Click on the image to the left there to see where it is in relation to Adelaide, the capital city of South Australia.
Deidre’s still in Adelaide, flying back to Canberra on the 30th. I’m continuing on to Canberra tomorrow. I intend leaving just before 8am, and should get there by about dinnertime.
Every time I’ve been to Adelaide, or Berri, during the past few years, Deidre has been with me. This is the first time since I ‘reconnected’ with my parents in 2005, that she hasn’t been here in Berri with me, with my family. I have to say, I really miss her.
She was with me on the way down to Adelaide, and she’s like a member of my family now. We had a good time catching up with them. But on the way back, I’m doing it alone. It feels really… odd. Sad. Lonely.
Even though we split up back in April, we’ve still been very close since then. But now she’s thinking of moving to Adelaide, to be closer to her own loved family. I don’t like how that feels, but I know she has to do what she feels is best for her.
I feel another separation coming on soon.
Anyway… I had a walk around the backyard of the house my mum lives in, that her and dad lived in for quite a few years before he died this year. It’s the first time I actually saw the garden.
As I was walking around it, I was connecting with my dad. This was his garden. It was his pride and joy. It was where he spent a great deal of his time and his energy.
There was a grey, twisted branch leaning up against one corner. It had the look of the Australian bush about it. It was the essence of my dad, and I began crying.
I went to the car and got the camera, and started walking around the garden taking photos. As I did, I couldn’t stop the tears. I felt like I was connecting with him in some way.
The garden was rundown. Some of the plants were dead or dying, and there were large areas of just plain dirt. Mum never gardened, and she got someone from the church occasionally to just tidy it up a bit, and mow the bit of dying grass out the back.
The garden, like my father, has died. The essence of who he was, and what he loved to do, is gone. And there is no one to continue it.
This has affected me far more than I thought it would. The fact that it even had an effect on me, has surprised the hell outta me.
It feels like, in the process of connecting with a part of him, that a part of me has died too.
I’ve just come back from a whole lot of crying….
At the funeral, I cried a lot. I cried because he was gone. A few minutes ago, I cried again… but as I was crying, I was doubled over… it felt like something broke inside of me. It felt like something in me has died too, just now.
I don’t know what that is. I don’t know what that’s about. But I suspect something’s just changed inside of me.
I’m glad I got some photos of his garden tonight.
Something else I got tonight is his collection of writings. His poems, his stories about his life… a whole box full.
When I go through them, I know it’s going to tear me up all over again.
I feel so alone because I’m going through this, and Deidre’s not here. She’s always been here when I’ve gone through stuff like this. Going through it without her just makes it feel so much worse.
I have things to think about.
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