Posts

The Lane That Led Me Back to Him

Image
Last night, I had a dream about Vic — one that felt so vivid, so close, it lingered on my skin even after I woke. I saw myself walking down a narrow lane near home. The surroundings didn’t look familiar, yet somehow I knew exactly where I was going. It was as if my feet remembered a path my memory couldn’t name. At the end of the lane, I saw Vic. He was standing outside a house I didn’t recognise — still, steady, as if he had been waiting for me all along. I walked straight into his arms and hugged him tightly. Not just a polite embrace, but the kind of hug that pulls two people completely together — chest to chest, legs touching, the whole world narrowing into one shared breath. He leaned in close, his voice gentle and worn, and whispered into my ear: “I’m really tired. Let’s go home.” Something in me softened, broke, healed — all at once. I held him and began walking back with him, slowly, carefully, like the moment was fragile and I couldn’t risk waking too soon. His weigh...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Memory Inside an Egg

Image
Some memories arrive quietly — not through dreams, not through grief, but through the smallest, most ordinary moments. This morning, Kenzo asked for egg soldiers for breakfast. Just a simple request, something he’s said so many times before… but the moment the words left his mouth, something inside me shifted. A warmth. A sting. A memory. Suddenly I was back in that moment with Vic — the day he asked me how to make egg soldiers the exact way Kenzo liked them. He had already tried so many times on his own. And Kenzo kept telling him gently, with that matter-of-fact honesty kids have, “Dad, that’s not how Mum makes it.” I remember the way Vic looked at me then — a mix of frustration, determination, and genuine love. He wanted to get it right for his son. Not just close enough. Not his own version. He wanted to make it exactly the way Kenzo loved it. I talked him through everything step by step: • letting the eggs sit out until they reached room temperature • bringing the pot of wa...
Post a Comment
Read more

Mixed Signals, Clear Boundaries

Image
Some days, no matter how hard I try, I still can’t understand Vic’s family — or what their intentions truly are. Their behaviour has been inconsistent, contradictory, and at times deeply hurtful. And the more I sit with everything that has happened, the more I realise that I don’t need to make sense of them — I only need to make sense of what’s right for me and Kenzo. His sister once dismissed my grief for Vic as if it didn’t matter at all. His brother accused me of “having my hands on Vic’s house and car keys,” as though I somehow took something that belonged to them , as if the life Vic and I built together — the home, the memories, the shared responsibilities — suddenly ceased to exist because it was convenient for him to rewrite the story. To them, I was simply “the ex-wife.” A title they weaponised whenever it suited them. But grief doesn’t obey titles. Love doesn’t disappear just because a relationship changes form. Two decades of history don’t vanish because someone choose...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Quiet Hours of 4am

Image
The more the days pass, the more I realise that grief doesn’t just live in the memories we cherish — it also lives in the ones we never got the chance to make. Waking at 4am feels like slipping into a space where time loosens its grip. The world is dark and still, but inside, everything feels loud. Thoughts, regrets, questions — they all rise to the surface in that half-light. And lately, those hours keep bringing me back to Vic. Not the version of him who was sick. But the version who walked around acting fine even when his body was breaking from the inside. The version who shoulder-carried everything without ever asking for help. Looking back, there were small signs. Moments I thought were nothing at the time — now they feel like distant echoes of a truth he kept hidden. The tiredness in his eyes. The way he moved a little slower. The quiet pauses when he thought no one was looking. I didn’t know how to read them then. I didn’t know they were warnings. I didn’t know they were ...
Post a Comment
Read more

When Pride and Grief Arrive Together

Image
Some days arrive quietly, without warning, and still manage to open a deep ache in the heart. Today was one of those days — not because something painful happened, but because something beautiful did… and he wasn’t here to witness it. Kenzo had his class assembly this morning. His teachers emailed ahead of time to say he would be receiving a certificate, so I made sure to attend — but I didn’t expect what came next. Kenzo didn’t just receive one award… he received two. The first was Writer of the Month , presented by Dan Bull MLA. The second was a Principal’s Award Merit Certificate — the kind of quiet recognition that would have made his dad so proud. And then, he helped open the assembly. He stood in front of everyone, made a short speech, and sang the Australian anthem with confidence alongside his classmates. It was one of those moments where the whole room seemed to glow around him. And it was impossible not to think about the person who should have been there — the one who ...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Turn We Couldn’t Make

Image
Last night, I dreamt of Vic — a dream that carried me back to the time before Kenzo, before everything changed. We were driving together in his black Subaru WRX, heading down Alexander Drive toward our old house in Ballajura. The world felt younger, quieter, untouched by everything that would eventually unfold. As we approached the intersection of Alexander Drive and Marangaroo Drive, we intended to turn right. That was the plan. That was the direction home. But we had edged too far forward. The turn couldn’t be made anymore. I told Vic to swerve left instead and just keep going straight. He didn’t question it. He simply followed my voice. We continued driving down Alexander Drive — further from the turn we meant to take, further from the road that once led us home. That’s when I woke. The time on my phone was 4:29 a.m. That quiet hour where dreams feel closest to truth. Reflections This dream came like a soft echo of an earlier chapter — a reminder of the life we once lived...
Post a Comment
Read more

Did He Know?

Image
This thought keeps circling back to me, no matter how much I try to let it pass: “Don’t plan too far ahead. I might not be here when the year ends.” It’s a quiet sentence that wasn’t spoken, yet it feels like the truth living underneath Vic’s last firm “no” back in March — the one that confused me, frustrated me, made me question his reasons. I didn’t understand it then. Now I can’t stop wondering if he did. People who are ill — deeply, seriously ill — often know more than they say. They don’t always have the words to explain it, and sometimes they don’t want to. They just feel it in their bones, in the way their breath shortens, in the way their body betrays them quietly, little by little. Maybe Vic felt time narrowing long before anyone else did. Maybe he sensed that the future I was trying to plan — the trip, the holiday, the new year — wasn’t one he would enter with us. Maybe saying “no” was his way of preparing me without saying the words out loud. It breaks something inside ...
Post a Comment
Read more