Rubyvale

I don't want to go. There is a deep dread in my heart. The only thing I can think to do is escape to the beach after I drop the girls off. I obeyed this thought, driving directly there and parking near the 4WD access. I  walked to the edge of a small dune and stood, closing my eyes. A beautiful aroma weaves around me, from the bowls club no doubt; the evening meals for eager guests were being created. This mingles with the salty swell, creating quite an intoxicating mix. It also calms me. This is so comfortable, secure, familiar, even welcoming. I opened my eyes to study the life around me; gulls hovering above the pounding waves, a lone jogger, couples and families walking together. Beyond the immediate, I look at the waves breaking on the reef. How I wish I was diving there now. Or on a boat. Either of these options tempts my eager heart. Flying out to Emerald, hiring a car and driving out to Rubyvale does not. Yet, there is no escape. I have to. Simple as that.

The last time I went out there, the smell of death still filled the house. This time, the  culprit was a lone possum, though this still added a haunting reminder of the events of the previous year, not to mention a foul odour. The heat, oppressive loneliness and painful memories, or, lack of positive memories permeate every aspect of the house and property. These overwhelm me. Still, I carry something stronger inside beyond my faith; I carry honour, and that force will help me stand tall, present the house at its best and give the opportunity for life to re-enter its long barren walls. I owe my father that much.

Before I leave the beach, I inhale deeply and purposely allow myself to remember this moment and fill my mind with peace, shedding all fear and apprehension. This will be a great trip- I will see to that, because my attitude comes with me. I decide now to take optimism.

Time to process & let go...part 4

G'day Dad,

Looking over your photos, I realise that we share something similar- fluctuating girths! In a way, it's kinda good to know where I get my insane love affair with food from. Alas, the negative is that I  have inherited your higher cholesterol. Seems I can't have my cake and eat it too. Probably a good thing!

Meeting you didn't just show me that I was always loved. It wasn't just to bless the girls and I with an inheritence. It helped me understand me. I believe the bible and when God says that He knew me before I was formed in secret; that tells me that he chose my parents too. I can see so much of myself in you that it's scary. Some of it, I admit, I don't want. I don't want to eat so much rich food that I develop early heart problems as you did. I don't want to isolate because life has been harder than I had hoped at times. I don't want to wait until it's too late to fulfil my dreams. These things I can control. I choose to break that genetic influence off my life and my mind.

I'm currently hating almost every second of my Retail course at Tafe. I'm glad I have a congested head that has kept me home for a day and a half. However, I will stick it out, because even though retail isn't my dream and a Uni degree is, I've got to think of ways of working smarter until I graduate that don't hurt my body like cleaning and child care do.

Uni is amazing- it's like 'jumping out of a plane' type of learning for me-it's exhilerating. I can go wherever I want with a degree, so I'm going to travel, write, create and meet people from all over the world! So excited! I never thought of myself as brave enough to be this person. Well, guess what- I am!

I now need to be brave enough to stick to a healthy eating regime. I can jump out of a plane, embark on Uni, dive with sharks, yet I stumble with food- a long time faithful friend. It annoys me how easily it lures me back. Really, why do I keep a friendship with someone who doesn't have my best interests at heart, costs me clothing, self esteem and my health? Enough I say!

So, Dad, my promise to you, and myself is that I'm not going to be held back anymore. You're already proud of me, I know. But this little gals got way more planned. I've got to make something of my art, my writing and my passion to communicate and connect with people through my craft. Lets hope that replaces my boredom, lonliness and excuses to eat. It also scares me that you had a heart attack in your late forties. I can change that reality for my life-by my daily choices.

Talk soon,

Marija x

A time to process & let go...part 3

Hi again Dad,

The hardest part of losing you was holding your ashes. This was it- a life in a box. I thought I knew what grief was but holding onto 'you' ripped my heart out and dropped me to my knees in gut-wrenching agony. This was reality- I was holding the truth- you were really gone. How unjust. How incredibly sad.

It was equally tough the day of your beachside memorial. Sadly, it clashed with Lizzy's Year 12 graduation and as a result, she never did get her Yr 12 photo's. I think the pain and dissapointment on her beautiful face mirrored my own.

It was hard working for a demanding boss who was reluctant to give me time off. Thankfully, I got a few days spare, on the grounds I come straight back to work after the weekend to make up for lost cleaning.

It was also a nightmare to wake early the next day after a restless sleep, drive to Brisbane with Leon to be on a plane at 6am, only to miss check-in by a few precious minutes. After much negotiating, we managed to score a flight to Rockhampton, and not Emerald, several hours later. However, that turned into a wonderful journey as another stranded passenger helped Leon hire a car and share the driving. Her company was refreshing considering the nature of our trip.

Many hours and several hundred kilometeres later, after dropping our new friend off at Emerald, Leon and I found your home at Rubyvale. It was my first visit and I had no idea what to expect, though you had warned me that you were a bit messy after seeing how clean I am. The yard was cluttered, very cluttered, and no doubt, so was the house. What really struck me though was a strong sense of isolation- like an oppressive cloud. This place was creepy. I couldn't believe anyone could live out here. And it was hot, as I would tell Leon again and again!

Leon and I walked around the back to unlock the door as the keys weren't cooperating at the front entrance. Like a scene from a horror movie, we slowly pushed the door open and were faced with a wall of webs, something akin to a B grade horror movie set, only this was real! The sound of dripping water alerted my ears. I turned to see a very large pool of water around the loo area with a live power cord running through the middle- I could hardly believe it.

Walking through the house was hard on many levels; it was filthy and stunk- a lot of food had perished over the months, but it also made me realise that it looked so lived in, like you'de just stepped out for a bit. Coffee cups remained where you'd last used them, a pen and paper lay on the table- little things like that ripped at my heart. You wouldn't be back anymore.
After leaving the kitchen we walked through the hall and to your room. Your bed was unmade, clothes strewn everywhere, but what really caught my eye was your dresser. I couldn't believe it- every photo I had ever sent you, every letter, was there on top, proudly displayed. I sat on a clear section of bed- wow- you really were messy! There were several photo albums in your drawers so I looked through. More tears now. Baby photo's of chubby little me I never knew exsisted lay between the aged pages.Two of them I especially cherish; one is of you holding me, a broad smile accross your face, and the other is water hose, a smiling little me and of course, an equally happy you. There were also cards written to baby Marija in what was Yugoslav. I unfolded an original will, typed up in the 70's, asking that everything you own go to your only children, Marija & Leon. Before I looked any further, I realise this- you have always loved me, always wanted me and missed me for years on end. You had a fathers heart, and for that, I love you.

Leon left me to survey outside and retrieve something only you and he knew about. Several minutes later, he returned with a bag of goodies. Ok, so the rubies and sapphires were nice, but the most amazing treasure of all was my gold, engraved baby bracelet! You said you still had it and would never part with it. Wow- you buried my bracelet along with your precious jewels. Words fail me dad! From the depths of my heart-THANK YOU.

Clarity

Spending one week in Darwin has filled my mind with peace and direction-I feel like I can breathe again. Staying at Deb's right next to the botanic gardens was wonderful-I  had space to walk and think almost completely uninterrupted- space to allow the noise and clutter in my mind to fall away with each footstep that drew me deeper into a lush, tropical oasis. I found clarity.

Who am I other than a single mum struggling on part pension? Am I failing because my current circumstances often mean my girls can't do all they desire- even though these desires are healthy and could lead to a rich and fulfilling future with skills and talents they currently don't posses. What is my purpose in life? Am I doing enough, or is it too much?

Keep walking, keep soaking in this serene space. Absorb the calm. Clarity comes with ease apon surrender.

I want to write. Peace fills me once again. I enjoy being alone to create and need to seek solace surrounded by trees, nature, water and a clear, non-human inhabited space to connect with my God. This restores my soul, ignites my imagination, fills me with hope.

I need to explore- it makes me come alive. I can't always travel on a whim, but learning is exploration. I get that- and I like it. It isn't a consolation prize, but an exciting endevour on its own.

I head off the track and find myself meandering around raised garden beds. I think of how nice they would look on my own property someday. In that instant, I clearly see a future snapshot of my gorgeous grandchildren running through Nanna's magic garden. Tangible serenity wraps me like a silk blanket. Yes, I would love that life. And I would love a place where others, stressed as I before this break, could come, relax, be fed and emotionally recharge before heading back to cope with this life we all have to endure at times, a life that can make us weary.

What a wonderful future. What a wonderful present. What an amazing revelation. Clarity.

I am not a failure- I am exploring. And the journey is exhilarating! My girls are on an amazing journey too- they are not missing out, nor will they.

Driving back from Katherine Gorge with Deb, we stopped at a little roadhouse. It didn't look much from out front. Inside, however, it's true beauty was revealed. A stunning wife and her husband had taken over this place and were creating an oasis for long distance drivers, mainly road-trainers and workers. Her beauty captivated me, as did the dedication she put into the gardens, the toilets, her customers.

I marvelled at this, mainly because only those travelling down this particular road would ever get to enjoy the warmth, friendly service and homely dedication this couple offered. Yet they did it with immense joy and satisfaction. They were living their best lives, and all who did happen to chance by would be blessed by that if for no other reason. When we are ourselves, live out of that, people can only be impacted by us in a way that leaves them feeling the better for having met us. I left feeling that way, and not just because they serve great food! What a valuable life lesson in the Territory!

I loved my time away. People were so friendly, open and warm. After living in impatient-ville, that in itself was refreshing. Try and take longer than 10 seconds to put your change away at a supermarket register and look at the daggers you get! 'Hurry, rush, get out of the way, me next' all fell away for one wonderful week and left me wanting more. However, as a compromise, maybe I can live that relaxed way and start my own trend. I'll try. I want what the trip gave me. Yep, you guessed it, clarity.

Talk soon all x

The Only Way To Live

Hi Dad,

Today, I'm living this painting! Yes, your thrill seeking daughter is about to jump out of a perfectly good plane. And I'm freaking out! I'm not sure I like the idea but I'm way too stubborn to chicken out.

You loved my art work and couldn't wait to show it off to all your mates back at the gem fields. You never got that opportunity, yet I feel so proud and touched by your complete support of me and all I did.

I did this painting after my treatment, during an 'up' stage. I had discovered my illness was cured, I no longer needed the medication which literally consumed my life and I'd been away on an amazing 3 week holiday to Thailand. I had applied for the Design course before going overseas. There was a letter waiting for me when I got back, advising me that I had been selected to come to an interview with a self portrait and sit a drawing assessment. The self portrait  could reflect any part of my personality, lifestyle, or similar so I chose to capture not only how I currently felt, but how I want to live my life. The sun rise of course means it's a brand new day. I want to embrace life by jumping willingly into all God has for me and embrace a colourful and bright future. It's the only way I want to live.

Meeting you opened my eyes too. Despite your social handicaps, you made me realise that I was so blessed- you saw me as young, beautiful with two gorgeous girls, a healed body and heaps of talent. For that I thank you, and make this promise that I'm going to live like the girl in this painting- embrace my life with joy and freedom- it's the only way to live!

Time to process and let go...part 2

It was official; you had cancer. Mesolthelioma to be exact, caused by asbestos exposure working at a mine decades earlier. Now you knew without a doubt- your time was indeed limited. You were heart broken- there was such little time with the family you had only just rediscovered. For me, this was challenging on many levels. Of course I felt your pain- getting a life sentence like that is devestating for anyone. It was hard also because you desperately tried to cram over 30 lost years into a few brief months. This was overwhelming. You were, to be honest, a very difficult and challenging man. Years of isolation and heartbreak had shaped your already fiesty character and coloured your language and sharpened your temper. It was never directed at me, but being around you was not easy. You were angry at a lot of things, everyone was 'bloody stupid.' You also became increasingly clingy and desperate to be with me when Leon moved to WA to start his new job. I tried- visiting on occassion while you were at the Asbestos home and having you down for a weekend, taking you to church- which you loved, and then for a scenic coastal drive to whale spot. I didn't know it at the time, but you told Leon it was one of the best days of your life. I feel so guilty because I found you challenging. Not much of a daughter. I gave all I could give- and it made you happy. Maybe I am a good daughter?

I needed to see my mum, so I went down to Tassie for a brief stay around my 39th birthday. I didn't tell her about you- the whole point of my trip was to heal the rift between us. Her partner ruined that, and I came home so upset. I knew, despite mum's words, that she would stay, and that upset me more. I had missed several calls from you- but I was relieved for the lack of reception as you were exhausting me. You were now in a nursing home and hated it and wanted me to come and get you out. You hated almost everything, so I wasn't surprised. I said I couldn't help- yet of course I felt torn.

The day after I arrived home from my trip, I received a phone call from the Prince Charles Palliative Care Unit. You had caught a cab to the hospital and weren't expected to live the night. I felt like throwing up but told them I was on my way.

Sarah was too ill to come, so Lizzy and I arrived as soon as I could while trying not to speed. Seeing my father, frail, near death and incredibly thin was so shocking, Lizzy and I burst into sobs. The nursing staff asked us to wait outside while they tended to you before we could go in. Lizzy was distraught. She said she couldn't do this, but I told her it was ok, she could.

When we entered your room, the nursing staff told us of your condition and said it was most likely you would pass that night, and we were welcome to stay. They left us alone. I was in shock. Even more so when, even after previos sedation for trying to escape, you tried to climb out of bed again. You grabbed my arm and said, 'Please, get me out of here.' That broke my heart, especially as I didn't recognise the man that said it- your eyes looked wild with pain and confusion. I buzzed the nursing staff who had to sedate you close to a coma. I was informed that this reaction was normal for this condition as the pain often drove people mad. It still didn't make it any easier. You were an angry, broken man, but you were my father. And you were dying right in front of my eyes. I had to pray.

I also owed you something. I kissed your cheek and said I love you Dad. That was the first time I had said that to you. And I meant it with all my heart.

Time to process & let go...part 1

Dad, we received an offer on your house yesterday. Actually, we have received 2 offers. Both Leon and I like the local who put in a bid- he knows Rubyvale, loves it and said we could visit anytime to see how the place looked in the future. I feel more at peace- not only because his offer was higher, but he genuinely loves the look of the house and loves the community. I know this will make you happy to know. You built a home, not a house, with your own hands, and it won't be neglected.

I'm a bit sad to let it go on one level. Just as sad as I was to finally throw out your palliative care paperwork a few days ago. I was surprised that I still had tears to shed.  I guess though I really shouldn't be- I still feel regret for not being the daughter you wished I was. Or, to be fair- I was completely the daughter you loved, longed for, missed and wanted. I was the one withholding love, time and emotions. I'm so sorry. I wish I could change that.

I know why I felt afraid when Leon first made contact with you. I grew up a very broken child who seemed to constantly be singled out for abuse and ridicule. I know the pain of being punched, spat on, stripped at a playground, being taunted or blatently rejected just for being me all before the start of my teen years, combined with frequent moves that saw me going to 3 different primary schools and 3 highs. I was socially withdrawn by my mid to late teens, which resulted in leaving school in year 9 and struggling to keep a job. When I heard that you were alive and well, contrary to previous 'facts', my world was thrown. Yes, I am an adult now. However, my belief that you were largely responsible for my fractured self was a belief that I had held for so long it was hard to dispute. It may have been fuelled by mum's recollection of things, and child care study seemed to reinforce the theory that a brief time living with you was enough to scar my developing young mind and emotions. I was in turmoil.

This turmoil was fuelled by an additional life changing process I was enduring. Broken people don't always make wise choices, and at the time of your 'discovery', I was struggling to get through a painful treatment to heal my body after poor choices led it down a road of chronic illness. My hair thinned, my weight plummeted as did my emotions. Sleeping was impossible as everything ached and burned, my head throbbed constantly and my body struggled to cope with the form of chemo medication I had to take for 6 months orally and through injections. I could barely function myself, let alone deal with meeting you. As it was, I went on a rollercoaster ride for several months after successfully completing the treatment as I felt friendless, my body was weak, I struggled with depression and felt as though my life had gone backwards in so many ways. Even while doing extremely well at my Design course at Tafe the year after treatment, I would often have to lock myself in the bathroom and just cry as a deep sadness overcame me. It was a very lonely, painful, but necessary time in my life.

I am glad you were patient with me- I found it so hard to trust-you or anyone.  I still have the first letter you sent me. It speaks volumes to my heart- a fathers love for his little girl pours out of the awkward handwriting.

I am glad I started writing to you, though I know I tried my best to put you off with my harshness and brutal honesty. It didn't work. You still loved me!

After a time, we started our phone calls. I was surprised by your strong accent and at times, it made understanding difficult, yet we found a way. I was sorry to hear that you weren't well, though I'd never had guessed you were at that time struggling from lung cancer, and your stubborness prevented you from finding out. Would it have softened me sooner? Perhaps. To be forgiven and know we're loved before leaving this world is more than anyone of us could ask for yet all desperately need.

One heated phone call finally prompted change. I'd worked out by now that you were a stubborn and proud Croatian! Guess what, as the fruit of your loins, I've inherited that trait too! That's when I told you to get to a doctor NOW! Little did I realise that you would actually listen to me. A few days later, my brother rang to tell me that you were in Prince Charles Hospital, Brisbane, having been flown down by the Emerald Hospital. You had wanted to meet me and had requested numerous times. All your plans weren't working as your health and finances were tough. My life as a working single mum was my handicap too. Well, this was the perfect opportuniy. And I didn't want a bar of it.

The day I agreed to visit, you had just had a biopsy and were awaiting the results. I put the girls in the car and started the drive. My stomach was in knots and I really didn't want to go through with this at all. My temper was foul and the city traffic only added to the stress. On arrival at the hospital, I felt like I was in a bad dream and after asking for your room number, felt like hurling in stress, especially as I neared your room. I walked around the door and without any warning, tears poured from my eyes and yours too. You leapt up and embraced your little girl, even with a tender armpit from a biopsy, for the first time in over 30 years. It was a beautiful moment. You embraced the girls too, love and pride filling your eyes along with tears of joy. The lady in the adjacent bed cried too. She had been told the story of our separation and subsequent reunion by you and was sharing in this emotional moment.

You looked on me with eyes of love and pride. It was at that point that I realised I could have been 150 kilo's and have 12 different children and a criminal record! I was your little girl, your firstborn child who had given you 2 beautiful granchildren- that was all that mattered. You said you didn't care what the resluts of your biospy were, you were now a happy man. And for that time, you were. I'm glad I didn't listen to my fear and keep shutting you out. My daddy loved me, of that I was certain.