Updated: May 2, 2019
Reflecting upon an unexpected (perhaps the universe organised it) chat with a fellow artist yesterday, I wondered what is my story?
I was blessed to hear the story and passion behind the artwork being created by my new fellow friend.
Their families story from many generations and including their childhood and I felt deeply moved for many reasons I cannot put words to.
The first memory that bubbled up in my reflection were the times I would meet my parent (whom I did not live with) down at the "Hole".
A large area of grass during winter and more dirt during summer.
I think it was meant to be an oval.
I would excitedly race there , sometimes without shoes, with my siblings and the family dog to meet my parent to kick the footy.
My parent didnt have much material stuff or working status, but to me they were the greatest thing in my life.
They were my oxygen when life was a battle every day.
I felt such love from my parent and they never told me so.
I felt like I was the best thing in their lives and said not a word to let me know.
I felt protected, loved and free with them and I wondered in my reflection, why this would be so?
They were present.
They listened when I spoke.
The smiled when I smiled.
They hugged me when I was sad.
All in silence.
No talk about others.
No talk about serious stuff.
Kept things super simple.
Swimming in the river.
Found humor wherever possible.
And kind toward all.
We were their number ones.
Before all others.
Just mucking around.
Or just being doing whatever.
They were there with us not just in body,
But in their hearts and minds.
This is what I try to do with my child every day.
It's a challenge with my mind that quickly moves from one thought to another.
So I work hard at this.
I go alright most times.
So much better than how I use to be.
I didn't even notice I wasn't present.
That's how disconnected I use to be.
But no more.
So my child feels that loving connection that I still have with my parent today.
This is some of our story.