I was raised by four strong women.

“We should go on more nature walks together when this pandemic is over. Right now, it’s not safe that I come and see you”.

Nature, you both loved and fought to protect.

Sunday 12th July. Just a mystery illness. Every possible test but no answer so far.

I brought you a bag of gifts; hand cream, hair comb, refill.

Don’t bring food, it will not be eaten.

One unused cotton nightgown, it didn’t arrive in time.

Nature. Amongst the elements. Plant life.

The sound of running water.

Peace. Still. Quiet.

Noise.

Separation.

Pain.

Spirit strength. Resilience.

To just be.

One belongs to oneself.

Grief. Death.

Falling apart and coming back together.

Orchids flower, she visits me. Winter. Body.

Space and time on pause.

Things collected from nature from another time, assembled in a bell jar kept in the spare room.

Hospital bed, no touching.

A craving for mandarins. Bring plenty of those. Show me your pictures.

The mother of the son you met once. The son who was your father. The one who wrote and sent you a handwritten book about World War III to you when you were 2. $1000 cash in an envelope when you were 25. His life savings. You were my only bridge to him. A mutual deep love for Jimi Hendrix I am told. Thank you for the newspaper clippings. He too fought hard for his love of nature.

Wound. Heal.

Earth. Organic. Loss.

Mortality. Exhaustion.

She loves waratahs & misses her garden, send natives with a card. Actually, no card, send a text instead. No calls. More scans.

“Nurse combed my hair - lovely!”.

Moved to a single room.

“Your love and care gives me strength”.

Lymphoma. Aggressive. Bone Marrow. No calls.

“Can I come and see you?” “We’ve had our ups and downs over the years Lil, but I know the love that is between us. I’m so tired. I need to say goodnight now.”

Our last words. Heart broken again and left alone on the earth, wandering with no purpose or meaning. Donor organs not possible. No funeral. A return to the earth.

Disorientating.

Awakening (global).

Wisdom lost, no more stories, no more deep acceptance.

Erosion.

A familiarity from 8 years past, beloved matriarch.

The traditional family Sunday roast abandoned.

Lost footage. Lost laughter. Lost grandaughter.

6 months after Motor Neurone disease diagnosis.

Was this diagnosis because you could never say no to anyone? The body never lies.

I was young. White linen pyjamas.

We picked them out for you. Denial, didn’t want to believe or accept.

The glue that held the fragmented family together.

Did someone make the call? A swift goodbye. A quick departure.

You came from childhood trauma, abuse, neglect. Vulnerable babies. None of you deserved it. Yet you always gave me your undying love and took me under your wing . I never knew a love like it. Cocoon. Safety. Covered.

Bird feathers. Collapse. Creation.

Closer to our own shadows.

Timeless. Transcendent. My deep truth.