Angel Man…
Dedicated to Liam Edward
(Stillborn 16th August 2004 -Twin 1)
Written 27/11/05.
In the short time you were inside
my little brave man you proved to be.
Saving your twin sister before
your sudden stillbirth.
As she laid low near you
bonding and protecting at first.
Prolonging a fateful harm
an even earlier birth.
Holding on as long as you could
it became all too much.
It was unbearable,
the dry membrane you were pressed.
Six weeks of bed rest I endured
helpless, I couldn’t do much more.
I heard your heart beat on the monitor
and felt each placenta pulsate.
You’d kick then wiggle about
fondly, I rubbed my rounded belly.
I saw your distorted shape on ultrasound
believing you’d be alright.
I felt your foot before you arrived
and hoped you would hang on.
A strange feeling turned anxious,
late at night you arrived.
You were not the presenting twin
a medical marvel you came first.
There were no baby’s cries
no tears of wonder and joy.
It was never meant to be this way
you were taken so early from me.
I don’t know how to thankyou
for saving your little sister so.
Missing out on your life’s journey,
never to be shared with your sister.
Love surrounds us both,
Far greater than life itself.
Such a will to survive
Time will dim my aching heart.
Our paths will cross again,
Goodbye my little angel man.
Oma
For Oma (Passed 09.06.14)
Her name was Rita, fondly known as Oma
this beautiful woman was Dad’s Mother.
Growing up without you in my life
was a great burden, I never imagined?
You were my one and only dear Oma
the only connection I felt I had left.
After losing Dad and Aunt Marianne,
the thought of losing you was too much.
I knew you wouldn’t be around forever
knowing your grand age of ninety-six.
I dreamt you came to me in a small long boat
asking me to visit you with the kids.
I tried to visit you, several times I really did
only calling you instead, I felt such terrible guilt.
I tried to get to you, knowing you had fallen
breaking your arm that fateful day.
A long day with the baby, I received the news.
Such shock then extreme sadness,
I knew I could no longer come to you.
Overcome with grief, I didn’t know what to do.
Phone calls, then cuddles, my husband tried to console
nothing could take away my guilt, not seeing you.
An unsupportive Mother, it was expected,
three young children, my hands were tied.
We planned to get to your funeral,
the last thing we could but do.
A long plane trip, then stuck in traffic
with our son, we nearly missed it too!
Seeing my Aunt and Uncle, I soon relaxed,
it had been so long seeing everyone.
Your service was beautiful, all the images
of when you were young, just like me.
Life is so very short I thought, when home
conversations moving out of Canberra arose.
You once told me to live my dreams
be myself and always continue to create.
I worked hard to convince Husband and everyone,
that moving away to Goulburn would be fun.
The kids were so excited, Widy to repeat year four,
it took all my courage to find work, a place to live.
Moving in four months, I say thank you Oma
for giving me the ambition to do what I wanted.
Leaving behind bad memories and individuals,
I can’t turn back the past but look to the future.
You once wrote, what we have once enjoyed
we can never lose, all that we love deeply
just becomes a part of us…
You are forever in my heart, Oma.
Nan’s Place…
20.06.00. (Dedicated to Nan Starkey, passed May 2007).
Luggage meticulously packed, overflowing with spare undies and tee-shirt sets, roll on mozzie repellent and bottles of ‘Le tan’ sunscreen lotion. Green plastic bags jammed with metallic wrapped pressies, thoughtful cards and tacky festive decorations. Large straw hats, faded caps and the faithful floral umbrella all stuffed into the complaining car boot. Mum, Dad, my big Sister and I were on our way to Nan’s place….
It was sweltering hot: no relief as the car twisted winding up fierce cliffs, spiralling to turn down the unforgiving forest mountain. What a view the clear waters greeting the aqua sky, breaking through dense tall trees. “Look girls, there’s the ocean!” Mum would say. “Are we there yet?” moaned my Sister. “Just a bit further”, was Dad’s reply. Giggles of excitement as music dribbled into the back seat: Eric Bogle, Bony M, John Farnham, Mum’s favourite…
Who could forget that horrible sensation of head heavy, voice failing, and ears blocked; to eventually pop after holding our noses and blowing tightly. “Mum… my tummy’s swirly. I wanna be sick!”. The car humming to an abrupt halt. “No more banana lady fingers or choc babies for you girls!”, Mum would say shaking her head.
Finally, we arrived, dry mouthed and hungry: the heat melting our skin. Honeyed aromas of snapdragons, sweet peas, dahlias and scented roses greeted us, giving wind to climb the steep staircase. There’d be Nan waving, dressed in her special floral frock, complete with white walking shoes, matching belt and woven hair net. “Merry Christmas Nan!”, we all chorused, giving Nan a giant bear hug almost bowling her over. Our Uncle, Aunt and younger Cousins having arrived earlier.
“C’mon kids, let’s have something to eat and go to the beach”; everyone would pitch in setting the table. A grand spread of delicious chips, nuts and dipping nibbles: soft drinks, fresh watermelon pieces to munch on and handfuls of choc eclairs, smarties and coloured jelly baby mixes. The wafting smells of a BBQ, drove other elderly couples out to join the mirthful cheer…
Taking Nan’s hand, we’d skip off to the beach; holding a coloured plastic spade and bucket set each. New swimmers for X-mas, hats on, sunscreen over freckled noses, chatting all the way. Mum carried spare sandals and drinks in her bright canvas shoulder bag, while Dad lugged towels and a fold up chair for Nan. Seagulls swarming, cuttle fish, blue bottles. Broken glass bottles, jelly fish and small fish bones scattered. Sea urchins, shells, seaweed, green and blue beach towels littered the nearby sand dunes. Competing to make the biggest bucket sand castle and water moat, the itchy sand crept up our noses, our hair, between our wriggling toes and cascade down our behinds.
“Girls, don’t go too far!” Dad would spy. “Oh! but, Dad… we just wanna go down there.” Pointing, we’d run off giggling, our cousins in tow. “Anyone for ice-cream!”, called Nan, smiling; we’d all come running straight back…
‘Duggie’, Our Wonder Dog…
Born: 01.01.08, lost ‘Chihuahua’ found at Renbury Farm mid-2016.
Passed: 23.12.21, aged 13 & 11 & half months (nearly 98 in dog years).
A family poem: in memory of our sweet doggie, ‘Duggie’…
Our first meeting was near Camden, at Renbury Farm,
We instantly became smitten, waiting and hoping no further harm.
Three weeks later, we could take you home,
After having your surgery, you did make a little groan.
We all cared and supported, you had some separation anxiety,
We didn’t mind, your sweet little face showed such joviality.
‘Hey Duggie!’ Mister C did first call out your new name,
Running out past the front door, smiling you always came.
To greet us unconditionally, your second caring family,
Once a lost dog, now wonderful to see you grow-up so happily.
Dad loved how you would joyfully and playfully bark,
When all of us came home from school or the park.
Mister C asked yesterday, “Why did Duggie have to go?”
Sadness all over his face, “I did love him so, very so!” …
“It was his time, my son,” I replied with lots of hugs;
“I miss him so very much too; my sad heart really tugs.”
Flossy quietly wrote, “When it was raining, you needed a place to hide,
I’ll miss you coming in my room and right up by my side.”
Widy whispered, “I loved how Duggie smiled and with his little paws, dug
To make a soft bed in my room, with my furry pink rug.
I miss his cute little face; it certainly makes me sad,
With him not here with us, we’re all just kind of mad…
Duggie was not just a dog, he was a member of our family.
Farewell our sweet little boy; an honour to have known you, actually…
Drawn by Flossy 2019…
