too much on my plate

I feel like a bit of a stranger here on my own page. I haven't felt able to write lately, too many worries and too much to do.

Last Saturday night I received a call from one of my sisters. When I saw her name on the screen at 9.32 pm I knew something was wrong. She sounded distressed - Mum had called her telling her Dad couldn't breathe.

My heart sank, the show I had been watching on my laptop was left playing, I strapped on my sandals as she was talking to me, she was already heading there as we spoke. I kissed my husband goodbye telling him my Dad can't breathe I have to go. My husband has lost both his parents in the last two years,and he has lost an Aunt and Grandfather and more recently a dear cousin with a young family. We've grieved too much recently. He kissed me hard as I left.

I got into my car and drove there faster than I would've. I imagined that this drive was one I would never forget. I was mentally preparing myself, repeating out loud please don't die now. When I arrived he was gasping for air sitting in the chair he always sits at: To eat dinner, to watch TV, to read the paper.

Every Christmas my brothers and sisters complain how we cannot all fit in that tiny living room anymore. That night with two paramedics and all of their things the space seemed suffocating.

I watched as the paramedics tore open syringes, tapes, bottles, things I didn't recognise. Wrappings everywhere. Their impatient requests for his medication, for room to be made, for the cat to be taken out, it was all frightening to me. They seemed as panicked as I felt, Mum seemed calm but when I held her she really wasn't. I told her everything would be OK, even though I didn't believe it.

I could hear them on the radio, they were trying to get an intensive care ambulance there and they were preparing for him to go into cardiac arrest. They pushed the table to the wall, careless with it, desperate for more space. The next thirty minutes were awful, my whole body was shaking. We stood in the road as they moved him from the one ambulance to the other, just watching. Then they shut the doors, and we couldn't even do that.

Again all I could think was please don't die now, there is too much that hasn't been said, time you haven't had to enjoy your life. I thought you have worked too hard, you thought you were stronger than anything. But I see now that you are just as vulnerable as all of us, then and there I realised we are just like machines we break down we fall apart, none of us are indestructible.

At least twenty of us waited in the Emergency room, grand-kids and nieces and partners and new boyfriends, only allowed in to see him two at at time. Desperate calls were made to missing siblings: At a wedding, at a river cruise. We all came together to support each other and be there for Mum and to let Dad know he was loved and that we were there rallying him to get better.

A week and a bit later and he has pulled through. Six days in the hospital, and he went back to work the night he was discharged. Against medical advice. He looks the same to me on Friday and seems like himself. My sister today tells me he says he doesn't feel like himself, that he is scared. This is more than I have ever heard him admit. Everyday I am afraid that he will have another heart attack.

I promise to be a little more lighthearted next time (no pun intended!) and show you some of our other goings on.

Happy Birthday Eliza

almost there, by various brennemans.

Our third born turned four this weekend, I cannot believe where the years have gone.

Whilst I am happy she is getting older I am feeling the memories of her babyhood and toddler hood fading, I wish I could remember it all.

The times that are clear are the ones where she was most mischievous. The time she smeared nappy cream all over her change table and blinds and hid behind them sleepless and victorious. The time she made her way out the window and down the street to a neighbor to see the chooks in her pajamas, the time she told me she hated the skirt I made for her, or when she pulled my string of  pom-poms down.

Although those memories are clearest I will cherish even more the many we spent  nestled close with in my bed the feeds we had, the cheeks that grew  full and round, because of me. The memories that are being made everyday. The little felt cat we made together that she called Mr. Marbles and cuddles every night to sleep. The recent week she learned to click her fingers and consequently clicked them all the time.

The ever growing letters that fill her pages, the finger that brushes across them as she reads only what she can understand to me, the patchwork of colour in every drawing she makes. The ritual she has of making me drawings they fill jars, the fridge door, there are stacks to keep, the little piles I would never dare have her find in the recycling.

The nights I spent by her bed when she had croup, the fevers where she saw things that weren't there. the love of monkeys when she was two, the love of our cat who died when she was three, whom she still misses. The special place she held in her Granma's heart, they never had the chance to meet, but her little 18 month old hand reached out and touched her at the funeral.

The way she takes her balance bike everywhere we go. The way she never fails to tell me I really appreciate that you made me dinner Mum.  The bond that she has with people, the places she holds in the hearts of many that love her. Most of all the wonderful big sister she has made to her baby sister, their laughter together is  so warm and infectious they are growing into best friends.

I love her dearly and wish her a very happy Birthday.  Even as I return to edit this post a letter sat on my pillow waiting me, what a little treasure.