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I love autumn in our town. The mornings are cool but the sun still comes up warm, bedazzling the clear, blue, windless sky. The windless-ness of autumn makes it special, because although the wind saves us from the heat of summer, after a time it becomes almost as unbearable as the heat.

Sundays have always been one of my favourite days, and for the past few years on the kid weekends we have been busy, but without the daily pressure of things to do. Sundays usually meant the beach, a big breakfast/brunch before or after, family time, lazy Sunday arvo’s at home, family dinner, early night. I was speaking to my friend this afternoon, who is going through some big life stuff too and she said “Sunday just isn’t my favourite day right now”. I get it. It’s not my favourite day right now either. In fact, after that I’m pretty sure she said “Sunday f*@king sucks!”.

I tried really hard today – enjoying the sunshine, pottering in the yard, letting the chooks out, taking the kids to the pet shop, lunch at my sisters with our parents and a long, lazy afternoon spent mostly on her couch while the kids played – but in the end the melancholy got me. I think the fact that I was trying defeated the whole purpose of just enjoying Sunday.


It’s not that I miss him (to be quite blunt this week has been amazing since Monday when I realised I wasn’t missing him at all, and even before the anaesthetic high I was actually upbeat about the future, and grateful for the peace and the happiness that has returned to my home) but that now, given everything, some parts and places of my life have been tainted  by the shitty-ness of what went down, and although I don’t want to relive any of it ever, I am anchored by emotion to the places we were.

The thought of going on a mini-break to the beautiful holiday town where we spent most of our holidays in my family beach house makes me feel panicked, and I’m sure I can never go there again. My favourite beach for the kids and the dog is all wrong and this morning when Miss 5 said “I want to go to the beach Mum!” I made some lame (ha-ha) excuse about my knee and not being able to swim and we stayed home. The truth? I could not face packing up the car and the boards and the dog and the kids and going to that place. And by this afternoon I felt mad about that, that they could take something from me and my girls that we love and make it shitty. And then I realised that no-one can make something shitty unless you allow them to do so and me and my girls are the only ones ‘suffering’. I am being wise though and avoiding the ‘triggers’ that make me melt down, so if I have to avoid those places for a bit longer, I think that is OK. When I Googled (YES! I am admitting this!) “how to let go” and “how to heal a broken heart” and other such lame things I was warmed to be aware of my triggers. I could not have predicted what some of them are though, they seem completely random!

But I know that time with my girls on the weekend seems to roll out in front of me like an eternity when I am feeling less than chipper, so I know I need to take action on that. Now I can drive again (we went a little stir crazy yesterday when I wasn’t sure driving felt OK on my knee) there is no need for lame excuses about not going out.

I am planning our school holidays to somewhere far away, beautiful and the opposite direction to here, with lots of our friends who we have been missing while we’ve been busy here. For a while we just need to find another beach or two to hang at, especially on glorious autumn mornings in our town. Or maybe, like tomorrow, I’ll wake up and everything will feel right again.

And tonight, when I could manage this Sunday no more I snuck off to have a bath, and after a few self-pitying tears Miss 3 and Miss 5 busted in with the iPad. Miss 3 got in the bath with me (being very careful to make sure she bumped my knee and wet the waterproof Band-Aids thoroughly) and Miss 5 set the iPad up to play me a variety of heartbreaking songs REALLY LOUD. Miss 10 came in and said “are you OK with them in here Mum?”  And to be honest I was. That’s about as far as you need to go with self-pity really.

I was also warned by a friend of mine who’s a nurse, someday soon to be a doctor, that there’s a post-anaesthetic come-down on day 3 or 4. It could just be that it’s day 3. Same as party drugs. Apparently.

I should come good again by the weekend! Just in time for the Sunday session.




Author Fleur

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