As Michele posted last fortnight for me, baby Patrick decided to make a rapid and slightly early appearance! Thanks for the comments – I was stuck in hospital without net access to respond!
Two Monday’s ago I was getting ready to do my post for last fortnight when things suddenly felt different, so I opted to head to the hospital for monitoring instead.
Four hours later I was in an operating theatre having a caesarean as this baby was coming now.
We are so excited to share that Kerryl, who shares the Tuesday writing duties with Mike, has given birth to a healthy baby boy! She will be back in two weeks to share details, but please join us in celebrating this wonderful addition to Kerryl and Ian's family. We've reposted the blog where she shared her news....and will be excited to share a photo of Patrick in just a couple of weeks. Congratulations Kerryl and John, Ian is surely beaming down on his little family.Read more
That means my anniversary run…
The 4th marks 4 years since our wedding day.
The 11th marks 6 years since we met
The 14th marks 3 years since Ian died.
Come the 18th, he’ll have been gone loner than I knew him.Read more
Driving to the supermarket last week I had the overwhelming feeling that this baby is very much an addition to our family.
To Ian and I's family.
Although in no way is the baby a replacement for Ian, as the pregnancy progresses it feels like Ian is less distant now. There is a feeling of completeness, not end, not 'over it', but very much at peace.
This week in Australia and New Zealand we are leading up to the centenary of our initial engagement in the First World War at Gallipoli in Turkey, an engagement that for Australia is often considered the birth of the nation.
Most of the documentaries, news reports and commemorations surrounding the anniversary are focused on the men who went away and what they faced on the front lines.
But there seems to be very little on those left on the home front so far from the theatres of that war.
Little on those widowed by the war.
One of the things I really struggled with in early pregnancy was the idea of having a second boy. I really, really wanted a girl.
Not because I outright didn't want a boy, but because I had absolutely NO idea on a name. Ian and I had a girls name - Claire - agreed from our pregnancy with John, so I wanted a girl so I didn't have to worry about choosing a name, and they had something that was from Ian. As much as the name was a compromise from a list of 60 names, not having one we both liked and after weeks of arguing on options! One down side of a girl - all things sparkly and pink (so, so not me - that's what made me fear a girl!).
Ok, "rose" isn't exactly the first term that comes to mind when thinking of widow, but I'll go with the literary, Shakespearian reference for this post.
I could be posting on getting through the third anniversary of Ian getting sick, which coincided with his birthday on St Patrick's Day.
But much to my surprise, that anniversary passed without too much impact. Much like his surgery date. I guess the best term to use is that the anniversaries now feel 'integrated' into my life, rather than sharp, stark periods.
One issue I've found with having a few people having died on me when they were younger is the issue of doppelgängers - people who freakishly look the same. I've encountered them for my stepfather as I'm out around my city. Sometimes the right shape from behind, sometimes a glimpse of a profile. But I've not yet encountered Ian look-a-likes.Read more
I've posted in the last couple of months about going through Ian's things and starting to move stuff onto new homes that can go to new homes, or tossing stuff that can't be moved on.
That's because there was one thing I couldn't discard after he died...
Ian and I never particularly did Valentines day. Although I *like* getting the gifts and stuff, I never felt it a necessity. It's a more than a bit over-commercialised to me, which is thankfully quite a protective view-point in my after.
But the day still holds memories. Some good. Some that trigger a sense of guilt.