a combination of love, trust and vision.

As my sister and I tended to our ageing and ailing parents, we redeveloped our relationship that had flagged somewhat over the years for no particular reason. Our bond to each other instantaneously deepened and became firm.

Mum lay dying, barely recognisable but for her beautiful silver hair, thick and healthy, framing her gaunt face. Her needs were tended to by dedicated palliative-care staff. Fresh nightwear daily, her body always clean and fresh, her skin massaged with moisturiser, fingernails clipped. She was cared for as if she was merely out of sorts for a short time, not unconscious and dying. It was such a comfort to see that our mother, a humble little old pensioner who had lost her sensibilities due to the cruelty of dementia, and who was so dear to us, was being treated like royalty as her body gave up life.

Her favourite music played softly in her room, the curtains partly drawn for some light and fresh air, tea and coffee-making facilities in the room in readiness for her loved ones. Whatever time of day or night my sister and I visited our dear mother, her hair was freshly brushed and her teddy tucked under her arm.

Mum was a feisty lady, and didn't give up easily. My sister and I said our heartbreaking final goodbyes twice a day for a whole week, till she finally slipped away. Our husbands were there every night to comfort us. Then we buried her with Dad, who we had buried only a few months prior.

My sister and I had been through so much together, sharing the burden, comforting and encouraging each other, working and relaxing together, crying and laughing together. We were both sad to go our separate ways.

Three years previously, my husband and I had purchased a house in a little town in north-western New South Wales where we planned to retire, leaving the Hunter Valley where we had lived most of our married life. We renovated the house and established a garden, integrated into the welcoming community, established interests, and were excited about moving there upon retirement in a few years time. The surrounding bush called to us to satisfy our desire to be amongst nature.

But sentiments changed after my parents died; I wanted to live my golden years near my sister, to continue to be an everyday part of her life.  After considerable thought, I put the idea to my husband, and he warmed to it immediately. I mentioned our tentative plans to my sister and her husband, and they were over-joyed. They offered to help us get organised any way that they could.

Little did I know, however, just what extent they were happily prepared to go to also have that close-at-hand relationship. She and her husband offered to allow us to build a home in their backyard (a 9-acre rural property in south-east Queensland). The four of us discussed pros and cons of the proposal, and we accepted their generous offer.

From there, preparations for the establishment of Sister Cottage and our life of shared occupation began, with genuine and lasting excitement brimming from all.

The construction on our little house began late December 2014

ABOUT ME . . . .

At the time of starting this blog (2014), I am 57, married to Grahame (for 39 years), have a son and daughter, and 7 grandchildren (from 3 years to 13 years). I grew up in the Hunter Valley (NSW) and have lived most of my married life there.

Throughout my life I have developed a love of nature and the outdoors, and of simple living. My hobbies are writing, photography, nature study, gardening and craft. I am not religious, but am deeply spiritual. My family and friends are extremely important to me. I appreciate regular moments of solitude. I love learning. Interacting with nature is a regular and vital part of my life. I am grateful for my blessings and lessons.

On this blog I will share my short stories. Writing is not only an interest for me, but therapeutic. By sharing my writing, I hope I can not only engage readers, but provide food for thought.

My husband and I are moving to Maryborough, Qld, to retire.

Read about why we made the big move, unexpectedly, HERE.

Gaye (2014) - I love to write