It's gonna be alright

It is school holidays here and to get ourselves out of the house, we've been frequenting the local mangrove wetlands to sit and watch the birds.  There's a safe - yet - quiet walking path to an elevated shelter shed where you can sit and look over a large lagoon full of migratory birds.  Some with chicks, some loud and cranky, some funny.
It is a very peaceful spot and the bird life, along with a couple of pairs of cheap binoculars has kept us entertained on quite a few afternoons.

After walking around the lagoon and onto the nearby boardwalk one afternoon, the kids and I sat in the late afternoon sunlight and gazed down to the lagoon, teeming with birds and not another human being in sight.

Peacefully.

 Quietly.

 ...and just as I was thinking that Greg would have loved this place had we known it existed, and wishing he was there to share the experience, almost feeling his hand on my shoulder as we stared off towards the sparkling water when my darling daughter put her head on my shoulder and whispered ...

"It's going to be alright Mum.  I promise.  It's going to be alright"

...and I held her while silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

...and I knew Greg was there with us.

....and I just know I'll return to this magical place, week after week.  
Just to sit and stare at the water and feel like he is really with us.
Just for a while.

Uncontrolled Release

I wrote this post almost a year ago after some of the scariest days I have faced as a widow. Neighbouring towns were ripped apart by what was described as an "inland tsunami" a year ago today. Then, all that water had to continue down the catchment into MY town. My city flooded. Big Time. Many homes and possessions were lost but thankfully fewer deaths than our neighbouring towns. But scaremongers were saying that our dam may collapse which would have meant complete disaster and many, many more deaths. Today, I remember those frightening days and the lives that were destroyed during the floods of 2011. I hope you'll forgive the repost.....

There is no doubt that Wivenhoe dam saved Brisbane from greater flooding in January 2011. But it only covers about a third of the total catchment for the Brisbane River, so Brisbane still flooded.
I heard a hydrologist on the radio, speaking about the way in which the dam operates….. it is designed so that hydrologists can operate and control the release of water in such a way to both minimise flooding downstream while preserving the integrity of the dam wall.
If the inflow of water became so great that the structural integrity of the dam was compromised, the dam is designed to regulate itself and perform what’s called an uncontrolled release.
This is not the scenario that we ever want to see because the dam can’t tell what the tidal river is doing and will dump enough water to preserve itself with little regard to the river conditions. Specifically, the flood which has coincided with some of the biggest king tides of the year. Tides which needs carefully planned controlled releases of water to minimise damage downstream.
….and all of this made me think about grief…
I find I have to regulate the times during which I allow myself to wallow in complete despair, cry out in pain as the hot, angry tears course down my face. I have to swear and scream and tell God exactly what I think of him. I have to feel sorry for myself and rant and rage about how utterly horrible my life is.
Because when *I* regulate the spillway of grief, I get to do it when nobody can hear me scream.
The last thing I want is an uncontrolled release at school, or near the kids, with friends or while driving the car.
…and it sucks when it hits as I lay in our bed and see the empty space and that voice in my head keeps saying don’t go there, don’t think about the “multiple injuries”. don't do it now, you need to sleep, find a happy place, find a happy place, find a happy place….
Except all of my happy places have Greg in them. They are happy places BECAUSE he is there.
So I need to find another way of controlling the release. Of controlling the uncontrolled release.
Of controlling the other two-thirds of the catchment not covered by the dam on my grief.
and that is a hard thing to do.