This Girl

The 7th of April.

That one sentence means so much, to my family.

It carries huge loads of emotion on it’s back.

Mostly sad emotions;

Sadness, grief, loss, helplessness.

Mostly loss.

We go to the cemetery,

release balloons, like we do every year,

On the 7th of April.

They are a different colour this year.

Blue, as usual, but duck egg blue, this time.

The prettiest colour I have ever seen, I think.

We let them go, and watch them float away into the overcast sky.

They float peacefully,

In the same direction they do every year,

like something is pulling them.

We all stand there, watching them drift higher and higher,

until they are nothing but tiny black specks against the grey.

We shift and move, as the trees hide them from us.

We all stare, silent,

until there is nothing more to stare at.

The balloons are gone.

"They’re flying up to Heaven," Noah whispers, "I wish I could fly up to Heaven."

"You will, Noah. We all will, one day. And then we can be with William again," Ivy says.

I look at her, that beautiful little girl, wiser than us all.

She’s right; We will all be together again, someday.

As we walk back to the car, blue sky appears.

The clouds dissapear, slowly.

Shrinking back in the direction of those balloons,

almost like they were trying to take away all the sadness,

and leave us with the prettiest colour

 I had ever seen.

This post is for someone so special to me.

To a lot of people, really.

She is my Mum,

My best friend,

My hero.

I love her,

Don’t know what I’d do without her.

She does so much for us,

Our glue that holds us all together.

I hate to see her hurt.

Everything is happening all at once, at the moment.

Frustrating, sad, confusing things are happening with Ivy and her Port.

We all just started school again, even The babies.

I guess they’re not babies any more, though.

For the first time in five years, Mum is alone in the house,

for six hours each day.

She is so strong.

I don’t think I could ever be as strong as her.

Sometimes, I think I can see her heart break.

Just a little.

I wish I could take all her pain and stress away,

give her just a day,

in which she doesn’t have to worry.

About anything.

Wish I had a magic wand that could fix everything for her.

I can’t do either of those, though.

So, instead, I am writing this post for her;

My mother,

My best friend,

My hero.

To let her know that she is amazing,

she is so strong

and beautiful

and I love her to the moon and back.

In a week, school returns.

It’s kind of scary;

How quickly time flies by.

In a week, I will officially be in year 9.

The thing is, I’m not scared anymore.

Nervous?

Yes.

Feeling a little in the deep end?

Of course.

But not scared.

I think I’m ready.

Ready to face the music.

Ready to take on the world.

Ready to fly.

I went to school.

Full of excitment for my little sister,

Lily.

Who would, that afternoon, farwell year six.

Who would emerge from her cacoon

the most beautiful butterfly

I had ever seen.

I got home.

Did her hair.

As she sat, dressing gown wrapped tight around her.

I kept my smile bright,

as did we all.

Pretending that everything was alright.

Trying to make the night about her,

about Lily.

Even though Ivy was being eaten up,

by another septic shower.

That evil creature

who lurks,

just out of sight.

Who pounces,

when least expected.

That horrible, horible thing that makes my baby sister hurt.

That septic shower,

that I have so easily learnt to hate.

I watched my father’s car

dissapear down the road,

as it drove my mother,

scared, silent, protective, strong,

yet crumbling,

all at once

And my sister,

sick, hurting, unawear of the world,

quickly passing her by.

to the hospital,

the place that is the host for many of my nightmares.

Where they waited.

Things at home were alright for a while.

But they’re stay extended.

And meltdowns occured.

Tears rolled and nasty words were screamed.

Doing anything to feel in controll,

for we had no controll on anything else.

Words were being tossed around.

Like:

Staying over Christmas,

Bad bug,

Possible organ faliure.

Port coming out.

PICC line going back in.

There was an operation

Then, finally, some good news;

Home for Christmas.

Home for Christmas!

With 3 days to spare,

We packed her up,

waved goodbye to the nurses,

who helped

so much.

And left.

And just sitting there,

in the car with them all,

My family,

just that simple moment,

when we were all together again,

I thought

this is what Christmas is.

Two years.

Two years, six months and twelve days.

I waited.

Quietly.

Patiently.

Holding a vision.

Of perfection.

Straight perfection.

When times got hard,

and I started to question,

my ability to last.

When I started to question my ability

to keep on smiling.

I imagined myself beaming,

teeth and all,

No one staring at the twisted metal

taking residence there,

instead of seeing me.

I’m beaming at nothing in particular.

The sky, I guess.

The trees.

The world.

The anything.

hoping they will notice.

My shiny new teeth.

That make me feel beautiful.

inside and out.

We were two caterpillars,

You and me.

Just pottering along.

I asked you to wait for me at the end of the branch.

But instead,

You turned into the most beautiful butterfly.

And as I watched your magnificent wings-

the exact colour of our childhood-

Shrink and disappear

off into the apricot sunset,

I wondered if you would remember me,

that odd little friend,

That never quite made it off the ground,

but always knew you would.

Our exams are finished for the year.

Done.

The term is almost done.

While tiredness grips us

and our worn out bodies,

takes it’s toll on our eyes,

The temperature rises,

and the mangos bloom,

we all have the one word racing in our minds;

Summer.

Summer. Summer. Summer.

That one word brings the promise of so many things:

The promise of smiles and laughter,

The promise of beautiful sunshine,

and clear nights.

The promise of colourful fruit,

and melting ice-creams.

The promise of beaches and pools.

The promise of Christmas.

The promise of tanned skin and sun-bleached hair.

The promise of sleepovers.

Sleep-ins.

The promise of holidays.

The promise of something more.

New people.

New adventures.

New loves.

The promise of deep breaths of fresh air.

Summer air.

While tiredness grips us

and our tired bodies,

we are all holding onto that magical promise of summer,

And all it might bring.

Sometimes I wish I could skip being a teenager.

Immaturity is everywhere I look.

In this dark place that is agnst and anger.

backstabbing and betrayal.

The people in this place are silly.

They twist your words.

Turn them into venom.

They make you out to be someone you’re not.

Until you realise that in this place

it is every man for themselves.

Until you fully understand that you can trust no one.

You don’t notice how shakey your confidence is until someone knocks it.

You don’t realise how many people would leave you on the ground.

Alone.

Days like these make me realise how precious family is.

How much I need them.

How much they are there for you.

How they

when your confidence,

your balance

fails you,

and you find yourself,

yet again,

falling

they will be there, outstretched arms, waiting

with a promise of a soft landing.

Some chocolate,

Some choice words that make you feel better

and a warm hug.

They let you know that you are not alone.

At all.

But you are, in actual fact

Surrounded by the most wonderful,

beautiful

caring people that you will ever, ever meet.

What’s the deal with the sun and the moon?

What’s their relationship like?

I haven’t been able to get this off my mind lately.

Why?

I’m not sure.

Obviously, they are in love.

They have to be.

I can feel it.

But they can never be together.

They’re trapped on either side of the universe.

Forever in awe of each other.

The moon; so silent and strong.

Growing a little more every night.

And the sun: a brilliant bubble of beautiful flame.

So bright and warm.

They try to catch up with each other.

They must.

How could you not try?

But they never do.

There is no gravity up with them.

But there is still force.

the force of forbidden love.  

The holidays are halfway gone.

Already.

A whole week has come.

And gone.

So quickly.

Next term is the last term of school.

Those ten weeks will pass in the blink of an eye.

And then,

I will be in year nine.

Year nine!

People say year nine is the scary year.

The year girls fall pregnant.

The year people get mixed up in drugs.

The year people go off the rails.

The year people lose themselves.

 I won’t.

I know I won’t.

But it doesn’t stop it from being scary.

Sometimes I think I’m ready to be an aldult already.

Other times, I feel like it would be so easy to be a kid forever.

But I’m not really a kid anymore.

I’m that in-between.

That scary tunnel of in-between.

So many people don’t make it out.

I will.

I know I will.

I have a tourch.

A bright one.

I can see the light at the end.

I’m half way there.

Already.