Grandma...

I’ve recently reconnected with one of my best friends from school.

We spent many hours in our teenage years walking to and from the local grocery store in the country town that she lived in singing Guns n Roses, The Beatles, and AC/DC songs – well, sometimes they were our versions of songs. Instead of “it’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock n roll” we sang “it’s a long way to the shop if you want a sausage roll.”

We were cool… At least we thought so at the time. Our fashion, when not at school, consisted of basic t-shirts, checkered flannel shirts, and jeans which were ripped at the knees. We didn’t bother with fancy hair or makeup. We adopted a dog from the local fair and brought him back to her place, where her parents begrudgingly let her keep him.  I’ll never forget Ben!

My friend played guitar and sang amazingly well. I sang too, but amazingly terribly.  But that didn’t matter.

We went to another school when our school was closed for the day. Our teachers and parents thought that it was wonderful that we came up with the idea of attending another school for the day to experience what it was like.  Ummm…our intention wasn’t really to experience another school…we just wanted to meet boys…

We chose a mechanics class for one of our school subjects. Once again, so that we could meet boys…

The first time I went to the city without my parents was with her. We ended up not coming home when we should have. It wasn’t our fault…really…  Our parents got together to try and work out what they were going to do with us, and we were out in the backyard deciding that we would run away to the sand hills near my home to live. Surely they’d never find us in a 0.325 km2 conservation park about a kilometre away from my house!

My friend has just become a grandmother to a little boy.

It is so unbelievable to think that the little girl who led me astray in the 1980s is now a grandma. Okay – maybe we led each other astray…

I gave her some things (cups, bibs, etc) that we had here for Hugo when he was a baby to have at her house for when her grandson comes to visit. I also gave her two romper suits. These romper suits were ones that I bought for our babies in 2008. Ones that we never got to use for our children.

I am so grateful that my friend has come back into my life and that a part of what I had planned for our babies can become a part of the life of her grandson.

She asked me whether I would like to come up with her and visit her grandson in the next few weeks.

Gee…let me think…

YES!

What's in a name...

It’s been a while since my last blog entry – I blame Christmas, New Years, and a husband home from work to annoy me. Well, okay, not the last bit – it’s been lovely having Kirby home for the past few weeks and I’m not looking forward to when he goes back to work next week.

There are lots of things I want to write about, but many of them are more serious, and I want to start of the year with something a bit lighter (if that’s the right word). I want to share with you the names we picked out for our children before we even started IVF.

I always thought I would have boys rather than girls, so let’s start with them…

Jacob Arthur

Jacob is a very old Hebrew name and we liked the sound of it – it was strong, but simple. I’ve since found out that Jacob means supplanter – which basically means “undermines” or “supersede by force or treachery” – so the meaning isn’t all that flash. I still like the name, though – and what’s in a name anyway!

My Great-Uncle Arthur and my Grandfather

Arthur is my Dad’s first name, although he is called by his second name, David. He was named after his Uncle Arthur who died at the age of 22 in Bougainville in World War Two. That is my Great-Uncle Arthur in the photo with my Grandfather, Vivian Sydney. I like the idea of honouring our ancestors by using their names for future generations. Arthur is Welsh and means “bear”.

Samuel Kirby

Samuel is a name Kirby and I both liked very much. It is another old Hebrew name and means “God has heard”. It was the sound of the name rather than the meaning that appealed to us. Similar to Jacob, it is strong and simple.

The use of the name Kirby is kind of self-explanatory. Samuel would have had his Dad’s name as his second name. Kirby’s name was a family name on his Mother’s side – it was his Grandmother’s maiden name. It means, depending on the source, “the village with the church”, or “land beside the church”, and is potentially Scandinavian or Old German.

Now for the girls…

Ruby Grace

If you read my blog entry from the 10^th of July last year you will know about the dream I had where my Grandma was standing at one end of a long hallway and I was standing at the other. A little girl (about two years of age) was toddling toward me and my Grandma said “This is Ruby – you will look after her now”. From that moment, if I had a daughter, she was going to be named Ruby. Ruby is English and means red gemstone. I still love the name.

Grace is Kirby’s Grandmother’s name. I’ve always liked this name as well, and it goes with Ruby so well. Grace is Latin, although some say it is English. It has numerous meanings assigned to it, including “God’s favour”, “good will”, “favour”.

Audrey Margaret

Kirby and I both love the actresses Audrey Hepburn and Audrey Tautou, and picking Audrey as a name for our potential daughter was based purely on these two women. I like the meaning of Audrey as well, which is “strength”, as I always hoped our daughter would be strong.

Margaret is the middle name of both my Mum and my Nan. It is said to be of Greek origin and means “pearl”. I think that this meaning suits both my Nan and my Mum very well as they are both rare and precious. Nan has passed away, but she is still rare and precious in my mind.

Esme Kate

Esme has a bit of a stigma here in Australia as it was the name of a character in a long running soap opera in the 1980s called “A Country Practice”. Esme Jacobs, the character, was a bit of a gossip and put her nose into everyone else’s business.  A few years ago I saw a character on television, although I can’t remember the show, who was funky, strong, and feminine, and her name was Esme. I figured the name Esme deserved a chance at redemption, and it really is a nice name in my opinion. It is a French name and means something along the lines of “loved” or “esteemed”.

And, finally, Kate – well, that’s my name. Although not really. Kate is short for Kathleen, which is an English form of the Irish Caitlin (which is Gaelic). I always thought I would use Kate for the second name here, but now I think I would have used Kathleen, or even Caitlin in honour of my Irish roots. Oh, and Caitlin means “pure”.

So, there you have it – what our babies would have been called if they had lived. I still think they are awesome names…

My Legacy

I can’t believe it is already six days into March. It really doesn’t feel like two months of 2013 have passed already.

This year, in July, it will be two years since my beloved Nan passed away from leukaemia. I miss her every day, and when I drive past where she used to live, I catch myself thinking I will call in on her. Then I remember that she is gone.

Every day there is something that I wish I could tell her – that I’m going to Thailand, that last week my two year old nephew told me it was nice to meet me, that my dog, Ari, fell into the lake and was embarrassed. Often I tell her anyway. I don’t know how it all works when we die, but I like to think our loved ones are around at least some of the time – that they check in on us. I can almost hear Nan’s laughter when I tell her that my cat, Minerva, was chasing her tale or feel her arms around me when I tell her about the waterhen I found who was sick and that I took to a bird sanctuary, but then it died.

I won’t have any children or grandchildren to remember me when I am gone. At times I feel sad about it. In centuries to come, if any of my brother’s descendants are researching family history I will be the name on the side – Paul’s sister, not the direct ancestor. I am not sure how interesting I will be – unless, of course, I am one of the first people to colonise Mars.

I am not certain what my legacy will be, but I know it won’t be from my body – at least not directly.

In some ways I feel like this makes me try harder to find a way to do something that matters, to leave the world a better place even if it’s just in a small way. Whether I’m remembered or not, I want to leave something that might be passed on not only through my nieces and nephews, but through other people that I meet and even just because I helped plant trees that have grown into centuries old beauties.

It might be the case that I am forgotten as the years, decades and centuries pass by, but in reality, how many of us will be remembered whether we have had children or not?

All I can do is do what I can do. And I intend to. I want to give something back for this amazing life I have been given and leave a legacy – even if my name is never spoken again.

The Meaning of Christmas

Christmas is just around the corner. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying shopping for presents for our family and friends, as well as getting the tree up and strewing the decorations around the house. I love this time of year.

There is a tinge of sadness this year, though, and not for the reasons you might think. It’s not necessarily because we don’t have our own children to share Christmas with, but because my Nan passed away in July this year, and this will be the first Christmas without her.

Nan loved Christmas. She would make Christmas cakes and puddings with pennies in them. She would decorate her tree and home, and be there ready for Christmas hugs and kisses for everyone.

My Mum and I went Christmas shopping last Monday. We had a lovely time picking out this and that for various people – thinking about what colours one likes, the music that is the favourite of another, and what the right size of clothing is for this one. We were looking at Christmas decorations in one of the department stores and I noticed that Mum became teary. She told me that Nan and she had a Christmas tradition where each year they would buy a tree ornament each and put it on their trees. I suggested that perhaps she and I could carry on that tradition – and so we have. We each bought (well, actually Mum shouted me) a beautiful little red bell for our trees. Mum has also given me Nan’s Christmas tree and the red bell now hangs alongside the dancer ornament that was the tradition ornament Nan bought with Mum last year. I love having Nan’s tree in our home. Christmas was magical for Nan, and I know that I have inherited that from her.

Why am I talking about this on my blog? Well, it has got me thinking about Christmas and what it means given we don’t have our own children. In honesty I don’t think the meaning of Christmas has changed for me from what it might have been if we did have children. My Nan lost both of her husbands (one was in his forties and one was in his sixties) and two children (one at two years of age and one at seventeen). She could have been forgiven for pushing Christmas aside and doing only what needed to be done, but she didn’t. She always had this love that surrounded Christmas and made it special. I want to be like her – I want to carry on that legacy.

Christmas is about family and friends. It is about being with those I love, while respecting that I might feel sadness about not having children, and, of course, about Nan not being here.

Christmas is special for me.