I've heard before that because kids are innocent and haven't been taught by a fear mongering media to be afraid of everything, that they can see spirits. I don't know if it's true or not, but I'd like to believe it is. I'm not even religious (sorry Mum) but the idea that the spirits of those who have passed on are still around, watching, guiding and protecting us makes me feel a little less scared about tomorrow's operation.
Since Tricky was born he has always looked at whomever is holding him, then looked over their shoulder as if someone is there. Once he started smiling and laughing it was more obvious - it looked like he was smiling at someone, laughing at something... something I couldn't see. Some of you may say that he is not reacting to anything other than his own bodily functions, but I like think that maybe he has a guardian angel. And if he does... I know her name.
Over twenty years ago, my Mum became friends with a woman called Helen. My favourite memories of her are when we went on holidays together to Melbourne and going to her house and playing with her gorgeous dog, a Miniature Schnauzer called Chester. A really long story short, she got cancer and earlier this year went in to respite care to make her final weeks more comfortable. Towards the end of my pregnancy whenever she and my Mum would ring each other, the first question she would ask was had I had the baby yet?
A week before Tricky made his grand entrance Helen lapsed in to a coma - whether it was her body shutting down or the massive amounts of morphine she was on to dull the pain, I don't know. She was near the end of her journey.
The day Tricky was born my Dad called through to Helen's room at the hospice in the hope that someone was there to answer the phone. Her sister in law was. He asked her to please tell Helen that I'd had the baby and we were both doing wonderfully. So she did... and for the first time in a week, Helen stirred. She moved her hand and her head. Was she trying to say she'd heard? That she was happy for us? Maybe she was saying "About time!" like the rest of us were. Whatever it was there was no doubting that she had reacted. I like to think she heard. That she understood. That it brought her some happiness in her final moments... because later that same day, Helen passed away.
So when Tricky looks over my shoulder, or laughs at what appears to be nothing, we always say "Has Aunty Helen come to visit?" and it makes me smile every time. So tomorrow when Tricky is taken in to the operating theatre I know he doesn't go alone... Helen will be with him.
Since Tricky was born he has always looked at whomever is holding him, then looked over their shoulder as if someone is there. Once he started smiling and laughing it was more obvious - it looked like he was smiling at someone, laughing at something... something I couldn't see. Some of you may say that he is not reacting to anything other than his own bodily functions, but I like think that maybe he has a guardian angel. And if he does... I know her name.
Over twenty years ago, my Mum became friends with a woman called Helen. My favourite memories of her are when we went on holidays together to Melbourne and going to her house and playing with her gorgeous dog, a Miniature Schnauzer called Chester. A really long story short, she got cancer and earlier this year went in to respite care to make her final weeks more comfortable. Towards the end of my pregnancy whenever she and my Mum would ring each other, the first question she would ask was had I had the baby yet?
A week before Tricky made his grand entrance Helen lapsed in to a coma - whether it was her body shutting down or the massive amounts of morphine she was on to dull the pain, I don't know. She was near the end of her journey.
The day Tricky was born my Dad called through to Helen's room at the hospice in the hope that someone was there to answer the phone. Her sister in law was. He asked her to please tell Helen that I'd had the baby and we were both doing wonderfully. So she did... and for the first time in a week, Helen stirred. She moved her hand and her head. Was she trying to say she'd heard? That she was happy for us? Maybe she was saying "About time!" like the rest of us were. Whatever it was there was no doubting that she had reacted. I like to think she heard. That she understood. That it brought her some happiness in her final moments... because later that same day, Helen passed away.
So when Tricky looks over my shoulder, or laughs at what appears to be nothing, we always say "Has Aunty Helen come to visit?" and it makes me smile every time. So tomorrow when Tricky is taken in to the operating theatre I know he doesn't go alone... Helen will be with him.
