Let’s rewind to wear it all began.
I was only 6 years old when my father died and I remember those early weeks quite distinctly. Dad had bowel cancer and from diagnosis to his passing was about 4 months. One day he got sick and the next day he was gone.
Everyone bought me gifts. Passing mourners that entered our home brought me something nice, shiny and new. I was never a spoilt child and these sorts of presents were normally reserved for Christmas and birthdays. I was supposed to be sad wasn’t I? How could I possibly be sad when I had all these wonderful new toys to distract me. It was a very emotionally confusing time for me.
The morning of the funeral, I recall my grandparents pulling up the driveway quite early. I was excited because Grandad was here and it wasn’t even the weekend. He was all dressed up in his suit and tie. My Nan never got out of the car, and my excitement was short-lived as I also saw the neighbour, who always ate the best biscuits when she babysat, trundling up behind. Then Mum said goodbye and left. I remember watching them leave in Grandad’s car and feeling terrible and confused about the whole thing.
I cannot recall them telling me they were burying my Dad that day because that would be something I would definitely remember. I was just annoyed and confused that they had gone somewhere without me, and I was left in the house with the lady from around the corner who would tie her kid to the clothesline by his child harness.
Mum wanted me to remember Dad the way he was, not laying in a box, and as a parent we all have to make terribly difficult decisions. But I never had a chance to say goodbye. I never even had a chance to grieve. I carried that grief with me for over 30 years until I lost my second pregnancy at 11 weeks. The impact of well-meaning decisions around my father’s death influenced so much of my life. It wasn’t until I had children of my own that I realised how important it was that, no matter how hard, little humans also need a space to grieve.
As adults, we do everything possible to protect our children from the hurts and pain of the world, but it catches up. It’s not something that ever goes away until we are faced to deal with it differently. I spent many many years grieving the loss of my father instead of praising the effects and hard work of my mother. It was always about the loss for me. The Dad who didn’t come to special Father’s Day events. The Dad that couldn’t walk me down the aisle. The Dad I couldn’t hug and confide in because, well, he was dead. All I had for many years was a plague in a crematorium and no closure.
The void this created was a severe sense of lack. My mother became fiercely independent, and to her credit, we never went without. I may have grown up on second-hand clothes and Vegemite sandwiches, but we never went hungry, we always had clothes, and we always had a roof over our heads.
Losing a father figure at a very young age changed the course of my life and it hasn’t been all bad. Pain can bring out the worst and the best in some people. Not all people that are hurting hurt people.
Art has taught me how to express emotion productively and positively. Take my latest ‘Art with Heart’ cards as an example. I needed a constructive way to view my situation when I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I knew exactly what the negative self-talk was telling me, and sometimes, it was dressed up with pretty clothes and lipstick. This is why the negative side of these cards looks attractive and colourful, not dark and foreboding.
It’s a tough journey taking a good hard look in the mirror and recognising everything that needs to change within ourselves. The ego is designed to protect us and sometimes it takes a hard life lesson or two to knock us back on the right path.
Cancer turns you inside out. It affects everything and everyone around you. I believe my stomach cancer was my massive initiation into my life’s purpose. My more recent cancer diagnosis was to just make sure I’d learned my lessons. There are still lessons as part of this process, but I’m pretty confident I’m done.
I got it loud and clear.
Boundaries, non judgment, forgiveness.
Done done done.
Please, Universe, let me be done. I’ll be quite happy to shine right up until my number is up.
