"See Ya Later"

Funerals suck. Cancer sucks. Sometimes life sucks.

This year I had the humbling pleasure of celebrating the life of a truly rockin' chic - Oumani Browne. Sadly, she was only there in spirit. She had taken her final breath the week earlier surrounded by her beautiful and cherished son, her mother and her sister.

Being part of the day to honour her life was humbling. I learnt so much sitting there listening to others speak about this beautiful lady, she was and is surrounded by love.

I was in awe of her for so many things. Least not that she was who she was, no pretences, no judgments - she was Oumani. Real. Raw. Energetic. Generous. Beautiful. Funny. Intelligent.

And I hope she knew this.

See Ya Later Mani Browne. 

Rock Chic Oumani Brown

I'm dreaming of a Grief-Free Christmas.

The day is fast approaching and I'm feeling the strain of grief, guilt and anxiety as I prepare for the first Christmas without my mum. I want to spend it without the immense sadness and guilt I'm currently feeling. 

Sadness is a given. It's still new and raw and there is not a day where my heart doesn't feels heavy with loss. Sadness has given me an excuse for manic moods and "out of character" behaviour. Sadness is easily masked with a burst of energy and a distraction.

I can deal with the sadness because I know it's not my fault. 

It's the guilt that is playing games in my head. 

I'm guilty of avoiding so many of my mum's Christmas Day's, her favourite day of the year. And it's only now that I realise how I must have broken her heart year after year.

The lead-up months to Christmas were incredibly stressful with pressure on ensuring the day was perfect. Every detail was meticulously planned to craft a day resembling the Marcus Neimen "catalogue perfection". 

The tree would be put up on the 1st December and decorated beautifully with expensive baubles. Gifts were lovingly wrapped with the "theme of the year" wrapping paper and assembled underneath the tree. 

There were fairy lights. So many fairy lights.

A feast would be planned months in advance. Cold meat platters. Hot meat platters. Cheeses. Salads. Trifle. Fruit cake. Chocolates. 

Fortunately we never spoke of which brand of champagne because my parents didn't drink alcohol and this meant I could bring my own. It was Moët or Veuve. 

But even with the champagne, I dreaded the day. It didn't feel like "me". I was uncomfortable with the consumerism. I didn't like the stress of having to "perform" for a day.

When I became a parent, I used to plan on a one to two month trip from December to January just to avoid the fanfare and commercialism of it. I'd take my young family to remote destinations for a few months and make the phone call on Christmas Day and New Years Eve from some exotic location, thankful that I wasn't being consumed by a festival I didn't believe in. 

Last year, I realise that I'd missed the entire Christmas message. I lost what it meant to my mum that I was there sharing in her favourite day of the year. It wasn't about the Christmas tree or the feast or the beautifully wrapped and thoughtful gifts.

It was about having her family all together for one day. That was it. Nothing more. 

Fuck guilt. 

It breaks you heart and there is nothing you can do about it. 

Fuck grief. 

It creeps up when you're not looking and destroys a face full of makeup at really inconvenient times. 

Fuck anxiety. 

It stomps on your chest without warning. 

Fuck Christmas. 

Take me back to last year when we knew it was mum's last special day and we sat around in her living room, really living - laughing and loving each others company. 

Once again, I'm not looking forward to the day. 

Bali Healing

What a week I've had!

A last minute trip to Bali for work (sucks to be me), but actually right now, it does suck to be me. I lost my mum a few weeks ago and I wasn't sure being on this trip was going to be right.

With a last minute trip, that means last minute scheduling which makes it all a bit more stressful. For me though, this is the last week I could make this trip before March 2016, so it had to be done and I decided to view it as a nice distraction from my sadness.

And it worked.

Bali has been the most healing place for me to be this week. Not only have I ticked off my work schedule with honours, I've had the time and distance to heal.

Like so many Australians, I cut my teeth on overseas travel by coming to Bali when I was 18. I came with my bestie Kylie and we partied hard after getting over the culture shock. I've been returning back for work or play for the past (cough cough) 20+++ (++) years

I love Bali. I love the burning smells of incense and the earthiness of everything. I love the humidity. I love the gentleness of the Balinese people. I love the motorbike noises. I love the tripping hippies (but not the bogans). I love the frangipanis in the swimming pool. I love the sunset on the beach. I love the heady fragrance of holidays.

When we landed on Sunday, it felt like home. I felt wrapped in comfort.

And even with my heavy schedule of appointments, and sitting in traffic jams for hours - I was surrounded by truly kind and nurturing souls who kept an eye out for me.

I detox'd from caffiene, carbs and sugar (and still allowed myself some decent cocktails). I was massaged and skin-loved and had my nails done beautifully. In black - to honour my grieving.

I was checked in on. I was talked to. I was looked after.

The inner hippie chick has surfaced once again. I'm zen and blissed out.

My heart is in a good space.

Dedicated to a beautiful and nurturing nurse (Tamara) who accompanied me.

Grief, Distractions and Healing

Grief sucks. 

Its irrational and unpredictable and unreasonable. 

My mum died two weeks ago and I don't think it's hit me yet. I haven't sobbed uncontrollably or broken down on public transport. Sure I'm deeply sad, but I haven't consumed my days with looking at photos of her, rehashing old memories. Listening to music to remind me of her. Listening to my voicemail to hear her voice one more time. 

I haven't sobbed until my eyes were dry and my ribs were aching. I'm not filling my days with thoughts of the future without my mum. 

I didn't go out and get a tattoo. 

The taste of my tears is not a constant. 

This is what grief is like in the movies and I haven't done this and yet I'm not the same as I was three weeks ago. My mums death has shifted something so deep in me.

I've changed. I'm different. 

I've had conversations I wouldn't normally have had. I've used language I wouldn't normally use. I thought things I've never thought before. I've felt things I never felt before. I'm not even making sense to myself most of the time. This may be all a distraction to avoid the process, but I have no idea why I'm being like this. 

I'm in Bali for work, only a couple of weeks after my mum fucking died. How is that normal? Who goes overseas after just burying their mum? 

What the fuck is wrong with me? 

Being in Bali feels so zen and peaceful and right. It's work, but my downtime is nice. I'm being kind to myself. I'm being healthy. I'm focusing on only me. I'm ok with swearing. I'm ok with my thoughts. I'm ok with where I'm at and what I'm doing. 

And yet it all just sucks and I'm preparing for the flood of grief. 

Sitting in the front row.......

I never want to sit in the front pew of a funeral ever again. 

I never want to write a eulogy ever again. 

I never want to stand in front of a crowded chapel and read heartfelt words through tears, struggling to breath as I say goodbye in an honourable and dignified and graceful way. 

I never want to be that kind of "strong" ever again. 

I never want to see the last rise of a chest. The last struggle for breath. The last undignified ugly process of death. 

I never want to say goodbye to someone that I love. Ever. Again. 

But I know that I will have to go through all of the above at some point in my future because I am surrounded by people I love and who love me back. I know that death is a part of living. I know this, but I don't like it. 

It hurts like hell. Death is more painful for those left behind and my heart is aching for everyone who loved you.

I know that time will heal the pain and my heart will not be heavy when I think of you in the future. I know that over time I'll stop thinking "this time last Christmas, this time last birthday, this time last...". I know this will get better and it will stop aching. 

And I know this because I was given the most beautiful parents a girl could ask for, who taught me how to be compassionate and caring and love people with all my heart. 

It's time for healing now, for being thankful that you lived and loved. 

Thank you mum. For everything. 

Maureen Fryar

26th Feb '49 - 5th Oct '15

Open Letter to a Pervert......

Dear Dude with the smallest penis in the world, 

Monday was my birthday and I truly I love my birthdays. Unlike many other middle aged women, I celebrate every birthday and embrace getting older. 

I love my birthday so much that I put reminders everywhere - colleagues outlook calendars, post it notes around the house, messages on my husbands phone. My closest friends usually message me nice and early to wake me up because they know how much I love my special day (thanks Ky). 

This birthday (14th Sept, just in case you want to put it in your phone for next year), you were the first person to send me a message! How cool is that! And you don't even know me. 

I also get that you didn't know I was on-call, which meant my phone (my work phone) was beside my bed, ready to take your 1:30am phone call. 

And call you did. But you hung up before I could work out who you were. 

So you sent me a pic of yourself. 

Now because I wear glasses and it was the middle of the night, I didn't quite understand what you were trying to achieve and I innocently thought you were sending me a picture of Pinnochio (not quite at the lie telling stage). 

But then I realised you were sending me a picture of your little penis. 

Dude, this is what Snapchat is for. Snapchat means it disappears after about 20mins. Which in your case would have been a really nice way of disappearing into oblivion and not remaining on a strangers phone. 

But then you called me again! Some heavy breathing on the other end, and me threatening to report you to the police probably resulted in you "losing" the loving feeling. 

But being the zen chick that I am, I forgive you. 

I didn't report you to the police. I wanted to, but then I saw the funny side. You sent a pic of your tiny penis to the wrong number. You didn't get as lucky as you'd hoped, but I've dined out on your story all week. I reckon I have a months worth of story telling.

In fact, because  of you, I rated my 46th Birthday an 11.5 out of 10. It started with a dick, and it ended with the end of a dick (Tony Abbott). 

Thanks for making my birthday pretty bloody fantastic!

Lisa. 
(PS, dont forget to put my birthday in your diary for next year!)

Saying Goodbye to my mum

I'm currently in the throws of watching my mother die and it's horrible. It's undignified and ugly and hard. And in our Western culture, we don't have a 'nice' process for it.

My mum is one of my greatest mentors. Despite extreme adversity, she educated herself and worked her way up through the corporate ladder. So proud of her job, she remained humble in her achievements and always delivered her tasks with integrity and professionalism. Her big ticks in life came from everything she achieved. A loving successful family, a beautiful home and a wonderful career.

Her early beginnings were purely to survive - she would work menial jobs just to clothe and feed us and yet she did this with pride and grace. She cleaned houses and took in ironing, all the while maintaining a clean and safe home for us, and being there after school to make sure we were looked after. We were loved without question, and we always knew it. Such a strong lady who taught me the value of working hard and keeping those you love close.

She loved to shop. Oh My God! Did she love to shop! Every one of the bedrooms in her home has a wardrobe full of her purchases. Lovely clothes, jewellery, shoes and handbags.

She loved to decorate her home. Her home is impeccable and could be photographed for Vogue at any time of the day. Beautiful furnishings and floors so clean you could eat off them.

She loved to spoil her offspring. There is nothing she wouldn't do for her children and grandchildren (and now great grandchildren). Her time was her most valuable gift and she gave it with so much love.

And now she is dying a slow and horrible death.

My father is now her primary carer, and she needs help doing every little thing; bathing, toileting, feeding, breathing. She can't shop anymore. She can't decorate her home. Nothing.

Just watching her be so dependant on those around her is heartbreaking and cruel. You can see the indignity in her face when she asks for help for the simplest of things. Her brow is constantly furrowed - her life has been reduced to a social pariah as she sits in her chair all day in her bed clothes. It's obvious she's angry for her "End of Life". Every little thing upsets her, and it's understandable that she resents that the world is still spinning for everyone else but her.

We visit. We talk. We sometimes laugh and we cry when she is not around.

I decided to take a week off work this week (which is hard because my mother also taught me the terrible "joy" of being a work-a-holic), and I decided not to go away, something I have never done! I spent time with my mum and I am so grateful for the opportunity. Whenever I visit, I try to get her to remember those beautiful moments that make her smile so that she can go off to the next world in peace and with lovely memories. I get out photos, I started a family tree, I ask her questions. Most importantly, I listen.

It hurts watching my mother die but I also know that I have been given the gift of being able to say goodbye to her, a luxury that many people don't get to have.

Mum, Hunters Hill 2013