Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Big Strength

I am staying in the house of a woman whose only child died. How do you get over something like that? My guess is, you never do. Why are we so preoccupied with "getting over" things?

She has stunning artwork and sculptures ... Rocco is in love with the "T-Rex egg" in the backyard. Really hope he doesn't break it.

Love this. It's like two people are countries. At a kissing point, with their own laws and policies and customs.

Even the tree is amazing. It grew out of the earth until something big happened, which made it change course entirely. It went in a completely new direction but the knot in its trunk where it all changed and shifted is probably the strongest part of the whole tree.

I've looked at this picture the most. My heart breaks for a mother who could not save her daughter, as death looks on.

It's a beautiful house, I'm sure the owner is beautiful too. There's grief and strength in every room.



  1. You have such a way with words Eden.

    I consider myself lucky. I survived the death of my child and then got to mother two more.

    I can't even begin to comprehend what all those mothering emotions and copious amounts of love would've been redirected to or in which other form they could have taken. I shudder to think.

    Thanks Eden for saying what's on your mind and in your heart.

    Gabbie x

  2. Too scary a concept for me to allow my mind to focus on.

  3. I was with a best friend when she received the call telling her That her brother had shot himself dead.
    It was a strange experience - her world had stopped but the world continued around us.
    When I was on uni break I stayed with her and her parents on the coast. I hadn't met her parents before but I could see how much the grief had changed them. Heartbreaking. I slept in her brothers room, in his bed, everything was the way he left it. At night when everyone was asleep her dad would come into the room And play the piano. Her mother would never say his name - only referring to him as 'someone that used to live here'.
    So sad.
    Thoughts are with your friend.

    I wrote a poem about it. I can't paste it from my phone but I'll get it to you


Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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