Why I Chose to be Motherless – Part 5
If you've landed here, you might want to read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4 first. In Western Australia My mother packed up their house in Tasmania, and in February 2011, my husband flew over and brought both of my parents back with him. At...
Why I Chose to be Motherless – Part 4
Here's the rest of the story. Because it's long, I've split it into two parts, both of which I'll post today. I apologise, once again, for the length of these posts, but I'm nearly there, nearly through telling this story. If you've missed the earlier stories,...
Why I Chose to be Motherless – Part 3
This is the third post in this series. (Click here for Part 1 or Part 2.) Thank You Thank you, once again, to everyone who has written to me—your words made me cry, but in a good way. Writing down my story has felt like letting the...
Why I Chose to be Motherless – Part 1
I recently read an essay, Motherless By Choice by Katie Naum, and felt awed by its honesty, its sincerity and its wisdom. It struck a chord with me and spurred me to tell my own story. As always happens when I write stories from my childhood,...
Letting Go
Our daughter is leaving home in just over a week. She’s moving interstate to go to university. There's a good uni ten minutes down the road, but she wants to experience a different city, live in a different part of Australia, and who knows where she'll go after that....
Christmas Memories
So, Christmas is over and the night has now claimed Boxing Day, too. Ah, Boxing Day, my favourite day of the year. I feel as if I can now exhale: the rush and stress of Christmas is behind me and the holidays can truly begin. I love the day so much, I could...
On Smacking Kids
This post is about something personal and very important to me: the physical punishment of children. On Friday, the Royal Australasian College of Physicians (RACP) issued a Media Release with their Position Statement and brochure on the use of Physical Punishment...
Family Secrets
Between August and October 2010, I had a couple of long telephone conversations with my grandmother in Tasmania. She was 88-years-old at the time and I wanted to learn as much about her life as I could before she inevitably left us. And I did ... My grandmother, 1965...
A Letter To My Daughter’s Teacher
Dear Miss, You see me and run your fingers through your hair, trying to look nonchalant. I can see that you’re uncomfortable, possibly intimidated: I’m a good 20 years older than you, and my body is rigid, my mouth set. You know that I’ve complained about you and that...