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what she .. was

@ 16, walking home from the ‘dance’, just like you had done a tonne of times before. 

& as you stroll down the road reminiscing on the events of the evening, the thrill of freedom that comes with dancing and singing, the rhythm & flow of the music ..

& you feel something hurting your head & then nothing.

you wake later, when its darker .. & you are bleeding. you feel woozy but cant recollect anything. youre sore all over. particularly around the genital area.

you get home & are told off for being late .. way too late .. reprimanded for the possibility of being ‘loose’ …

anyway, time goes by .. your aches & pains dissipate & then, your belly starts to swell. you periods have stopped & your mother is telling you you are getting fatter …

& you are sent away with your swollen belly.

cos girls like you aren’t welcome here ..

neither are your babies.

you have your baby.

& it is taken from you and adopted out .. well, given away.

post war .. you meet a man .. you are married .. you become pregnant.

you are happy and content & full of life .. this is a second chance .. to love ..

& when he is born ..

he isn’t breathing. 

you cry ..

& cry silently.

on & on.

then stop.

cos this is not the time for tears. this is no time to cry over spilt milk ..

time passes & you become pregnant again .. this time he is a healthy baby boy .. a beautiful bundle of love.

you sing to him, dance with him, love him fully & completely.

then another pregnancy & again,  youre filled with joy .. another child, another chance to give all the love that you have.

she is born and she is just as beautiful as you had imagined .. you dance and sing her songs .. rock her and cradle her .. love her to bits. 

& then life happens, as it does ..  in between all of that beauty .. & you have moments of immense sadness & grief .. 

you become pregnant again .. filled with the joy a mother feels when she desperately wants babies .. 

& then she is born.

& shes not breathing.

another. not breathing.

you cry. deep deep tears. the tears & grief that a mama feels when her babies are hurt, but this feels empty.

they take her. & bury her.

you dont speak of her again.

then, life. life continues.

the ups & the downs.

& you become pregnant again .. he is sick but he lives, & this is your last chance. so you love like no other.

then life. life continues.

& your living children dont love you like you thought they would.

your first grandbaby is adopted out.

& lifes heartbreak seems to be repeating itself.

but their are more grandchildren coming & life keeps going.

as do you.

you have so much love to give.

& with each heartbreak, you rise & continue to love.

and then ..

your first living son .. takes his own life.

& the world stands still.

well, it does for you.

you can feel your heart cracking & breaking & the blood flowing where only tears once flowed.

how do you mend?

how on earth do you mend.

slowly.

so very slowly.

how do you keep on loving anything ??

.

i dont know .. but you did.

.

This is my Nans story. well part of it.

today i remember her & all her babies & all the never ending love she managed to give us all.

Love You Nan xx


kpm©


 

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today was anzac.

i’m not feeling it. as pathetic as that sounds … i’m just not.

after the recent shooting that saw 50 peoples lives, end … that we, as a country, have been blatantly quick to forget …

i just aint feeling it.

dont get me wrong, i always remember what my grandfather did for this shitass country & i am eternally grateful for his sacrifice & the toll that it took on him & his family in the following years …

but he’s not walking this earth anymore.

nor are his compadres.

i remember him every day, not just on this day.

what they did won’t ever be forgotten by those that loved them.

not their country.

their country forgets way too quickly.

so,

today i decided to start my own ‘remembrance’. being a pts(d) retard & all, crowded spaces are one of my achilles heels. i’ve guilted myself for the past few years, trying to bust my ass getting to a dawn service.

today, i kissed that scenario goodbye.

instead, i did this:

i did nans version of ‘gunfire’ or a ‘hot toddy’ – hot coffee & rum. then i took it & my funky ass down to the beach & found 2 flowers, the same colour, but different; & did a bouquet that nan would be embarrassed of lol (she was a beautifully talented florist), said my ‘prayers of remembrance’ & set my bouquet afloat.

i love my nan & grandad like no other humans that have been in my life.

today i remembered both of their sacrifices, for a war that wasn’t theirs: for a war that still needlessly rages.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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ANZAC day, and I remember my Grandad

ANZAC day, and we should remember, with respect, what our forebears did for us.

For me, I remember my Grandad … but I remember him, and miss him, nearly everyday.

Some of that remembrance is regret; wishing I had listened; taken more notice; appreciated every little thing. But the cruel irony of losing someone, or the past; is we usually don’t get it until way after the fact.

Grandad headed off to the 2nd World War at the tender age of 16 … following his brothers, he thought it’d be an adventure that would last a couple of months. Unfortunately, it didn’t finish till five years after he went.

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Grandad <3

He didn’t talk about the War much through our life time … and I get that now. He would’ve had PTSD … they all would’ve come home with it. But they didn’t come home to therapy or a designated shrink … they came home and got on with it. Because they had too. For that, I am forever appreciative to my Grandad. I also now, feel a profound empathetic respect for him.

Years later, he was involved in a TV interview, where he talks about War being futile … that as long as ‘they’ made ammunitions there was always going to be war.

How right was he.

So this is what we did today … we looked over Grandads photos; went through and watched all his old Monte Cassino documentaries; his trip to Cassino; and his old interview … we laughed, cried, reminisced  and told Moko about Grandad.

For our soldiers who didn’t come home, and to all the soldiers who did and handled their business, raised their families, did their jobs … and suffered in silence.

WE WILL REMEMBER THEM


kpm ©


 

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