Hi there!

Over the last few months there have been a few new subscribers to “Hi From Sandra!” and I’d like to welcome you all warmly to my internet home. I thought I’d re-post the following personal column that sits pinned on my website under the heading of “Here’s The Thing” for those who may not be aware of the back story behind the publciation.

If you have been here a little while I hope you enjoy revisiting the reasons I share my words with you. I appreciate all of you following along. Sandra Xx

Here’s The Thing!

In 2020 I did a thing.

I stumbled across a relatively new writing platform and was keen to sink my teeth into it. 

I booked a 1:1 hour long zoom coaching call with the gorgeous, and very wise, Sonia Bavistock and thrashed out my ideas.  

I questioned my validity and value, Sonia gently cut through my crap with encouraging suggestions and gentle, but much needed, kicks in the butt. 

I scribbled notes while nodding a lot, often perfecting my thinking pose. 

At the end of the call, I announced, “I’m going to do it!” Much to Sonia’s delight! She earned her bickies on that call. 

So, I got to work researching the platform in more depth. 

I lost myself down many an internet rabbit hole surfacing with nuggets of gold from the generosity of others sharing their experience using the Substack newsletter platform. 

I was pumped! I designed a logo, wrote the foundations and was ready to launch. 

Then... crickets... nada... zilch.

Fear gripped me again (sorry Sonia). 

The niggling itch of this idea however would not be eased by my medal worthy ignoring skills. 

So here I am - showing up and scratching that itch buoyed by Sonia’s previous pep talk and a need for connection. 

But here’s another thing! 

The original path I mapped out for this project took a back seat. And that’s okay! Stuff happens. The idea was for it to become a paid subscription of my personal column at some point down the track.

Instead, it became my way of staying connected to family and friends as we embarked on a six-week stint away from home in the big city of Melbourne to access treatment for my husband’s cancer diagnosis in early 2021. 

Sadly, Doug lost his battle three weeks into his treatment and a month to the day of my first ever e-posted newsletter.

After Doug’s death this space then morphed into letters I’d write to him chatting about life in general and sometimes finding dead stinky mice in his shed. That was a fun time (insert eye roll).

Our Doug had faced so much adversity through-out his life living with crippling chronic illness long before cancer took him from us. He became wheelchair bound in his thirties due to complications living with Rheumatoid Arthritis and he met it head on with his infectious trademark humour and cheeky grin. He lived on until sixty-three years of age leaving behind a legacy of admirable intestinal fortitude, he could not have ever imagined possible.

Being of value in this world and giving something of himself to help others was important to Doug. Most often this would take the form of cheeky banter and laughing at himself to bring a smile to others.

So, with all that being said, I’d like to continue showing up here scratching that writing itch that still niggles away at me. I only pen the occasional public letter to Doug now but privately I chat to him all the time.

Sharing my thoughts and stories of how life is unfolding after a great deal of significate life change appears to be where my focus is shifting now.

Perhaps by writing my truths you may meet some of your own truths amongst the words and not feel so alone.

I invite you to stick around, pour yourself a cuppa and dive into the archive while you wait for the next instalment to arrive. May I suggest this post here may be a helpful place to start. And, if you are interested in a recent life update where I share about an unwelcome health diagnosis for myself, you may wish to follow up with a read here.

It really is a pleasure having you on my mailing list.

With love,

Sandra Xx

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Sitting here this morning, with my morning tea mate, I feel content. That doesn’t happen every day. Yesterday was not a ‘content’ day…

I was irritated, unsettled, failing to find the splashes of joy (except when George wagged his tail at me) and could not settle into any task. Not even a big walk shifted my mood.

Usually, if the sun is shining and the bloody wind we are renowned for in this area isn’t heaving itself at me, a walk and time spent in the garden is enough to lift me. Yesterday it didn’t help.

Then there’s the guilt for not enjoying the day that sneakily weaves its way around you like a python threatening to crush you until your eyes pop! Crikey, that’s annoying. I don’t think this feeling is talked about enough.

You’ve loved and lost - faced adversity barely articulated - survived cancer twice - you’re still standing! But it all comes at a cost that often shows up as ‘one of those days’.

No one talks about it. Not publicly anyway. It’s often hidden within support groups and you know what? That’s okay, because the souls there get it. You’re not being dishonest to yourself or others, you’re just choosing what feels safe for you in the moment.

Should it stay hidden there amongst the safety of ‘the knowing ones’? Or should we risk letting those around us know our truth of days like these? Would it help us? Or would we just end up convincing well intentioned family and friends there’s no need to try and fix us and please don’t worry about us all week because of ‘the one bad day’.

Is it even fair to make those assumptions? Re-reading the above it sounds like fear of speaking ones truth, more to the point, and being quite presumptuous of those who care about us.

I think the confusing part for people may very well be understanding that we are kind of okay within the ‘not okay-ness’ of that bad day. And that’s hard to explain.

Yeah, it’s sucks - it feels awful and frustrating but it’s familiar even when we don’t want it to be. The intensity varies and we know it will pass but I often wonder if it would be helpful to let the masks we wear on these days drop.

You know, let the subtitles on our face say ‘today sucks’ and expect nothing in return but an affirming nod.

So today I find myself pondering -

Why do I feel like these days/feelings are not talked about enough?

What do I hope would be achieved by sharing more about survivorship of adversity?

Is it because I feel people need to know that survivors still suffer long after the losses, the treatment, the so-called ‘recovery time’? Not all day everyday, but there are definitely days.

What do I expect them to do with this information anyway? It can’t be fixed - we can’t be fixed - it just is!

Do I want people to understand that we can feel grateful for all the good in our lives and still have days that suck and feel like shit? And that the guilt we suffer as a result is, at times, debilitating. Shouldn’t we be enjoying/making the most of every moment?

I don’t know the answers!

Therefore I don’t truly understand my need to share my thoughts around all of it!

Maybe there’s someone out there sitting on their back veranda with a cup of tea and a furry little friend looking at all the unfinished garden jobs and clutter and feeling content about life today anyway as opposed to the sucky day they had yesterday.

Perhaps they’ll find some comfort knowing that they’re really not alone in any of it.

And possibly, that may well be, the only reason that actually matters!

Until next time.

Thanks for being here,

Sandra Xx

It’s been three months since my last confession (letter)… we are half way through July… hold me!

There’s been an engagement announcement in that time (not mine), followed by a not so welcome health diagnosis (mine) and a new little Bubba to love (also not mine – but ‘kinda’ mine because “Granny Era!” And yes, in that order.

Things really do come in three’s apparently.

Two of those events are not my stories to tell, but, I can tell you that I could not be more ecstatic about both of them. My face has been smiling big time.

The not so welcome health diagnosis tried its hardest to wipe the smile from my face. It almost did. Think stealth Magpie swoop from nowhere – the feathered missile you didn’t see or hear coming that forced you to duck, weave, stumble, break out in a sweat and shout profanity your mother would not approve of. I felt shell shocked for half a minute and then dusted myself off with determination that the b*st*rd of a thing was not going to break me this time around.

From the Beginning of May I found myself walking a semi-familiar path of biopsies, blood tests, co-ordinating appointments and the inevitable synchronising of diaries around a surgery date. After thirteen years of being cancer free a totally new cancer decided to take up residence in the same breast but in a different spot. So, on the 25^th of June I said Bye Bye to my left breast – no way it was going to get a third chance to try and kill me.

Post surgery recovery is going well. Further treatment is yet to be discussed but I do know radiation is not on the table, chemo is most likely not necessary (sound those party horns) and hormone therapy tablets may be on the cards.

I truly believe I have dodged another bullet… or at the very least, a metaphoric feathered missile.

Thank you to my beautiful family and friends for supporting me unconditionally, again. There are not enough words or thankyou/heart emoji’s.

Where to from here?

Funnily enough (or not funnily, depends which angle you choose to look from) I’d given notice from my job, effective the thirtieth of April. I especially loved working with our senior clients in my role and the establishment was becoming busier and busier (so pleased for my cousins business). Be that as it may, I found myself becoming increasingly more bone tired, despite reducing my hours. So after much thought I decided to resign, making room for someone to give the role more justice and take some time for myself to work out what was next for me.

I had ideas.

However, the very next day after I officially finished work, the first day of May, I was told I needed an urgent Mammogram guided biopsy. And the rest, as they say, is history.

My ideas for “Where to from here” after giving notice were placed on the ‘Not Right Now’ shelf with an offensive deep sigh – not because I was angry – because the professional procrastinator that I am had to shuffle other dust covered ideas around for these ones to fit.

Since that day I do believe that someone has reached through from beyond the veil and given me a swift slap to the back of my head (maybe laced with love, most likely infused with exasperation) propelling me smack bang face to face with those dust covered ideas while the ringing in my ears chimed “What the hell are you waiting for?”

I’ve not known what I’ve wanted to do with myself over the last five years after losing my husband and mother. Or known how I’d like to support myself - other than wishing to live a simplistic, time flexible life somehow.

Everyone’s dream I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary or different there.

Yet, I’ve been missing ‘the point of difference’ for me – I’ve already given quite valid and solid scenarios considerable thought to make that life happen and I’ve previously invested financially into fleshing those scenarios out into real possibilities.

So what’s stopping me?

Do you really need three guesses? I have fed the Imposter Syndrome Monster for so many years that I’m unable to budge him with meagre counter intuitive thoughts. He blocks my path with way too much pleasure. I have believed his narrative of not good enough, attractive enough, qualified enough, like-able enough, committed enough, devoted enough, talented enough, young enough, for an embarrassingly looooong amount of time.

Thanks to the slap in the head though I’ve come to realise that to live the life of simplicity and time flexibility with my work day that I desire, I’m actually the one who needs to budge. I need to get out of my own way, not the Imposter Syndrome Monster get out of mine.

He’ll always be mocking me and sadly I know I will always be listening… Even so, I’m about to clear some of that shelving and let the contents see the light of day anyway. Who. Even. Am. I. ?!

I’d love it if you came along with me?

More Wednesday.

Love and hugs,

Sandra Xx

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I woke this morning to the hint of pink on the walls. Once upon a time that would have prompted me to grab my phone with excitement and run outside to capture the hues of the morning. Not lately. Out of nothing more than respect for my old self I slowly sat up and reached for my phone, I walked to the front door, had a quick peek out the window to make sure no one would see me in my nightdress, and stepped out onto the verandah. I will admit, it was sweet. I found myself breathing deep and letting out the biggest sigh. The beauty and stillness of a crisp Autumn morning, Sandra, you know you should do more of this. 

Up, and now dressed, I thought I might as well stroll the back garden and soak up more freshness of the morning. I’ve been crook this week and feeling very… stale. I decided to look past all the autumn pruning I need to do and take some snap shots. Another thing I used to like doing. 

The native blue banded bees that had been visiting my purple flowering Salvia must have been having a sleep in because they were nowhere to be seen. Many happy little honey bees though. 

I did buy a new plant for the garden last week. I’m trying to loosen my hold on the blue and white colour scheme I have going on and introduce soft pinks and the occasional spot of lemon. Penstomen ‘Mother of Pearl’ is described as a soft mauve on the label but I’m still calling it a win for my soft pink inclusion phase. I’m a pastel girl at heart. 

The baby agapanthus are still flowering which is cute. It brings a bit of interest with its different shape of flower. I know agapanthus get a bad wrap for spreading and plotting to take over the world but the label assured me these were the non-invasive tame type. Time will tell. Anyway, I like them. 

Hydrangea flowers left alone to mature through the seasons are my new favourite thing in the garden. I think it’s a nice reminder that aging through the seasons looks different yet still spectacular in its own way. 

I stopped for a moment on my little wander around the garden to admire just how clever nature is to give us Guara’s who’s flowers really do look like sweet little butterflies moving with the breeze. 

It’s Pansy season! And I couldn’t be happier about it. I adore the smaller Viola’s to be honest. Their happy little faces make me smile when I’m out wandering the flower patch every single time. I’m even trying to embrace the beauty of some different colours this season in keeping with the theme to not be so ‘blue and white’ focused. Orange might be a stretch too far at this early stage, yet I’ll roll with it for now. 

Thanks for coming along with me on my little garden walk. I’ve missed doing this… writing… and sharing my days with you. I haven’t felt like it for an exceptionally long minute. I usually edit as I write and it takes a remarkably long time to craft a post for me to share. I’m talking many, many hours of re-reading, rewriting and proof reading. It’s just how I do it. 

Today though, something shifted. I’ve never been a fan of free writing - you know, just open up a document and write the first things that pop into your head WITHOUT rereading and editing as you go. It never tapped into the depths of my poetic side that I used to love disappearing into - you know - ‘the zone’. 

You don’t have to be a writer to know that sweet spot of being in that zone. It can be any activity, craft, sport, artist, I’m sure they all know that feeling of being lost in the moment to anything going on around them - the irony is they are not really lost, they are deeply connected inside the zone, existing in the bubble of that connection, like being transported to another dimension in time. That ‘creative bubble zone’ can be as excruciating as it can be soul nurturing. Hence the hours sifting through the downloads. 

This morning I felt like writing without waiting for ‘the sweet spot’ to consume me. Open the document, capture the moment, share it. So that’s what I’ve done! One read through to this point to fix any grammar, punctuation mistakes, one edit.  Did I like it? Surprisingly, yes! I wish something poetic would have come to me so you could feel the sounds of the morning I was experiencing but it doesn’t really matter. The writing of the words capturing moments are for me to feel first, the polishing (or embellishments) are to help them be presentable for sharing. 

There have been a few shifts happening I’d like to share with you, but that’s for another time. Maybe another free writing session if you’re up for it? Why I think I stopped doing things I used to like doing is one topic I’ve been pondering. Right now though my toes are numb and warming up with a hot shower and nice hot English Breakfast cup of tea is next on the list… and that’s as far as I’ve got with the list. That might actually be the end of the list for today. I’m calling it! 

Until next time, 

Toodles 😉

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Hello lovely letter family!

Today’s letter is more like a note card of my Sunday reflections for you. I hope you enjoy where it may take you.

FYI this is week two of playing along with the Blogassaince with Carly Jacobs and Christina Butcher.  Checkout their sites and posts to discover some beautiful writers of the internet leaving links to their posts in Carly and Christina’s comments. 

If you are a writer on the internet, blogger or a Substack newsletter writer feel free to leave a link to yourself for us to discover in my comments.

I love that you are here Xx

You know, whenever I see a swarm of butterflies,’ whimsical instrumental music starts playing in my head as they flutter around like a kaleidoscope of colourful notes creating their own score.

It takes me back to my childhood on the farm where I’d run through the grass with my butterfly net while Mum gardened and the hum of Dad’s motorbike would float on the breeze from the paddocks below.  Sometimes he’d return with feathers he’d found for me along the way or a discarded bird egg from a nest.

One time he excitedly bundled me into the Ute to show me a nest he’d found inside the top of a gate strainer post.  In my mind they were the prettiest blue eggs I’d ever seen. 

I imagined darling small birds would hatch and fly up to our home to sit on tree branches and sing to me like the bluebirds in Snow White. They were probably common starling eggs but to me they really were like something out of a fairytale.

I’m fairly certain my dearly departed dad was in the room that night when Mum died because who else would she have opened her eyes for after days of being unconscious before she turned to look at me at left us.

The above photo, taken by the talented Fraser Tull, immediately took me back to another place in time the second I saw it on his Instagram feed.

Isn’t it funny how a photo, a smell, the touch of something familiar or a noise can transport you to a moment in time in an instant and in that split second you have no control of being carried there or any control over how you are going to feel. 

Sometimes those triggers can conjure not so pleasant memories and have you processing thoughts and feelings you’d rather wish you’d never have to process again. I’ve had my fair share of those over these last couple of years and particularly the last few months.

But when I come across this pic in my saved photo’s I find myself breathing deep, like someone has wrapped a warm blanket around my shoulders.

I make no secret of the fact that I struggle with the absence of my husband and my mother in my every day on a physical realm, given their recent passing to the other side.

Yet, there are glimmers throughout my days, like when I happen upon certain photos, that I feel so full of not only their presence but the presence of others gone before me too… and in those moments I smile knowing that our connection runs deeper than life itself and my relationship with them is never ending… it’s just different.

Thanks for reading Hi from Sandra! ! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Hi there my letter loving family!

How goes life in your neck of the woods my friends? There’s been an east coast low devour my part of the world for the past week and while I’d like to say I took advantage of being stuck inside and madly crossed things off my ‘inside to do list’ while bopping away to Brian Adam’s Summer of ’69 and the like, alas, there’s been a bit of bopping but not much crossing.

Mostly, there’s been lots of listening to melancholy piano music as the continuous rain drops slid down window panes obscuring any view from my sitting spots. It’s been quite therapeutic and, in contrast, a little confronting at times as sadness gently found its way to the surface… causing raindrops of my own to run down my cheeks… which meandered back around to that therapeutic feeling… tears are the way our body tries to reset itself when things feel out of balance… that’s why we feel better after a good cry… maybe the earth here felt out of balance too… possibly a lot out of balance because there has been a lot of rain… hope it feels better too.

I’m not afraid of my sadness despite the occasional confronting challenge it may pose.  I don’t see it as something that needs to be fixed or gotten rid of.  Its intensity and force rise and fall like an internal tidal river going about its natural ebb and flow.

Nothing to fear. 

Sometimes I even welcome its arrival and sit engulfed in its presence, wrapped in its arms of familiarity… for it feels like the only thread of intimate connection I have to those no longer here.  Some days it can feel like a stabbing pain in my chest but generally it feels like a gentle cradling of my bruised heart… a quiet place to fall when the endless, emotion filled tasks of grief and bereavement become too much.

October and November saw me take a few little road trips to private open gardens.

Turning off the highway and winding my way through the undulating countryside that is magical Nerim South, and other days onward to Monbulk and Olinda in the Dandenong Ranges, was such a tonic. 

I always seem to breathe a little deeper and walk a little slower in these landscapes. I don’t have any photos of my own to share because I was surrounded by such enchanting creations of these homeowners’ visions that I walked around inhaling it all and left my phone in my pocket.  

Never do I feel more at peace with myself than when I am sitting under a tree surrounded by garden and the buzzing of the bees and the chirping of the birds while gazing upon rolling hills and delightful valleys.  (Pictures featured are from Val’s Instagram page shared with permission).

I have been fortunate enough to live in a few houses over my lifetime that have afforded me the privilege of open spaces and some pretty nice vistas to look out over.  I feel so lucky to have had these opportunities and at the risk of sounding ungrateful for all I have now in my current residence in town I’d like to think that one day I’ll again find a home and garden somewhere tranquil amongst the trees, the birdsong and countryside I love so much.

Until then (if it ever comes to fruition) I’m doing my best to create a haven here, inside and out, that I feel good about coming home to inspired by the lovely homes and gardens I’ve recently visited. 

A girl can dream of barn conversions or cute little cottages draped in rose vines nestled on the edge of eucalypt forests looking down over creeks and valleys full of fairytale wonder because I know they exist! I’ve seen them.  But I also need to feel content and at peace with where I am now… and if the country dream never happens for me then that’s okay too… I’ve already had some other dreams come true and I’m more than okay with those being enough.

In other news

Did you know that once upon a time I used to be a blogger? In 2014 I started writing on the internet with my own website ‘Sandra Kelly What Lies Within’.  I was very sporadic with posting (some things never change) but enjoyed the connections I made along the way over the last (almost) ten years.

That blog is still live today but I haven’t posted there for a couple of years and despite declaring that I was going to close it down (it’s a little expensive to keep live) I haven’t had the heart.

Why did I start a blog in the first place? I was shattered after my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment in 2013 and went searching on the internet to see if I could find anyone who wasn’t glossing over trying to live life through any kind of adversity. 

What I found was people speaking their truth and writing personal stories via blogging. I was hooked and fell down many a blog reading rabbit hole.

In my very first post titled ‘Why Did I Survive’ written May 10^th, 2014 that you can read here if you so wish, I explain what prompted me to start sharing my own truths on the World Wide Web for any one to see. 

The short version is that I was so buoyed by every day people putting themselves out there for others to connect and to mine nuggets of gold from their sharing that I wanted to do the same. I wanted to add my voice to the fabric of that personal story telling tapestry providing comfort and ‘me too’ moments for others who may be searching just as I once did (and still do).

Blogging seemed to go out of favour for the quick captions of Instagram etc and longer form writing wasn’t embraced as the cosy fire side chat it once was.

Although, the times do seem to be swinging back around again with the birth of Substack newletters and the like. Plus, like many others, I have become a little disgruntled with social media.

Facebook gives me the shits most of the time (I’m telling it like it is) and sometimes when I log in to my Instagram account I often question if I’ve logged into fb instead.  The friendly vibe and more personal visual photo sharing is not what it used to be.  Why so many ads?

I was, however, very pleased to read a post on Instagram recently by my blogging friend Carly Jacobs saying she was feeling pretty much the same way too. Carly still writes on her blog Very Excellent Habits and with her friend Christina from Hair Romance they’ve decided to launch a renaissance of blogging. 

They have declared to write once a week on their blogs for the next three months, starting Dec 1st, and have thrown out a call for people to join in and bring back the love of long form writing and reading. (Note – long form writing can be defined as anywhere from 1000 words or above. I fall short at typically around 800 to 900 most of the time. But lets not split hairs).

Carly is calling it a blogaissance!

So, I’ve decided to become a groupie of this blogaissance.  If you’ve been thinking about starting up your own blog or Substack newsletter this is a great time to start. 

I’ve listed some of my favourite writers of the internet below (and I know I’ll sit bolt upright at 2am remebering someone I should have included) so you can check them out and get a taste of what I’m yabbering on about. I’ve also listed some links to the gardens I visited last month as well. 

That’s it from me this week.  I’ll be back this Sunday with another letter so watch your inbox. 

Stay safe,

Love Sandra Xx

I love hearing your thoughts so please leave me a comment. If you are a writer please leave me a link in the comments so I can swing by and say Hi!

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Substack Newsletter Writers I follow

Denyse Whelan's Words and Pics.

My Personal Substack: Sharing Words and Pics ....Retirement, Education and More!

Gently, We Journey: with Liz Newman

Essays and poetry surrounding topics of love, grief, faith, mental health, and family.

The Tortoise by Brooke McAlary

In a world made for hares, spend time feeding your inner tortoise. Created by author Brooke McAlary (Slow, Care and Destination Simple) The Tortoise is an online community where we explore and experiment with all things slow.

The Thread by Sonia Bavistock

The Thread is an honestly (and imperfectly) woven real-time tapestry of womanhood and words, as told by Sonia Bavistock, a late-thirties evolutionary woman on a path of rich living, deep knowing and creative joy for an audaciously beautiful life.

The Sit Spot

A weekly newsletter of observations, field notes, ruminations and recommendations from writer Maggie MacKellar.

By Maggie Mackellar

Very Excellent Habits

Taking the anxiety out of being a better person.

By Carly Jacobs

Write Place

How I make money writing. Freelancing, copywriting, ghostwriting, content creation, blogging and newsletters.

By Carly Jacobs

The Messy Middle

Being human is messy. I explore the middle; the space between between right and wrong, good and bad, known and unknown. It's a little bit science, a chunk of personal, all exploratory.

By Ellen Jackson

Blogs

Carly Jacobs Very Excellent Habits

Christina Butcher Hair Romance

Sammie at The Annoyed Thyroid

Beth at BabyMac

Gardens

Click on the pics to be taken to Instagram accounts or the websites.

Val at The Nook

Picardy Garden

Cloudehill

Disclaimer: All care has been taken to link pictures to sources. However if you are the owner of these pics and would like them removed please don’t hesitate to hit reply and your wishes shall be honoured.

Hi there folks!

As you may have noticed from the radio silence here the unravelling of my cocoon I spoke of in my last letter to you came to a screaming halt. 

Well, not so much of a ‘screaming’ but rather lots of ‘ugly crying’ halt. There was a lifting of significant weight from my shoulders and many ‘reverse epiphanies’ (realising what I don’t want to do with my life as opposed to the aha moments of what I do want to do with my life – equally important while navigating the stepping stones of unchartered paths).

It’s always my intention to be as transparent and real with my words and journey as possible however this last little while has been deeply personal and challenging for a myriad of reasons so for now I’ll hold it all close and get to know it all a little better before picking at the edges to set it free.  Please know that I am okay.

What I’d like to share with you is how I have been nurturing myself during this period.  I’ve sought spiritual counsel and mentorship and heeded the wisdom of my mentor to embrace the path of least resistance with any decisions I make that involve setting wheels in motion to align with this season in my life – and the simplicity of this thought process has been so valuable in keeping a lid on my overwhelm.

I have also integrated some simple non-negotiables into my day.  My anchors and markers that would punctuate the flow around my day with Doug and Mum are gone so to help with feeling lost and adrift there are a few actions I do every day so I don’t feel like I’m floundering my way through as much.  Please note that I have built these up one by one over a period of a few months.  The very first one I started with was…

Make my bed every morning

My bedroom is my safe haven.  It’s my sanctuary I retreat too any time of day, not just when the day is done.  It really is one of the nicest rooms in the house with its north facing window and view of the garden.  I’ll often sit in the chair beside the bed with a cuppa and take a moment to reset myself if all the ‘feelings’ get too much. 

It’s the one room that I try to keep the tidiest and cleanest so when I step through the door there is nothing that will irritate me about that space – it’s all calm and soothing.  I can’t tell you what a difference this makes to my day to have one clutter free space right now (read as shit everywhere else as I work my way through my Mum’s belonging’s and my own).

The next action I worked towards was…

No dishes in the sink before I go to bed and tidy counter tops

Okay, I have to admit, this one is a real mind shift battle for me still.  By nightfall the grief fatigue usually has its sticky fingers wrapped right around me and I just can’t be bothered… but… if I take the too easy road of “Oh, there’s not a lot there, I’ll do them in the morning” what I can tell you is morning Sandra is extremely pissed at night time Sandra and that’s not a great way to start the day.  Making my morning cuppa not looking at yesterday spilling over in the sink and benches starts my day with a sense of calm (and morning Sandra is much nicer for myself to be around).

My favourite non-negotiable action, that now takes no coaxing at all is…

Walk

I need to be able to get outside every day.  Hell, I even make myself walk in the bloody wind that we all know I hate so much.  If I’ve spent the day in the garden (or washed the car) I may not walk that day – my 57 year old hips will only take so much – but exercise each day and the outdoors are so integral to my mental and emotional health.  Sometimes I walk my friends’ dogs and that adds another delightful layer to the experience.

Do I always feel like walking? Nope!  On the odd occasion, sitting down and scrolling through all the dreamy bedroom pics and cottage gardens on Pinterest seems like a much better idea but I make myself slap on a hat, slip on my very unflattering sunglasses and sneakers and off I tread.  I may or may not factor in Pinterest time for later in the day (who am I kidding – it’s always factored in).

This morning I walked very early and I’m so glad I couldn’t go back to sleep in the early hours of this Sunday. 

I wouldn’t have seen the six pelicans flying low in the sky heading off to find a sheltered fishing spot, out of the wind no doubt.

I wouldn’t have noticed the peppermint willow trees in the park waving their little fluffy white flowers at me on the breeze as I wandered past. 

I wouldn’t have spotted the two crimson rosella’s balancing on the barbed wire fence next door or the ibis winging their way to the distant water channel (or overflowing bin).

I certainly wouldn’t have spotted the rabbit darting about for cover or Mumma magpie majestically perched high on the street lamp surveying her territory with the authority of a queen. 

The cold breeze made my eyes water and run down my cheeks and the tiny pebbles from the path annoyingly made their way into my shoes, but the effort was so worth it for the noticing, so, so worth it.

My least favourite non-negotiable action is…

Eat something good

This usually involves some effort by me in the kitchen and as lovely as my kitchen is those who know me know how much I bloody hate cooking. 

So, for now, ‘eat something good’ looks like eating at least ONE thing a day that is good for me.  This could be an apple with cashew butter, avocado on toast, air fried veggies, a salad sandwich from the local takeaway, homecooked meal from my cousin’s fresh food takeaway meal shop (why cook when you have a Paul and Carol in your life). 

As long as I eat at least ONE ‘good’ thing a day I’m okay with that.  And because I’m making the rules no one said that I have to specifically prepare that one good thing - bonus!  And let’s not forget delicious vegetable pasties made by my clever neighbour and friend.

So, there you have it. 

My basic, simple, non-negotiables that are helping me get through each day.  I also don’t let too many days go by before catching up with a friend or family member either in person or by messaging or chatting on the phone.  It’s so easy for me to hermit and although that is a necessary component of protecting my energy levels, I’m well aware it’s not good for me too many days in a row. 

The next thing on my radar is returning to work in some capacity.  That’s a little way off yet but thoughts around that are starting to clarify for me so I’ll gently toss them around on the days where I have the mental capacity to do so.

I hope you are all travelling along okay.  If there is anything you’d like to add to the conversation of how you incorporate helpful ‘non-negotiables’ into your day I’d love for you to share in the comments.

Until next time.

Stay safe,

Love Sandra Xx

Apologies for being missing in action around here and on socials.  I’ve been wrapped in a self-imposed cocoon and I’m only just beginning to unravel.  I now realise I slowly enclosed myself away without even being aware I was doing so.  I’m picking at the corners of the swathes that have held me so please be patient with me my friends as I peel away it’s comforting strength opening myself with caution to the vulnerability of connecting to the world that I don’t think will ever make sense again without Doug and Mum.

In recent weeks I managed to get away for a few days to spend time with a dear friend.  It was a great circuit breaker filled with hugs and conversation and nature and exploring.  All welcome gifts for my soul.

This morning when the words started to flow again on the page, it felt like I needed to take time with sharing the unravelling of my cocoon.  It’s something I need to express in real time as I give it air and space and let ‘whatever’ bubble to the surface.

So I’m going to write this experience as it unfolds in parts.  Today is Part 1.  I don’t know how many parts to this freeing of the swathes there will be.  I rarely have a plan when it comes to writing.  Seasoned writers would be gasping in horror at that thought right about now, but somehow being organic and winging it ‘mostly’ works for me.  Yet, if there is a way to be organically consistent amidst my winging I’d welcome that too.

There will be no set day I’ll land in your inbox during this time.  It could be twice a week or more, or less, so I’m afraid you’ll have to watch out for me.

Thank you once again for being on this turbulent journey of life with me… embracing it all… the splashes of joy, the realness of the heart, the light and shade of the duality of life itself.  I appreciate you.

Dear Doug,

I travelled the road alone.  There was no whistling to songs you loved.  There was no tolerating of my singing. There was no meaningful conversations around living life conjured from the rhythmic rumble of a long car ride together.

Just me and Shania Twain belting out ‘You’re Still The One’ while tears rolled and voices cracked… actually, that was just Shania. If only she could hold it together we could re-record a duet (oooops, sorry, that was a daydream I had on the trip. It’s an ongoing work in process).

The first few hours I travelled familiar roads surrounded by familiar countryside.  Familiar exists we’d take for health appointments came and went without detour.

No gloating was to be had with the rheumatologist over your footy team beating his. 

No banter with the skin specialist accusing him of using blunt anaesthetic needles.

No sitting in hospital waiting rooms and specialists rooms being summoned into pokey offices without windows to hear bad stories from results.

No motel to arrive at hoping the wheelchair accessible bathroom promised was indeed wheelchair accessible.

No whistling, no tolerating, no meaningful conversation, no detours, no gloating, no banter, no bad stories, no hospital stays, no surgical procedures, no motel rooms far away from the comfort of home. 

No you.

Road trips with you sometimes didn’t end well.  Health related appointments were really the only time we took long car rides together - your body under too much sufferance for any journey to be of pleasure.  Yet, despite the reasons we were on the road, the time we spent together travelling in the car were some of our most precious times.

For my solo journey the vehicle was full of bits and pieces and a suitcase (or two) of things I needed for my five days away yet the emptiness of your absence sitting beside me echoed around and through me like I was sitting in a giant shell.  This wasn’t my first long haul without you but it sure was filled with a lot of first time noticing on my part.

A few hours further down the road I emerged from the urban sprawl greeted by expansive undulating country and majestic tall eucalypt forests that hid delightful villages steep in history and the abundant bubbling of healing mineral springs. You would have loved the unfolding landscape of ranges and valley’s to be travelled before me Doug.

I breathed a sigh of relief feeling like I’d passed through to a different dimension in time; one that held no history or familiarity for me, or of me. 

Familiarity has become my safe space – I wear it like a protective coat against the elements of the unpredictability of life. It holds the safety of place, people and resilience of yesterday’s that envelopes and comforts me when I feel the harsh cold wind of uncertainty gather strength threatening to knock me off my feet.

Yet, oddly, I found myself inhaling deeply the air of this unknown landscape.

I felt a calm wash over me as I rode the rise and fall of the ranges flanked by forests that no doubt held magical pockets of serenity.  And waiting for me, when I reached my destination, would be the most soul healing embrace from my long time soul sister that would continue nourishing me to my core long after the waves of goodbye had faded into memory.

Until next time, all my love,

Sandra Xx

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Dear Doug,

I walked to our bedroom door and stood in the doorway. 

You should have been lying there, resting your body, researching the cost of your next shed project on your iPad. 

You should have noticed me standing there, seen the look on my face, put the iPad to one side, opening your arms for me to fall into.

Some friends are doing it tough. It’s going to be a long road. You know I feel deeply when it comes to such things. 

You should have been there, on the bed. 

I miss us. 

I don’t feel I can write to you today and talk about my feelings and reflections of living life without you and Mum. 

My grief doesn’t seem worthy of space given what others are enduring right now.

If only thinking this way actually lessened the weight of the cross others must bear, 

But it doesn’t. 

I hear my own words echoing back to me ‘It’s all relative’.

Our truths, our stories are our own unique realities, they need not be denied or dismissed in the face of another’s pain. 

Sadly, It doesn’t make the other person's pain go away. It only makes us stifle our own pain and that’s not helpful for anybody. 

Inwards and onwards with empathy we must tread.

Our truths bind us. Acknowledgment and empathy the threads. 

I’m tired Doug. I am so very, very tired from all the loss of the past few years and the loss I relive each dawn of a new day. 

But… there will always be room on my plate and in my heart for others just as others have made room on their plates for me. 

Connection is everything… 

EVERYTHING! 

Onward. 

In other news…

I started Pilates two weeks ago. Pretty sure I look like some sort of uncoordinated cartoon pigeon but I really like the exercise. 

My mental strength along with my physical strength has really suffered of late so I’m hoping intentional movement will help support both those areas.

It has been so bitterly cold this Winter Doug. I can’t remember a Winter where we had so many frosts in a row.

The crisp white blanket across the open area of parkland reminds me of bloody freezing mornings on the farm feeding out hay to the cattle with no cabin on the tractor. 

“If we’re cold, the cattle will be cold” your Dad used to say. 

Pretty sure we were colder! But gosh we saw some bloody beautiful mornings. 

I’ve been struggling to cook of late (I know, what’s new about that?). The other night I was thinking about how we used to wrap spuds in foil and pop them in the hot coals of the wood heater. 

Not quite the same as camp fire coals but they were great Winter warmers when we couldn’t be bothered preparing anything else for dinner.

Jacket spuds were your favourite with lashings of butter and salt. Occasionally we’d splurge and have sour cream and bacon on hand. 

We’d sit in front of the fire and reminisce about camping trips and the guys trying to scare me by making noises like dingo’s outside the tent… they’d succeed every time. There would be much raucous laughter - not from me though - I’d be crapping my pants.

Speaking of which, no way would I go to the bush dunny on my own after that - your worst thing about camping - me making you traipse into the night on dingo and wild dog watch so I could take a pee.

There were only a few years when we were first married before the Rheumatoid ramped up and ravaged your body - but we managed to have some lovely experiences together before then and just as many after - just in a different way to everyone else’s normality. 

I still haven’t been able to pack up any of Mum’s belongings yet. It’s been four months. I don’t know when I’ll be ready. Are we ever really ‘ready’? 

I hate going into her side of the house. It feels sad, empty of soul and cold. 

Well, it is physically cold because the heater is no longer set to ‘let’s live in the Bahama’s’. Funny the things you miss, like being hit in the face with hot air when I open the passage door. 

Poor Mum was always so cold to her bones. She’d even have the microwave heat bag wrapped over her nose because the tip was cold. 

I seem to have lost my gardening mojo as well. I know it’s Winter and gardens struggle along in the climate this time of year but it all looks rather shabby. 

Yesterday I splurged on a few Pansy and Viola punnets to brighten up the sadness I see around me - even in the garden beds.

Their darling little petal faces make me smile. So delicate. Now if a pair of fairy wrens would hop through the nodding foliage my week would be made… it’s the little things. 

Until next time.

All my love, 

Sandra Xx

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Today I’m setting new intentions for my letters to you. 

I’ve been stuck in my head of late with the practicalities of life and I’ve also been feeling very, very sad around the loss of Doug and Mum.  

As a result the capacity for creativity has been almost non-existent. 

There’s also been something else going on that I only realised fully this morning. 

When I began sharing here it was from my heart. A picture, a conversation, a moment in time or a memory would spark a download of words to be written and posted to you with hope in my heart they would resonate in some way and/or help you feel not so alone. 

Lately, the downloads have been few and far between. 

The place where my heart takes me when I’m ‘in the zone’ putting words on paper really is like another worldly dimension - slipping into the solitude and calm this zone gives me is the most precious of experiences. 

To sound like a weirdo it feels spiritual. I don’t question it, I just give over to it! 

Anyway, what I’ve realised (with some help from a conversation during a spiritual counselling session) is that when I have ‘tried’ to write my feelings of late I’ve been more in my head than slipping into my heart.

I’ve been thinking that without the poetic verses and flow that come to me when I’m in my heart space my writing is not worth sharing - that it won’t be what you signed up for without it. 

That… (dare I say it and sound like a try hard) that you won’t think it’s good enough or worthy of your time or your paid investment. 

This morning my logical brain is smacking me on the back of the head and calling ‘bullshit’!

Calling it for what it is - ego talk with a hefty side dose of imposter syndrome. 

I think I’ve fed these demanding little demons way too much recently (and every year I’ve been writing on the internet if I’m going to be completely honest) and they’re taking up waaaaay too much space in my life - it’s time they are starved of their power. 

So I’ve made a promise to my heart to get out of my head. 

I’ve pledged devotion to its calling of showing up here each Sunday and share what my heart has to offer - whether the poetic downloads of verse come or not and without expectation of an outcome from the sharing. 

Intention over (self) expectation. 

And so, my intention is to show up led by heart.

Some weeks that may look like only a few sips of your cuppa before the piece is over, other weeks you may need a full pot of tea with extra toast and jam to finish my letter, but either way my heart and I will be here in all its rawness and vulnerability… poetically or not. 

Hopefully you can join me each week for a virtual cuppa and our collective hearts can support each other through the threads that bind us… our truths. 

You’re welcome to bring a friend if you like? Copy and share this link so they can join our Sunday morning ritual of a hot cup of tea with words to read.

Now it’s on with today’s letter to Doug.

With love to you all, 

Sandra Xx

Dear Doug,

This morning I woke from some sort of dream where ‘Let it be’ was playing in the background - only when I woke the words were still being sung ever so gently across and around my body in subtle tones. 

Was it you sending me a message? 

Was it? 

It was soothing, I felt so calm and held - a feeling I’d not felt for a very long time. 

I laid there snuggled beneath the haven of the moment until sadness crept in and took over. The distraction of stepping into the day was needed.

But, sitting here now, sipping on my tea from your mug, reflecting on this morning's wake up melody, my eyes close on the inhale of a deep breath and the calm washes over me once more, it’s welcomed, and oh so nice… oh so nice. 

I’ve been trying things on for size to see where I fit in a world without you and Mum. 

I’ve taken part in workshops, mentorship, spiritual counselling and life coaching asking myself questions like: What do I want to do with myself? What skills do I have I can build on to bring in extra income? What lights me up? 

Almost two and a half years on from losing you I still don’t know the answers… three months on from losing Mum I feel like I’m back at the beginning of my grief trying to work out ‘What now?’.

I pass by all the different springboards of possibilities in my mind that I could leap from to dive into new and different lives of my choosing, yet nothing is pulling me close, nothing is appealing, nothing feels ‘right’ - it’s like if I get too close to the springboards they’ll take me further away from you.

And so, I’ll heed the whispered words of wisdom from this morning and just let things be and stop trying to work it all out, for as the song says, there will be an answer… let it be. 

Until next time Dougie all my love always, 

Sandra Xx

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Dear Doug,

This letter comprising of four days in my life was meant to reach you last week… time is not my friend in more ways than one lately. I speak to you every day, I look for you only to find fragments that become double edged swords - feeling the warmth that you were here and feeling the loss of your absence every time, over and over.

Monday 29th of May, 2023

Tonight I hugged your shirt. I stood in the middle of the walk-in wardrobe and held it to my chest… and then I buried my face in its softness.

Something within me said hug you tighter… so I did, and held on for dear life. I’m sure I felt your heartbeat against mine… I’m sure. 

Memories came flooding back of the day we were told ‘no more could be done’. 

We laid on the small hospital bed arms around each other and wept. My head on your chest… your hand stroking my hair.

Maybe you were wearing the same shirt, I don’t remember. It would have been one of your good flannelette shirts for sure. One of the few that wasn’t paint stained from tinkering in the shed. 

Maybe it was that one, maybe that’s why that memory came at me like a steam train, not wanting to let the shirt go just like we didn’t want to let each other go that day. 

The staff left us for as long as they could in the radiation waiting room but then they could no longer delay… you had to go back to the ward and I wasn’t permitted there until visiting hours. 

They felt so bad I couldn't stay with you… go up to the ward… out of their control. 

We said solemnly, with some semblance of a smile, we understood… and we did… not their fault. F*ck Covid. F*ck cancer.

Tuesday 30th of May, 2023

I shared a meme this morning on my socials that said “It’s me and my four hours sleep against the world” This about sums up my night and the mindshift needed to get through the day. 

My body has taken to aching all night.

It likes to wake me up to change position and let me know my hips, legs and ankles are still there, but not necessarily very happy… or comfortable. 

I’ve had trouble with hip tendonitis before, but this is next level.

It also likes to call itself Fibromyalgia. 

Time will tell if it can claim the title. If so,  I’ll not be ceremoniously knighting its contribution to my world. It is, literally, a pain in the arse. 

The magpies song this morning intertwined with the reverse beep of many trucks in the estate. The building noises may go on forever - morning alarms that are now so normal, creating hopes and dreams of a new life in new homes for those footing the bill. 

Wish I could stay in bed and think of you for a while longer but my four hours of sleep that’s apparently ready to take on the world is calling me to action…  actually, my job is, best get my painful arse into gear. 

Tuesday evening…

Today was shit. Think I knew before I left home it was going to be shit. My brain must have stayed behind in bed because it certainly didn’t follow me to work. 

I had no flow about my day. I smiled and did the best I could but it was far from the best I’m capable of. 

Too tired and annoyed with the disconnect from myself and everything and everyone around me today to write anymore tonight. 

Wish me luck with blissful slumber this evening Dougie! My hip already has other ideas… just realised it’s bin night… I’m in bed. Pretty sure I can hear them laughing at me. Fab end to the day. 

Wednesday 31st of May, 2023

The drifting sound of highway noise woke me before the rumble of trucks and led footed tradies this morning. I wondered if busy had a noise would it sound like the ebb and flow of a highway - a constant hum with periods of frantic intensity to fade slowly and then build again. 

I woke early. A better night's sleep. Sliding the door open into the passage of Mum’s part of the house I was hit with the familiar scent of face powder and hair product. 

For a moment I let myself believe she’d still be asleep in her bed as I cranked up the heater and opened the blinds. 

I hadn’t been able to go down there much since she died. I couldn’t bear to see her chair empty. Such a disconnect of painful proportions. 

This last week I’ve felt a slight shift and have found some comfort in old morning routines of heater tweaking, letting in the morning light and sitting to watch the sheep in the paddock next door from her chair for a little while. Mum loved watching the sheep and young lambs skipping around. 

I made the chilly morning trek outside to put the bins out that I’d forgotten to do last night and actually thanked myself for being so forgetful. There was a glorious sunrise peeking through the gum trees. So pleased I looked up from my toes. 

Noticing beauty in my mornings has been severely lacking of late so I took a moment to capture the colours through the filtering trees. 

Curled up in the chair in your room Doug, sipping on my morning cuppa, looking out at the purple spikes of Salvia flowers being tousled by the wind I reflected on yesterday… it wasn’t all bad. It was Aunty R’s birthday and I spent the evening with her and family… nothing shit about that. 

I hope my brain follows me to work this morning. 

Thursday 1st of June, 2023

The wind blew all night. You hated the wind. I hated being woken by it without you beside me so we could hate it together. That’s a lot of hate in one night. 

My brain followed me to work yesterday which made the morning more pleasant for all concerned but sadly went missing when the lunch time rush hit. 

The over stimulation of noise, lots of people, the need to retain information and concentrate on adding up was all too much. 

Either that or my brain is a sadistic little bastard and likes to sit back in the corner with a whisky and cigarette and watch me flounder around and pivot on the spot like Michael Jackson in the middle of a dance (without the crotch grabbing) only I’m stuffed if I know what move should come next. 

I’m struggling being away from the house during the day though. That’s something I really wasn’t expecting. Being home with you and Mum, caring for you both and making the most of our days and lives together had long become my normal. Now I’m out there walking and working amongst every one else’s normal - a scenario so alien to me I feel as though I’ve stepped into a foreign country, with an unfamiliar culture and language and rituals I don’t quite understand.

I understood our world. I knew how it worked even with the variables that chronic illness would throw at us. I spoke it’s language. I felt comfortable within it. I knew how to function within its parameters. This new world without you and Mum in it makes no sense to me… I’m a fish out of water.

I’ll write again soon Doug,

All my love Sandra Xx

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Hello my lovely letter family,

Today’s letter is for you. 

I find myself rolling around an old chestnut like a squirrel with no place to safely stash it away.

But before I get into explaining myself, I’d really like it if you would read this little excerpt from It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay by Megan Devine

There are wounds in this life that hurt, that hurt immensely, that can eventually be overcome.  Through self-work and hard work, many difficulties can be transformed.  There really is gold to be found, as the Jungians say, at the bottom of all the heavy work of life.  But this is not one of those times.  This isn’t a hard day at work.  This isn’t simply not getting something you deeply, truly wanted. This is not losing something beautiful just so something more “right for you” can come along. The work of transformation does not apply here.

Read that last line again… The work of transformation does not apply here. This speaks explicitly to the grief and loss of the bereaved.

I have been tending to all the parts of me that need time, kindness, compassion and even forgiveness while navigating great loss, but I still often find myself here… wanting to share with you how hard it is when people die, when they have been your life, your whole life; wanting to express my truth so it opens space for others to speak theirs; wanting to scream that this is something you do not ‘transform’ from, but rather re-live, navigate and ‘transition’ through every single day; wanting people to understand the less silence and secrecy around all of this the more ‘normal’ talking about death may become… but the reality of my reality is that speaking about it (writing about it) can and does make people worry about me.  And the last thing I want to do is to cause people to worry about me.

So, this is the old chestnut I often roll around – do I share my everyday life, my thoughts, my reflections, my rawness, my vulnerability, my sadness, the duality of it all and risk that people will worry? Or do I continue to share with hope that an insight into my days may be helpful to someone, including the cathartic act of writing that is helpful for me as well?  Or, do I keep it all locked in a journal that I hope no one finds after I’m gone because I wouldn’t want them to be upset that grief had such an impact on me that they knew absolutely nothing about?

The last month that old chestnut has been quite nauseous with dizziness from being rolled around so much let me tell you.  Today I think I’ll give it a rest from feeling queasy and snug it away in a safe little corner of my mind for a bit.

I’m curious to know your thoughts my lovely letter family…

Do you wish there was less silence around grief and loss? Around dying, death and the aftermath?  When it comes to grief and loss of any nature (because the loss of a loved one is not the only time we experience the feelings of grief and loss) do you wish it was more acceptable to express how you are actually feeling without fear of being told to look on the bright side?  Do you wish your feelings of grief and loss were embraced and acknowledged as normal feelings to a possible abnormal situation or experience in your world? 

Silence is so unhealthy, we know this.  Yet, through fear of judgement or having our feelings dismissed by the well-meaning, good intentioned but completely unhelpful reply “Just think positively” we often return to our default of ‘silence’.

If you feel called please leave me a comment with your thoughts or, if you prefer to share privately, please hit reply to this email.

I am genuinely curious how you feel about silence around expressing the feelings of grief and loss.

Before I sign off, I’d like to share this last little thought with you.

In the last seven weeks especially, I have had much to process and begin to transition through.  The other morning, I found myself gazing out the front window watching the most glorious sunrise wash the sky with colour as the clouds absorbed its magnificence, then slowly the colours faded into the moments of another day unfolding. Tears welling, I heard my voice say “What am I doing?” Too which someone replied within an instant “The best you can”.

Keep doing the best you can my lovely ones.

All my love,

Sandra xo

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It’s a been a week.

I’m not sure there is any part of my being that is ready to step forward into the strangeness of living life without the presence of Mum and Doug.

Yet, here I am.

The loss is as recent as the blink of an eye and the wipe of a tear as it is but a distant memory from another year of losing Doug… followed with another heavy loss in the blink of an eye and a wipe of a tear too soon feeling like distant memories of their own with Mum… and then, again, in paradox like it was only yesterday.

Time… a fickle beast with attached hidden personal agendas of what is perceived as healthy and unhealthy grieving periods by those navigating the loss and, albeit unintentional, those bearing witness.

My friend and mentor, Sonia Bavistock who writes The Thread, recently published a beautiful piece about “The action of exploring an unfamiliar area – age 38”. You should go give it a read. 

It’s raw, vulnerable, beautifully written and an insightful journey into how we berate ourselves for lost time of not living life how we wish we could have lived it, to now watching the landscape of the life wished to be lived opening up before us and feeling ready to take those first tentative steps willingly exploring that which is unfamiliar but welcomed and wanted.

Sonia’s post resonated with me so much and I found myself meandering back through my own life going over lost opportunities to “be me” because I felt I lacked the confidence, was constantly coming up short believing in my worth or telling myself it just wasn’t the right time OR that old chestnut, what will people think of me – fear of judgement is an ugly companion in every sense of its unpleasant meaning.

Then after I’d sifted back through my own life I started reflecting on conversations I’d had with people close to me lamenting about how they wished they’d have stepped into the life and work they are doing now many years ago; how they wished they could have stepped in to their true selves sooner; how different life would look and feel for them now if they had and how much further down the track to living a life of joy, abundance and personal peace they would be.

After some sifting through my thoughts I arrived at a conclusion of sorts and contributed my ponderings to Sonia’s comments…

“I truly believe that all the pieces of ourselves, mind, body, spirit, soul, past trauma, present awareness, thoughts, feelings all join hands and step forward together to walk the paths we’ve longed to walk (or indeed want to walk) when they are all ready to support and encourage each other forward and not a moment before. ‘No man (or woman) left behind mindset’ to all those parts of us – not one part dragged forward by the others at any time.  Only stepping forward in unison when it feels right for them all.”

Each piece of you that is required to step into your future landscapes and navigate the new terrain have to develop at their own pace and be kind and considerate to each other’s progress… even the fear.

That’s what life experience is for, that is what time is for… the learning, the nurturing, the development, the blossoming of all pieces that come together in unison when they feel complete enough to join hands and step forward in support of one another.

Only there is a slight flaw in my offered conclusion.

It fits well with the passage of time and the clarity and awareness it affords us when we choose to embrace its gifts of becoming yet another iteration of our true selves… and that is a magical thing. It becomes a beautiful packaged gift of ‘choice’.

My theory does not fit well when you are given ‘no choice’… when you are thrust into unfamiliar landscapes by grief and loss of any nature, not just bereavement. When all the pieces of life experience over time, the learning, the nurturing, the development, the blossoming in unison for your complete package of navigation is actually incomplete in its unison.

What then?

What do you do when you are pushed into an unwanted landscape without the pieces of yourself that you so need to be ready?

Because this is where I am, right now, as I write, I can tell you this…

You tend to yourself… all the pieces of yourself.

You cry with the pieces that need to cry, you sit in silence with the pieces that need silence, you create space for the pieces that need space, you offer kindness and nurturing to the wounded pieces that need time, you make micro choices in navigation with the pieces that feel they are able and then you gently cradle and carry with you the pieces who are unable, setting them down to rest without expectation of joining hands and walking beside you in unison before they are ready.

Some pieces may never be ready and that’s okay. 

Because from somewhere within you there are pieces you didn’t even know existed who step up.

They step up enough to get you by… they know there is no life to go back too… the landscape and terrain you’ve been thrown into has changed forever… you’ve had no say in this, no choice.

And in those moments, when you’ve drawn strength from the earth angels around you because you feel you have no strength of your own, those pieces of yourself you didn’t even know existed will be just enough… they’ll be just enough.

The unison needed blossoms from the tender nourishment of all pieces of self and from honouring where each piece is at with compassion, along with the gift of the fickle beast that is time.

Even when it hurts, even when it’s strangeness is beyond comprehension and especially when you are screaming from the depths of unchartered valleys “I’m not ready!”

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Hi there Doug!

Mum passed away… but I guess you already know that because I’m sure you would have greeted her with “What are you doing here Granite?” (Granite being your pet name for her, a play on Granny and a nod to her being ancient in her 8^th decade on this earth and possibly a little crusty… you were such a cheeky bugger).

Without you and Mum here the house feels like it no longer has a soul.  It’s empty of both your presence.  Memories aren’t quite filling the void as one is led to believe they will.

I wrote words to say at Mum’s funeral. I managed to get through them with lots of sniffing into the microphone that must have driven everybody crazy, lol. 

The amazing Celebrant, Julie Duffy, who guided us and the congregation through your farewell also guided us through Mum’s. She stood beside me and held my hand at the conclusion of Mum’s service as I spoke what was on my heart, just as she did when I had words to share at your funeral.

I drew from her strength of character and genuine care and compassion for what she does in support of bereaved families and in delivering services of such grace.

Julie is a gifted gatherer of information, a master collator and storyteller capturing the essence of the departed in the way she weaves her words. Most wonderfully Doug, she is a genuine soul and we were so pleased she was available to help craft our goodbye for Mum. What a gift it was. Mum would have been so pleased.

Meaningful with no fluff.

I’ve posted my words below so that the lovely people who subscribe to my e-letters here can join in my farewell to Mum. Some of them were lucky enough to meet her in person and for those who weren’t so fortunate I hope they share in an understanding of how she touched and influenced my life and many others.

I did forget to include a couple of little stories that I’m kicking myself for now.  You think you’re doing fine and ticking off all the things when organising a funeral and writing farewell’s, but grief brain is a tricky beast of it’s own that presents memory blocks when you least need them.

I forgot to mention how my brothers and I would egg Mum on to drive fast over the little rise in the road near the Bundy Cricket Ground that would lift us out of our seats, if hit at the right speed, and almost bump our heads on the roof of the car and we’d all laugh so hard and feel quite pleased we got Mum to do something naughty. 

Seatbelts obviously weren’t a thing then.

I forgot to say how the banter between you and Mum was often the highlight of my day. She always jibbed you that she wasn’t dying before you did. Nothing spoke to this more than on the return of a late night trip to emergency a few years ago, while holding my arm for balance, she poked her head around your bedroom door and sang at you “I’m baa’aack”.  It was one of the few times in my life that you, my quick witted husband, was rendered speechless.  You looked up momentarily from your ipad with a wry smile and a chuckle that could only have been interpreted as “Touche Roma, touche!”

So for those of you reading along at home, pour yourself a cuppa to have with me as I share this farewell to my Mum for one last time…

When I was a young girl I was painfully shy and scared of everything. If someone spoke to me I’d hide behind Mum or Dad’s leg for security and search for their hand to slip into mine for safety.  The only other person I felt this sense of pure safeness with was my Husband Doug.  I know how fortunate I was to have this privilege my entire life and I’ve never once taken it for granted.

I remember afternoons when Mum would play records of Vera Lyn or The Seekers and I’d be singing at the top of my lungs to Hey there Georgie Girl while colouring or playing with my dolls and Mum would be singing at the top of her lungs while doing house work, sewing at the machine or baking cakes for morning or arvo teas OR perfecting her famous Ginger Fluff Sponge Cake.

I remember waiting patiently to lick the beaters and being annoyed that they were scraped within an inch of their life and telling her that when I grew up I was going to make cake mixture all for myself just so I could eat it all off the beaters and not bake it.  She would smile and say I’d make myself very sick.

I remember tight immaculate side pigtails, sing-song-ing in unison with my Dad “Thank you Muvva Garling” when she’d made our favourite bread, cream and sugar for a special lunch time treat, and many pretty little dresses she’d sew for me and for my favourite teddy and Roma doll.

Later in life she became my trusted friend and confidant, always appreciating she would say what was necessary for me to hear not what she thought I wanted to hear to magically make it all better.

After losing two of the most significant people in my life virtually 26 months apart, I’ve found myself lying awake wondering… “What’s this life business really all about anyway? (A question Mum pondered herself in recent months)

All I’ve come up with in answer and consolation so far is to embrace this quote by Writer Liz Newman…

“The love you still have for who and what you’ve lost is so deeply important. The chapters of their love and the pages of memories are yours to keep. Your grief, their story, and how it’s helped write yours: it matters. It all matters”.

Mum, you mattered. 

Even on the days when you thought you had nothing left to contribute to this world and felt sometimes like a burden, you mattered. 

Your presence in this world, in my life, it mattered.

It really has been a monumental privilege. A challenging privilege at times for us both over the last few years as we met this decline into old age with respect, some frustration, some humour and a steady supply of unconditional love for each other throughout. 

You said to me, and I’m paraphrasing, “Sandra, don’t you dare stand up there at my funeral and put me on a pedestal making me out to be someone that I wasn’t. I had my faults, I was far from perfect but, you can only do what you think is right or best at the time and live with it”.

If this was the only legacy you’d left me as a life lesson (that I’ve actually drawn upon many times in the last month) it would be enough. But, beautifully, it’s not. 

A couple of thank you’s if  I may…

If you don’t believe that Earth Angels walk among us then you have never met my Aunty Robyn… and if you don’t believe you can have more than one Earth Angel assigned to you then you’ve never met my cousin Leanne. Thank you both for the love and support you gave Mum and I on a regular basis.  We love you more than words could say.

And, if you don’t believe in male Earth Angels then you haven’t met my nephew/son Bart and know of the love and support he gave his Grandmother through the night shifts of the last week in hospital when myself and other family couldn’t be there for whatever reasons.  Thank you on behalf of us all.

To my dearest friends, my loving family and Mum’s immediate family and friends, thank you for your support and care in whatever form and way you were able to give it over many years. You know who you are. Our village was strong.

To my son, my two nephews and niece, whom Doug and I always regarded as our own, and their partners - the adoration and respect you’ve shown your Grandmother over time is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed- she loved and cared for you all more deeply than you could ever know - as do I. 

A special thank you to Julie Duffy for once again guiding us through the loss of yet another family member and delivering a beautiful service for Mum, just like we knew you would.

Mum, the peace I felt from you as you opened your eyes, looked at us, and gently slipped away to finally be with Dad again was palpable and I’ll carry the grace and strength and sense of safeness you gifted me in that moment always. 

Thank you for being my Mum. 

My Mum, my friend. Until we meet again.

Love always, Sandra Xx

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Last night I fell asleep on your side of the bed listening to the rain steadily fall and gurgle its way down the guttering. It’s one of the few times I feel like you’re close these days; when the rain falls in the darkness of night reflecting the darkness within my heart. Your body, fully relaxed by the sounds, would drift off to sleep with ease and after a while of feeling you close I drifted off too.

I wanted to send this short note to you, amongst the sounds of the day stirring, because I’m missing the places and spaces in time that we once occupied together and every new day is like losing you all over again realising my future places and spaces will never have your presence intertwined within them.

There’s been a few conversations in my world lately with people feeling the same feels. There is no moving on, there’s only the ‘stepping into’ of a different life that’s now a different shape in present and future spaces of time.

I wrote these words to a dear friend recently with whom I share a common thread of loss that binds us…

“All we can do is be kind to ourselves, do what works for us and move forward taking with us all that it means to love them in the way we do, because ‘moving on’ is like closing the book of our life together and putting it on the shelf never to be opened again gathering dust and to me that’s incomprehensible – I prefer to leave the book open and slowly craft different chapters of life to move through and that never looks like ‘moving on’ for me, only forward, in my own way, in my own time.”

I don’t care for the term ‘stay positive’ either Doug, to be honest.  I know it comes from a place of people wanting one to feel better and enjoy some kind of fashioned life from the ashes of personal challenge and hardship and I know it comes from the desire to lift one from sadness but it is a very, albeit unintentional, dismissive phrase of where someone is at in their life  – it’s like saying “don’t dwell on things because it makes me uncomfortable to see you so sad and struggling with life so look for the silver linings instead and it will make me more comfortable to be around you and support you because I want you to be happy”.

It is uncomfortable to be around someone who is hurting and we just want them to feel better – I’ve been on that side of the coin too.  But instead when I say “I’m here for you in any capacity you need” whenever I get the human urge to offer uplifting reassurance I hope the receiver feels supported in that moment – not compelled to look on the bright side for my benefit. 

For the bereaved your loved one is dead – period - there is no silver lining.

And for those going through the anguish of a loved one in care, they experience the loss of ‘what was’ every time they walk out the door from a visit and grieve another piece of that person fading away before their eyes.

These are the conversations I miss having with you Doug.

These are the empty spaces that will never again be filled with cups of tea in hand, sitting beside your bed, chatting about all manner of things and our views of the world influenced by our shared experiences.

These are the places and spaces in time I miss in the drakness of night and the song of morning light.

I always will.

All my love,

Sandra Xx

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It’s early on Sunday morning and I’m sitting in bed watching the wind of the cool change that’s blown in give the small Crab Apple trees in the front yard a thrashing. I was even awake before Mr Rooster next door began crowing.  I’m actually liking this change in the weather today.  It’s more aligned with my mood and for some weird reason I feel connected and comforted by it. I’m learning not to question so much the weirdness that is grief.

Speaking of that old chestnut grief, this month’s grief manifestation is in the form of mess.

I’ve always had to work at being tidy and mostly succeed… well, on the surface, just don’t open a drawer or a cupboard or everything will fling out at your face like a can of snakes practical joke (only it won’t be a joke – you may be buried under there for some time before anyone hears your cries for help!) You were always much better at drawer tidiness than me.  I’m slightly pleased you can’t see your side of the bathroom vanity storage because it is frown worthy.

There’s unopened mail, washing on the pantry benches, clothes strewn on the bed, junk on the dining table and dishes in the sink. I’ve been so tired and just can’t be bothered.  I’m bloody over it so I’ve decided today is the day to take back control… or at the very least do more shoving of things into cupboards and drawers to greet me at a later date. Not ideal I know, but it will bring some sense of calm and space to my brain and that’s a good place to start I reckon.

The garden is looking a bit sad right now Doug.  I pruned the Seaside Daisy ground cover with the whipper snipper just like a colossal man prune so it looks like mounds of dead brown sticks right now. Some visitors to the house were horrified.  They tried to hide their “Oh my god, what has she done” expressions but I assured them that Seaside Daisy is like the cockroach of the plant world – you can’t kill it – that’s why I grow it.  And just when I started to doubt my own words the fresh new growth has started to appear.  Must admit I am secretly breathing a sigh of relief.  I’m not sure if I want to keep the garden but I think it’s more a reflection of everything giving me the shits right now so I won’t make any rash decisions around it while I’m feeling grumpy.

Shall I tell you about Christmas?  I think not.  It was bloody hard without you and I mean no disrespect to the people who were here trying to make it fun and okay. 

I’ve decided I’m not hosting next Christmas.  I’ll be sitting on a beach somewhere sharing a picnic with the seagulls and anyone who wants to spend Christmas with me will be welcome to join in.  They’ll need to bring their own picnic to share with my feathered friends because I won’t be catering for anyone or anything else other than me and the squawkers.  Selfish? You bet your arse!  Do I care?  Of course I do Doug and the remorse and guilt I feel already around this decision is eating at me and its only February. Thankfully I have ten more months to kick that guilt to the curb. I shall not weaken.

Summer evenings have been quite balmy and I’ve taken to sitting outside for a while at night after Mum goes to bed.  It’s kind of like hitting the reset button on the day before I retreat to my messy bedroom for broken sleep.

During one of these evening sittings, I wrote a story for you about a girl named Janey… spoiler alert, I’m Janey:

Janey walked out the front door onto the porch and left the staleness of the closed-up house behind her. It had been a very hot day so every door, window and blind had been shut tight to keep out the stifling heat making the recycled air unpleasant by day's end. 

It was a beautiful summer's night. Outside everything was as still as could be. All things were in recovery mode after having the energy sucked out of them all day long by Summer that decided to arrive all in one go without gradual integration.

She managed to find a spot on the porch seat not marked by the resident mudlark pooper. Why that bird insisted on perching there using it as a personal toilet when there was a perfectly good park across the road and a row of gum trees in the neighbouring paddock for privacy pooping she’d never know. 

No sooner had Janey sat down on the cleanest spot possible she was privileged to see a shooting star in the clearest of night skies and soon after a satellite appeared to be on a collision course with the Sailors Saucepan constellation but managed to pass by without the impending doom she imagined. 

Her eyes closed, her breath slowed and for a moment in time she was transported back to the yard of her old home she had shared with her late husband.  There, on nights just like this, they would often sit on the verandah together gazing at the same constellations in another time now past. The skies were a little clearer there, the stars somewhat brighter and the outline of mountains, where ancestors drove cattle, rose from the landscape beyond.

For a moment she could feel the warmth of her husband’s body and his arms wrapped around her while they sat engulfed in the wonder of their surroundings not needing words.  Those arms he thought were useless as a result of years of Rheumatoid Arthritis were full of nothing but strength, stability and comfort for Janey. Without them she felt as weak as a lone feather drifting aimlessly on a breeze.  If only he knew what strength his presence held… if only.

As usual something went ‘bump in the night’ and Janie found herself coming back to the present on the poop laden porch with a fright, her stillness and calm now shattered.  Of course her overzealous imagination told her the noise was a serial killer tripping over something in the shadows so she promptly went inside and deadlocked the door behind her.

Snuggled in the safety of their once shared bed she closed her eyes and breathed deeply once more, falling back into that feeling of strength and togetherness just long enough to contently float off to sleep.

I don’t know why I wrote this story in this way about Janey which is really about us.  I just did!

In other news I’m still taking my friends dog, Mildred the expert sniffer, on walking adventures.  She cracks me up with her meerkat impersonations bouncing along on her hind legs so she can spy rabbits that may be scurrying away in the distance. Also, she likes to bark a lot at things that aren’t even there. 

We have many the discussion about this on our walks – sometimes I win the discussion and sometimes Mildred is not interested in discussing it all and ignores my very existence.  If she pretends I’m not really there she is free to continue giving whatever it is a right tongue lashing.  Often its other people walking their dog on her patch without a prior note of permission from her.  She’s a crack up alright.  I’m so fortunate to have such lovely friends as neighbours who let me take their pooch on my walks.

Mum’s doing okay Doug.  She had another fall the other day and we thought she’d broken her wrist but thankfully it was only a sprain.  Still quite painful though.  Geez I’m glad you and I don’t have to navigate the Emergency Department at our local hospital with frequency anymore.  Crikey it’s so busy and the staff there are run off their feet.  Wait times are through the roof. Not pleasant for patients or staff.

That’s about all I have time for today Doug.  There’s more to tell you but you never were a big reader and I reckon your eyes would be almost glazing over by this stage.

Until next time.

All my love,

Sandra Xx

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I love hearing your thoughts so feel free to leave a comment here or hit reply to this email. Let’s chat!

Today my letter is for you - there is a letter to Doug brewing but today I wanted to touch base with you.

(Also today’s letter has a trigger warning of talking about death, in the most gentlest of ways of course, so I understand if you do not wish to continue reading and may prefer to revisit at another time depending on where you are at in your own life right now . Even if you are not in the throws of grief and loss there will be something relevant you’ll be able to take away from today’s letter).

The other morning, while lying in bed gazing out the window, I wrote this and shared it on Instagram and FB…

What would you write if no one was reading?

Early morning musings…

Not a breath… not a sound… not a movement to be found.

Finally, the world has stopped turning, acknowledging you’re no longer in it.

A welcome pause, an exhale, a sense of relief… jolted all too soon by the twitch of a leaf.

#ThroughMyWindow

There are many friends and family who subscribe to my letters and I have been paralysed lately with sharing what’s on my heart because I don’t want any of you to worry about me.

I love having you all here with me, sharing in my world and the dualities of life but the last thing I want is for people to worry if I’m okay or not.

Sharing my truth is done with hope in my heart that it really does open up space for others to share their truths… if only to (and for) themselves.

It helps me and I hope in some way it helps you too.

There are people in my world who worry more when I don’t write - that’s probably more of a gauge of how I’m doing than what and when I do publish (secret is out now as to tell how I’m really travelling).

I know I keep saying this, but this grief shit is hard… really, really hard.

This last little while has been laced with sadness in the lead up to my second Christmas without Doug - the first Christmas without him was tough, but do-able - with a lot of pushing through on my part.

This Christmas the grief is not as intense but the realisation of the loss of his presence in my every day and my every tomorrow has been heavy.

On the 22nd of July this year my friend Carly Jacobs of Very Excellent Habits Podcast released an episode on ‘A Practical Guide to Dying’ with author Jackey Coyle. I found it very interesting and insightful and if you are up for it, it is well worth a listen.

There are a few things I’m still digesting from that episode. One being Jackey saying that in the last days of someone’s life they are moving more away from you and more towards their death and what lies beyond (I’m paraphrasing of course).

At the risk of sounding like a complete nutter, I felt this.

I felt it deeply.

The last three days of Doug’s life I struggled to feel the deep connection we had always shared that often transcended the need for words. What I felt quite palpably in my chest instead was the effort it was taking for his body to shut down knowing full well that his spirit and soul had already said their goodbyes and were on their way to where-ever and whoever he’d sometimes open his eyes and smile at beyond those of us sitting around him.

I needed to walk and leave the room more often than what I liked so I could shake off the intense energy of every breath from a body that had only ever fought with every cell to stay and live now trying to do the opposite - shutdown and pass over. (I’m still working through my guilt at having to leave the room so often, even though I know it was so I could recharge to be fully present when beside him holding his hand).

The day after Doug’s passing was the first time in days that I felt his closeness as I laid on the grass opposite the hospital below the canopy of a Golden Elm tree in the park. A knowing, a peace, a oneness.

I’ve only felt it a handful of times since.

I don’t know where his spirit and soul are now and some days that upsets me that I can’t feel him around. But I’m slowly embracing that he really did take on board my words in those last days together when we realised the time was coming and so he feels free to not be with me - those words conveyed that I’d be okay, not to worry about me, that he’d taught me well to take one day at a time when things were shit, that I would make sure his transition from this life here with us to the afterlife that lay waiting would be as smooth as I could humanly make possible as his advocate and I’d see it through to the end.

As I held his hand and spoke the words it was as if our souls connected and embodied our purpose for the days ahead and we drew strength from each others devotion in that moment.

The other night after climbing into bed I closed my eyes and breathed deeply into the stillness and I silently called his name… in my imagination he cheekily snapped “What… what do you want, I’m busy” and I smiled and chuckled to myself. It was as though I could hear his cheeky tone and see his cheeky grin and I went off to sleep with a sense of relief.

So I’m hoping that’s where he is - too busy to chat, off letting his soul and spirit fully immerse itself in the freedom from his painful crippled body, running free without worry in the company of those gone before him… and our furry friends happily bounding alongside.

This letter is what I would write if no one was reading, if I was to feel no one would worry.

It is, and what has been, on my heart.

I’m hoping it’s received with the knowledge that I’m okay-ish. I’m sad, but okay-ish. I don’t think I’ll ever be completely ‘okay’ and I’m learning to embrace that too… by living one day at a time as his life taught me.

Acceptance seems too final and blunt… Embracing where I’m at is the gentle cradle from where I can function and also retreat.

Possibly you can grant yourself such grace if you are in need? Our own permission is all we need, not anyone else’s.

All my love,

Sandra Xx

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Dear Doug,

Yesterday I went home.

It’s not where I can live any more, but it’s home.

Every long calm breath, every sound, every particle of sunshine that warmed my face as I looked to the horizon, every breeze that swirled and circled me with its presence of welcome and belonging… home.

The open spaces and memorable vistas bring me peace.

The valley’s and mountains and ancient trees bring me strength.

Bird flight and song add movement and charm.

It’s always there - weathering the changes of the seasons and swaying with the forces of nature.

The sense of safety and strength is one of constant embrace.

Yet, some things aren’t really quite the same, like a river that slightly changes course over time due to force of flooding and elements beyond its control.

It still flows, just in different drifts.

It’s still part of the landscape yet meanders a slightly different course.

The terrain is always it’s home yet taken in different directions, sometimes touching for a moment the edge of a path once travelled acknowledging the part in its past but knowing it’s not the direction of its future flow.

I feel like that river when I’m there. I see the paths once travelled. I walk alongside them. I gently touch them.

I sense the constant connection beneath my flow… but it’s not the direction of my future.

Calm, peace, strength and melancholy reflection that makes me smile and feel sad will always be found there.

It’s not where I can live any more but will always be home in my heart, my every breath… for it’s where I found love, it’s where I found family, it’s where I found belonging, it’s where I found you.

And it’s now where you rest…

Home

Hello my dear newsletter friends and family,

These last few weeks have been a trial. There have been tears and realisations since we last chatted. Frustration has been equally matched by surrender.

Whenever I make the decision to step into myself and honour my creative side and writing desires with more energy and dedication the universe presents speed bumps and roadblocks that seem insurmountable.

It’s like it’s telling me to turn around and look at where I am right now and the circumstances and head space in which I live and need to honour.

I have needed to put some of my desires down for a little while and take stock to embrace the frustration of the surrender as a soft place to fall and not resent the awareness of its gifts.

Right now, in this season of my life, I need to sit with my desires beside the path of where I’ve been and where I’m yet to go… and then embrace walking beside them, not chase them.

I feel like I’ve landed in the appropriate place - for now - sitting along side my desires on a park bench in a landscape of possibility and paths to explore when the weather of my seasons allow.

I’d love to be here each Sunday to have a cuppa with you but some Sunday’s that’s just not possible. So all I can ask of you is to watch your inbox and when you see I’m on your doorstep I hope you pop the kettle on and invite me in for a chat.

When we are not sharing a cuppa here I am always contactable through my social media private messages and of course by hitting reply to these emails or leaving a comment here on the post.

And one last request… if we all close our eyes and wish really, really hard with the purest of intentions maybe this endless Winter in Victoria will rack off and let the Spring sunshine warm all of our hearts and souls and cold bones.

Until next time (scroll to the end for some bonus links).

All my love,

Sandra xo

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PPPS. (Last one I promise) A big shout out to my friend and mentor Sonia Bavistock for helping me find clarity around walking with my desires as apposed to chasing them. Sonia is a beautiful soul with many amazing, insightful gifts to offer the world. You can follow her here on Instagram and here.

With lots of love xo

The crowd swayed and sang as one.  All unified in a moment in time crafted by magical storytellers weaving spells of harmony and connection with melody and words in and around and through every one of us.

I sang and swayed with the masses contributing to the euphoric atmosphere I’d not ever felt before, surrounded by thousands of strangers all feeling like one.

And as Neil Finn sang the lyrics “You better be home soon” for the last time in the performance it was then I noticed my tears, it was then I felt your arms around me, it was then your presence was palpable… and I’ve not felt it since.

Was it your final goodbye?

If you are reading from your inbox tap the letter heading/title to go through to the website to like and comment. Xx

Hi there Doug,

It’s been a hot minute.

Last Christmas our boy and his girl bought me a ticket to see Crowded House at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl at their April concert. Artists that create timeless music connecting generations are precious gifts to the world. 

I’d never been to the Sidney Myer Music Bowl for a concert before, so for my first event to be one of our most favourite bands was beyond exciting.  I am so proud of myself for surfing through my social anxiety and making a promise to myself that I would definitely go. I miss being able to ride on your grounded strength when it comes to being amongst a lot of people though. How thoughtful was our boy?

This Wednesday the 3rd of June will mark 18 months since you went away. 

I find it more difficult now to speak out loud about that time and the events leading up to it than I did in the early days of your death and my grief. Loss is an unpredictable, unique multi-layered beast.

I’ve struggled with writing my open letters to you these last six months. I’d share my thoughts with you when I was on the tail end of working through the them and the good or bad memories – but there hasn’t been much working through of anything lately. I need uninterrupted alone time to think and be creative – it’s how I connect with my soul and make peace with the troubles.  That space has been elusive.

I did manage to micro blog on Instagram for 23 days in June. I secretly set myself a challenge to write every day for that month and it was going really well… for 23 days… and then I stopped.  It was a conscious choice to stop though because I wasn’t getting the quiet time needed to write until late at night and I knew I needed to prioritise sleep instead – I needed to be ‘all there’ for a family member’s care needs and me napping during the day to recharge batteries was not attainable.  So I made the call.

In other news…

I’ve been keeping myself way too distracted because those last few months we were together have been on repeat in my head, as have many unpleasant illness episodes and hospital experiences, and even though I know I need to feel the feels and ‘lean into the emotions’ (my inner counsellor speak) I don’t have the luxury of the emersion needed for the processing and healing right now (does one ever get the total whitespace needed for such things? Is there ever a healing?)

For those reading along who may be worried I’m shoving it all down in the denial bin and it will come back to bite me big time in the future you are probably right.  But I’m fully open to flinging the lid off that marinating cess pool when the time presents itself.  Now is not that time for reasons I won’t go into.  Sometimes you just have to trust your gut and micro manage what comes to the surface when you can.

I’ve branched off like a tree again, I was leading into keeping myself too distracted… 

I was looking for something to bring in some extra coin that I could manage while still being available for Mum.  I came out of Hot Stone Massage retirement thinking I could manage a few clients a week working from home.

My nerve damage from cancer operations and grief fatigue put a halt to that.  It was a shame because I really loved the beautiful tranquil space I’d created in the front room to work from. 

I’ve also enjoyed transforming our bedroom into a haven I love sitting in any time of day, so I thought why not join Lorraine Lea Linen and help other people create tranquil havens in their homes?  I adore LL products. Only I didn’t want to do the party plan side of it, just direct sell beautiful, exclusive boutique linen and homewares and help people design dreamy bedrooms via my social platforms.

Spoiler alert: The irony of joining a party plan model business and not wanting to run my business AS a party plan model business was not lost on me Doug – so of course my ideas are tanking. But I’m not upset about it at all. Swings and round-abouts and all that.  I’m just trying different things on to see if they are a good fit.

I am not good at marketing, or should I say, I don’t really enjoy the marketing side of things. I think I’m possibly good at creating and they are two entirely different things with entirely different skillsets and levels of commitment.

Marketing is strategic and planned –  creativity for me is spontaneous and organic.  I’m not sure I can marry the two.

Commitment and consistency needed for strategy?

Not my strong point without you around to keep me on track.

Spontaneous creativity?

That I can do. 

Case in point, driving you crazy changing the loungeroom around at 1 o’clock in the morning because the mood and idea struck! Sitting beside you to all hours of the night tapping away at the keyboard or putting pen to paper while you slept because the words were dropping in from outer space. 

That’s my sweet spot.

I have come to one big realisation throughout this whole distraction of the ‘trying things on season of my life’ (this is where you would normally start rubbing your forehead in trepidation for what hair-brain idea I might be hatching next).

I love sharing and crafting together thoughts like the following to express how I’m feeling;

Melodies rang from the treetops, skipping along the leaves like keys on a piano until they pierced the crisp air with their tones of glee – morning bird song from branches deep within that I pretended were sung just for me.

Halos of orange haze framed the rooftops and distant trees etched themselves as silhouettes on the horizon for a moment in time. The colours of a sunrise last only for fleeting moments. The greyness of my heart shall last all day.

It’s been a rough week of missing you.

I don’t so much love putting together copy writing, like the following, to highlight a product even if I believe in and love the product;

Does anyone else remember the morning Cherie Blair (wife of UK former Prime Minister Tony Blair) opened her front door to a delivery of flowers with epic bed hair? The Paparazzi went banana's over it. Poor love!

If only she'd known the benefits of a good silk pillow case at the time. The flash frenzy would have been averted; epic mortification prevented!

And I’m not posting that photo of her because that would be mean. Using the moment, albeit tongue in cheek, to highlight my point is bad enough.

I’ve met some beautiful ladies who write copy beautifully and I admire them greatly. Just not sure I can do it.

The one constant thing woven through every fibre of the fabric of my life to date has been creative non-fiction expressive writing. You would encourage me often to share with you whatever piece I may have been crafting while you had been sleeping beside me. Mostly only your ears and my eyes would be privy to it.

So the moral of the realisation?

Simple really (and not worth rubbing your forehead over Doug I promise)!

Do more of what I love!

And that is?

Writing letters to you. 

Actively seek to short-circuit the disconnect I’ve felt for the last six months with you that’s come from my own hand. I want to remember what it felt like to sit beside you late at night while I sipped my tea, you with your milo and Jam Fancy biscuits, chatting about the days events and what we’d like to achieve for tomorrow.

Yep, I’m going to do more of that - create that feeling if I can!

And the linen business?

Well, that’s a letter for another day.

All my love,

Sandra Xx

PS. Guess what? Apparently I fit a category! Independent Creative Non-Fiction Writer/Author! How wild is that? If you’d like to shout me a cup of Earl Grey Tea while I type away bringing these open letters to you and support my creative pursuits in the process you can do so by hitting the button below. Your contribution to my tea habit means the world to me. Thank you Xx

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PPS. If the price of a cuppa is out of reach for you right now I understand. We’re all feeling the pinch in these bizzare times we find ourselves living. You can still support my writing by hitting the button below and choosing your own tip OR share this post OR leave me a comment. I love hearing from you. Lots of Love Xx

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In 2020 I did a thing.

I stumbled across a relatively new writing platform and was keen to sink my teeth into it. 

I booked a 1:1 hour long zoom coaching call with the gorgeous, and very wise, Sonia Bavistock and thrashed out my ideas.  

I questioned my validity and value, Sonia gently cut through my crap with encouraging suggestions and gentle, but much needed, kicks in the butt. 

I scribbled notes while nodding a lot, often perfecting my thinking pose. 

At the end of the call, I announced, “I’m going to do it!” Much to Sonia’s delight! She earned her bickies on that call. 

So, I got to work researching the platform in more depth. 

I lost myself down many an internet rabbit hole surfacing with nuggets of gold from the generosity of others sharing their experience using the Substack newsletter platform. 

I was pumped! I designed a logo, wrote the foundations and was ready to launch. 

Then... crickets... nada... zilch.

Fear gripped me again (sorry Sonia). 

The niggling itch of this idea however would not be eased by my medal worthy ignoring skills. 

So here I am - showing up and scratching that itch buoyed by Sonia’s previous pep talk and a need for connection. 

But here’s another thing! 

The original path I mapped out for this project took a back seat. And that’s okay! Stuff happens. The idea was for it to become a paid subscription of my personal column at some point down the track.

Instead, it became my way of staying connected to family and friends as we embarked on a six-week stint away from home in the big city of Melbourne to access treatment for my husband’s cancer diagnosis in early 2021. 

Sadly, Doug lost his battle three weeks into his treatment and a month to the day of my first ever e-posted newsletter.

After Doug’s death this space then morphed into letters I’d write to him chatting about life in general and sometimes finding dead stinky mice in his shed. That was a fun time (insert eye roll).

Our Doug had faced so much adversity through-out his life living with crippling chronic illness long before cancer took him from us. He became wheelchair bound in his thirties due to complications living with Rheumatoid Arthritis and he met it head on with his infectious trademark humour and cheeky grin. He lived on until sixty-three years of age leaving behind a legacy of admirable intestinal fortitude, he could not have ever imagined possible.

Being of value in this world and giving something of himself to help others was important to Doug. Most often this would take the form of cheeky banter and laughing at himself to bring a smile to others.

So, with all that being said, I’d like to continue showing up here scratching that writing itch that still niggles away at me. I only pen the occasional public letter to Doug now but privately I chat to him all the time.

Sharing my thoughts and stories of how life is unfolding after a great deal of significate life change appears to be where my focus is shifting now.

Perhaps by writing my truths you may meet some of your own truths amongst the words and not feel so alone.

I invite you to stick around, pour yourself a cuppa and dive into the archive while you wait for the next instalment to arrive. May I suggest this post here may be a helpful place to start. And, if you are interested in a recent life update where I share about an unwelcome health diagnosis for myself, you may wish to follow up with a read here.

It really is a pleasure having you on my mailing list.

With love,

Sandra Xx

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