Snowflakes that curl on my nose and my lashes
Brown paper packages tied up with string
These are a few of my favourite things
The Sound of Music
Erin did not have a white dress and emphatically did not have a black anything. Her life and clothes instead were swathes of colour - eclectic mixes of patterns and fabrics. She was a girl who embraced her girlhood wholeheartedly. From the age of 3, I abandoned laying out her clothes (colour-matched outfits, and sensible weather-appropriate attire) because she had a unique inherent sense of clothes flair and style. She loved dresses and had an incredible knack of being able to manipulate any item of clothing into something else – a scarf became a shirt; a skirt a dress, a sash a swirling nightgown. She was banished from my jewellery box because invariably, strings of necklaces would be broken or earrings lost. She regularly tackled my make-up drawer and would emerge from our bathroom bathed in perfume and inexpertly applied eye-shadow and lipstick. She would coyly adorn her ascribed first bra hidden beneath my borrowed clothes. Her recently pierced ears (campaigned for from the age of 4) were her pride and joy and she matched them meticulously with her carefully chosen outfits. On Sunday, her last day with us, she trotted out of the house mid-winter in checked shorts, a summer t-shirt and her red high-heeled shoes from her Dorothy Halloween outfit. Our girl had style!
It felt as though Erin and I were juxtaposed and inseparably inter-twined; there was so much of me in her - she knew her own mind, was intensely focused and fiercely independent. I had met my match! She infused such beauty into our lives with her paradoxically vibrant, but shy personality. She was a child who was comfortable in her own skin – self-sufficient and assured, although also under-stated and never in public cocky or overly confident. She embodied a bedrock of kindness and awareness of others and a deep intuitive sensitivity and empathy. As we reflect back at 365 days without her engaging presence in our lives, we celebrate all that she was and still is to us. These are a few of my favourite things:
- Her straight and poised cartwheels performed in any open space – hallways, corridors, shopping centres
- Her fearlessness on the trampoline – doing handless summersaults and backward flips
- Her fiery independence and insistence that ‘ I can do it by myself; go away, Mama’. As a result she’d emerge from the shower with most of the conditioner still in her hair. She would return home from school and instead of greeting me at my home office desk she would march resolutely to her room for an afternoon of solitary concerted imaginary play. She would never allow me to indicate that she’d had any help with her homework… ‘By myself, Mama’.
- Lying completely still together on the trampoline - after having bounced furiously with each other - listening to the sounds and absorbing the sublime tranquility of Furry Creek were indescribably magical mother and daughter moments
- Erin had the ability to create monkey bars from any surface. While in Hong Kong in December Cameron, always compliant, begged me when on the underground to stop her from using the passenger-hand-holding-straps as monkey bars. I, however, delighted at her creativity encouraged her to try and make her way without dropping from one end of the carriage to the other
- She had an intense awe and love for her brother and she gave endlessly to him – ‘You can have my money, my sweets, my presents’; she was always on the lookout for of all things baseball on his behalf… ‘Look Cammon, there’s a programme on baseball’. She accompanied him everywhere, always uncomplaining, and always in support and adoration.
- She was my style consultant – my muse of all things clothes and style. I loved having a daughter.
- Erin adored ‘Dada’ with whom she had an inseparable connection. ‘No, Dada must make my chocolate milk, my lunch, must carry me upstairs, must tuck me in bed...’
- She had an incredible eye for detail and careful observance of the world around her. She was the finder in our family (often because she had displaced the items) and could lay her hand immediately on anything that had taken legs. She noticed things the rest of the family passed over. Her intuitive awareness of others’ needs reflected a maturity well beyond her years.
- She had a penchant for destruction and glorious mess. Baby oil in the carpet; mascara on the paintwork; finger-nails in my orchid leaves; chips in the walls; hand-prints all over our numerous windows are all lasting physical reminders of her presence in our lives.
- She called all large birds ‘Eagles’ and seemed drawn to them. It has been profound that on each of the major events remembering her – her Celebration of Life; her 8th birthday and most recently the walk commemorating her accident - I have seen an eagle. I have not seen another at any other point during the year. It is Erin’s assuring her presence with me.
- We entertain often; Erin would place herself at the window overlooking the roadway as lookout and ask: ‘When are the customers coming?’
- We remember her glee at playing ‘I spy’ in the car – with the most remarkably ‘un-spyable’ words and her proclamation of ‘New Driver!’ each time we went past a car with an ‘N’ on it
- She would roller-skate with alacrity through our house during the winter (crashing into the paintwork) and on the sidewalk down our street in her ‘Hello Kitty’ tutu in the summer
- Erin’s physical strength and resilience were phenomenal; monkey-bars, taekwondo, gymnastics, dance, soccer, skiing, hiking, bicycling... We’d planned the first of what we hoped would be many long-distance bicycling trips together for the summer. Her new bicycle, hangs unused in the garage.
We do not need to dig deeply for beautiful and lasting favourite things and memories. And I certainly did not need to lose my daughter to live in the moment, to suck life dry or to appreciate all both children brought to our lives. I have always infused the magnitude of the beauty they brought to us each and every moment. I would pause as they seated themselves in the back of the car after I’d collected them from school and consciously swell with joy at the privilege of being a mother. I’d relish the drive we had together as a family as we drove the half-hour home together. I found myself constantly saying: ‘I am so grateful for my children…that I have a girl and a boy…for my family...for the magnificence of the adventures we’ve already shared together’; for living big, un-timid lives. At night as they drifted off to sleep I would pause in awe at the beauty of the creation of life; of the innocence of childhood; of the unity of our family; of the honour of seeing children grow and I’d be humbled at being able to with Mike shape these young impressionable lives.
And yes, I do wonder. I wonder at times with perplexed and burning rage why a family that is so close and cohesive and happy and grounded and wholesome is broken. Why a young child embodying such joy and promise is removed from the world. Why an innocent, healthy pass-time of a family walk is rewarded with such destruction while so many engage in reckless and evil pursuits unscathed. Why so many millions of variables and nuances of life could not have shifted just ever so slightly to yield an outcome so different – an outcome of continued joy, happiness and fulfillment instead of these burning questions and the heavy burden of loss.
But these whys are futile. The universe is silent for there are no answers. It is only the myopic that have not suffered loss as profound as ours who will proclaim that there is a bigger picture that will be revealed, or that something good is destined to come out of this tragedy, or that we should be thankful for our suffering. What we can and will do is pick ourselves up, nurture the wounds and bruises with the love of our communities and stand resilient to face the world and future. For our daughter’s life has left an indelible imprint on our and others’ lives – and we will proclaim that. While Erin’s sacrifice will never justify others’ betterment or growth, like the pharynx rising from the ashes we can transform that which is broken into something completely different but nonetheless with its own profound and glorious beauty. We look with excitement in just over two months to the addition of new life to our family (read December 31st's blog post).
Walk with us to new favourite things – and make a list of your own. Celebrate each and every moment - and live big lives!