Counting the Days

I'm feeling nostalgic. I always do around this time of the year, I start to think about getting together with people whom I've barely had the chance to see during the year. I start to think about family and those who can't be with us any more. I also start to think about what I've crammed into the last 12 months of my life and if I think it's been worth it or not. To be honest, that's not exactly what I'm doing right now because, well, that blog tends to come closer to New Years Eve when I almost have lived 12 months. Its been a rough few months so I am sure there will be some great debate as to my sense of value of the past year, but that's not for now, that's for a few days from now.

I guess what's got me nostalgic is being on my own. Yes, I am alone. I can say it. I'm sitting in an empty flat with no human contact, nor animal, I can't even hear my neighbours. But I'm not lonely. Not really. I guess it's provided me time to reflect back over different memories of different times. Its been a strange week. It started off brilliant and wonderful with the news that Erin is to arrive in the UK on the 14th of January, just on three and a half weeks from now. Rest assured there is a countdown and there will be one very excited young Australian prowling the halls of Gatwick far earlier than she needs to be because she'll be so excited there will be nothing left to do but just get to the airport. I pray for those I run into that morning. Then there was the excitement of snow. Yes, by most American and Canadian accounts not a whole lot. But lots for the UK and indeed very much for a Melbournian. Cold and icy was the theme for a few days.

After that came the sudden news of the death of Erin's grandfather George. A death by any means is always a sad event. Naturally the distance has been hard these past few days because by nature I want to be supportive. Most people are when loved ones are hurting. But I've also found myself in a somewhat strange situation. In the past, deaths have always been of family and friends. There's always been that clear cut level of grief to display or feel. This time though, I've found I'm not sure what the correct level of care, concern and sadness should be. Yes, I feel sad that George is no longer living, a loss of life is always sad. But I'm faced with the dilemma of just how much I'm allowed to be sad. Never before have I had an In-Law die, I've never had In-Laws before! Under the circumstances its not quite like blood family, but much more than friends. Its hard. I'm not sure what is appropriate or not. And I don't want to make this about me, because it's not. Its very much about Erin and her family dealing with a loss. But in conjunction with that is a sense of uncertainty as to how I should feel.

Of course feeling like that and being sad about a death this time of the year has bought up memories of my own loss just two years ago of my Nonna. I think a large part of that is because I never really grieved properly, if anything I felt guilty for perhaps not being the granddaughter that I could have been. A natural way to feel no doubt, questioning if I'd done enough, called enough, even visited enough. Deep down I guess I told myself I didn't, and thus didn't deserve the right to grieve. Harsh, yes, but then those of you who know me know that the manner of thinking which I had was not uncommon. Which brings us to now. Yes, I feel guilty and yes I miss my Nonna. I feel sad about George and wish that somehow I could be there to help. Ultimately I know I can't and that's something I'll have to deal with.

But in a round about way this got me thinking about memories in general. Yes, some Christmas ones. Like the one sitting in the back of my fathers car one Christmas, sitting next to my Nonna and her asking if I had started getting periods yet, and then going on further to tell me that when I do it's a good time to start looking for a husband to have children with. Looking back I do smile in amusement at that moment, at how embarrassed I felt at the time because it was the first Christmas since hitting puberty and the idea of now being a 'young woman' was something I was still kind of awkward about without even thinking about getting married and having kids.

Like most families there are a couple of Christmas ones I'd rather forget. For that matter I'm pretty sure there are a couple of Easter and Birthday ones too. But that's a common place occurrence really. I then started to think about memories that made me smile. Of simple joy. Childhood games. The few holidays we had as a family. Flashes from school and guides. Then I started to think about the people who had made an impact on my life. Some are still around, some are not. Some are close by and others are thousands of miles away. But some how they're all still quite close. So yes, I get lonely at times, but today I've felt I've had a lot of company.

As Christmas draws near and I face the first one ever where I've not been with family or future in-laws (yes my darling Gow's that first one counts), I come to realise that I wasn't looking forward to it. I'd mentally blocked Christmas from my own mind and its only the last day or so that I've realised in a week, it'll all be over. Its strange. In theory I should have been feeling this way four years ago when I'd planned on being in the UK at the end of my time at Pax simply to be someplace new for Christmas. At that time, fate stepped in and it didn't happen. Thus here I am thinking and feeling this way now. Don't get me wrong, I won't be alone for Christmas. In fact by all accounts it sounds like there will be lots of company. There will be a face or two which feels like family, and many more who are not, but may become new friends.

I don't know, I guess I'm feeling old and boring as well. Its been too long being alone, I crave that domestic life once again. I have someone that I love so dearly whom I cannot be with just yet. Family is a long way away. And though Pax is in some ways home, its just won't be the same without the people who made it feel that way. Therefore I started to count the days to the time when familiarity returns. To the time when a small level of stability will return. To the day when I'll feel a much more complete again. In meeting with an old and dear friend the other night, I came to realise what I miss most is having a foundation and an existence. A history.

Here, up until nine months ago, Rachael Marchese didn't exist in this life. Not in Croydon, not in the UK, not in any capacity other than a volunteer. For 21 years I developed an identity and an existence. Then I decided to take a leap of faith and find something new. Four and a half years later here I am, having taken the biggest leap ever. Don't get me wrong, I have no doubt in my mind that leaving Australia was the best choice I made. Indeed not an easy one, but a good one. And so I have the ability to think back over memories of the life I once had. Here, as yet, I cannot. Not really. Not yet. One day yes, but not right now. So in some ways I begin to count the days until I can do that.

Knowing that one day I'll be able to say 'Remember that summer we . . .' or 'How funny was it when . . .' in a context that's relevant to my current environment. And how exciting does that seem?! I mean really, it's exciting to think that I can also pick and choose and create what the endings to those sentences will be.

Gah, I think it's dinner time. Too much thought and too little food. I need sustenance!