A cocoon of grief and gratitude
When the world keeps turning but you can't quite keep up with it
Hey friends,
It's early December as I write this, but I feel like I’ve lost all sense of time. It's 11.30 am and I'm still in bed, coffee by my side and cat curled up at my feet. It's hot and bright outside, but I'm craving the comfort and the early Decembers of my youth; the ones that sit on the cusp of winter, darkness, and festivities.
Here in Australia, December sends me spinning like no other time of year. If I’m honest, I often just wish I could fast-forward through the whole month. The shops are all artificially lit, air-conditioned bubbles of Christmas trees and Christmas songs, and the outside is hot and bright, all talk of beach days and BBQs, presents, and pavlovas.
It was different when I lived in Cambodia - Buddhist countries don't tend to celebrate Christian holidays like Christmas, so we created our own traditions. Life there felt like a bubble of its own; a sandy, salty glimpse of Neverland on the edge of the South China Sea.
Here in Perth, though, things feel more “real”, and all the more strange for it. Especially this year.
This time last week, my sister, her wife, and my niece were, too. Now, after nearly three weeks in this hot Christmas bubble, they’re now back in the one still that feels more like home - even though it's been six years since my last cold Christmas. Six years since we were last together as a “proper” family; my mum all smiles and sparkles.
Hindsight being 20/20, looking back at that “last Christmas”, I can see the signs of Alzheimer’s; the cracks and the plaque that was silently creeping through her brain, severing connections and stealing memories. Back then, though, we were all still blissfully ignorant of that, the pandemic, my own accidental relocation to Australia, and all the things that would turn our lives upside down over the coming months and years.
Of course, good things have come these past few years, too. My sister got married and they had a child, Skyla. I’ve always known I’ve never wanted kids - it’s like there’s this big red buzzer inside me that flashes “No” every time I think about it - but I was surprised how much I enjoyed being an auntie.
After spending 17 days with my niece and her mums, I get it more, now. I feel like I understand the desire to have kids in a way I never did before. I still know I don’t want any of my own, but I’m grateful that I get to play this other role - that my life doesn’t stop at “daughter”, “sister”, and “partner”.
It was also so interesting to see my sister and sister-in-law as mums now, too. As our mum leaves these earthly realms - in mind, if not yet in body - it’s an honour to see her torch passed. To see the things that I remember of her in my younger sister as she joins her on the journey of motherhood, along with tiny traces of the mother I’ll never become.
Amidst it all, I’ve also found myself grieving my mother’s sister, who died a few years before I was born. She was only 23. My middle name is her name, but I never knew her middle name. I never thought to ask my mum; it was always too hard. Too messy. The time was never right. Now, though, I have so many questions, most I know will never be answered.
I looked her up on the Internet for the first time ever, today. I found her middle name, Janette, but only two entries: a record of her birth and her death. In a funny coincidence, she was born on the 13th November; the same day I picked my sister, SIL, and niece up from the airport.
It’s incredible how much beauty there is in grief. How hard and how precious it is to hold it in two hands; to bear witness to it, and to let it go. All the lives that have been reduced to names and dates and nothing more.
Having the girls here was wonderful. But, like realising my aunt never actually got to be an aunt, also reminded me of everything I don’t have, too, especially now they’ve gone. They were my first proper visitors in 11 years, and, while it was amazing, it also highlighted some of the hidden costs that come from choosing to move to the other side of the world. All the unseen sacrifices.
Before they arrived, I felt pretty good about where I was.
I’d just taken a step back from my travel writing career and gone all in with my mentoring business. I’d had a big year of putting myself out there, writing, and working with more than 25 people go after their own dreams, including starting/growing/expanding creative businesses and writing books.
I had big goals of starting creative circles and community spaces; a writing club, coworking sessions. I loved my little home, my quiet little life with my cat, my daily bike rides, and my online community. I felt inspired, creative, and, like the spring flowers that were blooming all around, full of hope for the future.
Now they - and the flowers - have gone, and the grassy fields and waterfalls near my house have all turned dry. It’s all muted gold and grey, not green. My garden is already struggling, and it isn’t even summer yet. I don't even like doing social things that much, but I'm still sad that I don’t have people I can just call and spontaneously go for coffee with, like I did with them every day.
I've realised there’s a big cost that comes from living where I live; one that I discovered the hard way when the girls were here. If we wanted to go somewhere, we had to go in the car.
It makes me laugh to remember that I lived here for nearly three years without one. While my partner was at work, it was just me, the cat, and my bicycle. My community was the trees and the animals I saw on my daily rides; the kangaroos who always graze on the corner, the neighbours who I've never spoken to but who all wave at me as I, or they, pass by.
For years, it's been more than enough. It’s been solid and secure enough to hold me as I transitioned from traveller to tree; planting my roots down into the ground, instead of always up and out.
It held me as the wind went out of my sails, as I got stuck in the doldrums of losing a parent to Alzheimer’s while navigating the complexities found in arriving in a new country and building up a home somewhere you never actually wanted to call home.
Now, though, it feels like the winds of change have come again. Almost overnight, they've picked up and filled the sail that I thought was nicely and neatly packed away. They've brought whispers of other worlds and possibilities, and reminded me of all the versions of myself I've been and may one day be again.
Since they left, I've been dreaming of Italy and Tokyo; waking up with the shadows of long-unspoken languages on my tongue, words I thought I'd forgotten. I've been thinking of all the trips I planned but never did, the crumpled-up dream list abandoned on the bedroom floor of my mind.
And yet, as I lie here in my little cocoon of my own making, with the cat hanging his arm off the bed and my coffee beside me, I know I'm not ready to give all this up, yet, either. As appealing as running away would be, it still feels like running away, and I don't want to do that anymore.
Instead, I wonder if these dreams are just another form of grief for all the versions of me I've lived, all the lives I've lost. If they're just a part of the process of becoming; becoming undone and rebuilt, just like my sister's journey into motherhood and my mum's into Alzheimer’s.
We're all changing, all in constant flux. All caught in our own little webs of creation and recreation; in cocoons of grief and gratitude.
Reflection questions
I haven't done any of these for a while and I miss them, so I figured I'd throw some in there, just for fun.
What do you want your legacy to be? How do you want to be remembered?
How do you feel grief in your life? Is there anything you're grieving for at the moment?
How do you feel gratitude? What are you most grateful for about this year?
What have been your biggest lessons from 2024? What has this year illuminated to you?
What are you most excited about for the coming weeks, months, and years? Is there something that Is lighting you up and calling you in?
Feel free to share in the comments or reply with any of your answers. I'd love to hear from you!
And on that note, if you're on a similar journey of transition or dream-weaving and want some support navigating it, my creative mentoring services are currently open for new and returning clients.
December, for many, is the busiest month of the year, but for me, it's my quietest, so I figured I'd run a little special offer for those of you who might want to explore more and journey deeper, together. See below for more details.
For now, though, I'm going to get back to my cocoon and drink my coffee before it goes too cold.
Thanks for being here.
I love you,
Cx
PS: As a special offer for my readers, I'm currently feeling called to offer 2-hour dreaming sessions for $330AUD/£165 (usuaI 1-hour rate is $220AUD/£110). If you're interested, just hit reply, drop me a line, or fill out this form.
These one-off sessions aren't listed on my website, but feel free to check it out if you want to find out more about what my creative mentoring services entail and what other people say about working with me.
PPS: If you’ve enjoyed reading this, I’d like to invite you to subscribe for more, leave a comment, or share it with someone else you think may enjoy it!
All my words here are currently free to read, but I plan on delving deeper into the community side of things in the coming weeks and months, including starting a writing club and running creativity circles. Watch this space!