Busy Little Bee

I have settled in to my crazy schedule at school as best as I can for the semester. It's a big one, but I can do it.

Sculpture is wonderful, and I love seeing the end result of what my hands can do. ASL is really fun to learn... I practice with my 4 yr old daughter and she knows almost as much as I do [little sponge]. Old English is one of my favorites. Beowulf is now one of my favorite stories, and Lanval reminds me of the movie Braveheart... the part where he loves a woman he should not. Intro to Government... well, I'm learning enough to make an informed decision should I ever become a citizen and need to vote. Chemistry is very interesting, and although I am a little overwhelmed with all the information, along with the exam coming in two days, I think I will do just fine. Math.... hmmm.... well, my professor is, uhh, interesting. I received the first failing grade of my life last week [no idea how], but am doing so well with the new material, and know I can still pull an A from this class. Homeroom for the Steps To Success program is wonderful... such a great help to have people on my side in the college, and getting to know a bunch of other marine wives that are going through the same things I am is such a blessing!

I am waiting to hear from the hospital on base about where I will be placed for my volunteer work. Although I am impatient and want to hear back NOW, I am grateful that it will take a while, so I can give my schedule a chance to settle down a little!

Aaaaand in 4 weeks, my husband deploys to Afghanistan. *sigh*

... And Then There Are Educators!

I received this email today, and immediately decided that I had to share = )

"Lipstick in School (You've got to love this Headmistress)

According to a news report, a certain private school in Newcastle upon Tyne was recently faced with a unique problem. A number of 12-year-old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom. That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints. Every night the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back. Finally the Headmistress decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man. She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night (you can just imagine the yawns from the little Geordie 'Princesses'). To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required. He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it. Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.

There are teachers.... .......and then there are educators."

4.0

I did it. I have the 4.0 GPA for my first semester. Now I can breathe, and I know I can do this. I'm so lucky to have been blessed with such wonderful professors that encouraged me to push myself. Thank you.

One Step Closer

I just received one of the two emails I've been waiting for. My math professor just sent my grade for my final exam, as well as the grade for the overall class. Here's how the email went...

Felicity

Final exam = 98.5% = A

Overall = 90.1% = A

Congratulations. You did it!

Mr. M.

YAY!!!! I did what I really thought was the impossible! Right now I am so happy and proud of myself. Life is good. This really sets the tone for my drive and determination for my college career. Thank you, God!

Just one more grade to get and I will know where I stand with my GPA. *biting my nails*

Prank Calls

I'm not sure what I am most upset about right now...

My daughter and her friend for making prank calls on Friday night, or the reaction of a teacher at my eldest daughters school whose number was randomly dialed.

This morning I was woken by a phone call from my eldest daughter, crying hysterically, completely unsure why she was even in trouble. Her home room teacher called her out of the class and took her to the sheriff, as he believed he received a phone call from her on Friday night. He has the voicemail that was left on his phone from my home number, and what appears to be my eldest cchilds voice in the background.

What he actually has, is my middle child's friend trying to disguise her voice, and my middle child in the background asking her friend what she was saying. The issue is, even though my eldest daughter was not even home that night, so could not possibly have made the call, her homeroom teacher is convinced it was her, and that it was a malicious act worthy of being taken to the sheriff.

While I completely understand the coincidence of this man being my eldest daughters teacher, and the fact that a prank call being made at all is not the best behavior, these girls are 12 years old. Is it really a 'malicious act' that needs to be taken to the police? I think not.

Happy Mother's Day

I came home from work this morning to my teen, and tween still in bed sleeping soundly. My youngest was in the kitchen with my husband, hands full of cocoa pops cereal, arguing that if she eats it dry out of a ziplock bag she can eat it on the couch. It's true; I let her do that occasionally when we just want to snuggle in the mornings.

I walked upstairs and woke my eldest child saying "Morning Tay Tay! Come make me breakfast in bed", then went to my middle daughter's room to find her laying in bed playing video games. I swear she should've been a boy!

We all came downstairs and made breakfast together, and it was delicious. Eggs Benedict is one of my favorite breakfast meals, and that's what I had. They sat at the kitchen table and made me hand-made cards (my favorite) and surprised me with them just a moment ago. Now we are snuggled on the couch watching episodes from my Will and Grace boxed series set, and life is good.

The greatest gift for me on Mother's Day is knowing that I have three beautiful daughters that love me very much, and loving them back more than anything in the world.

Happy Mother's Day for all the mum's and mom's out there.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!

Today, I have been trying to put together my next semester of school.

Much to my surprise, I found that I only need eight... yes EIGHT years of school to have my MD.

WHAT!!!???!!!

Today is a very happy day for me. I am now only seven and a half years away from my dream, instead of 9 and a half.

I'm so excited I could cry!

Speaking of dreams

I woke this morning almost in tears, after a terrrible nightmare had rocked my sleep, yet again. It's pretty typical for me to have them, but they never get any easier to deal with. Each one a little worse than the last. This one was about one of my close friends. Not fun.
I was driving along on in a car I haven't owned in more than 5 years, on a road that weaved through the marine corps base. The base, however, was not the one on which I live now. PMO pulled me over for what I assumed was another speeding ticket. I was crying so hard because I knew I wasn't speeding, but they wouldn't hear it. They made me get out of my car, told me to find another way home as I was not getting that car back again. I somehow managed to see the police report and saw that they were picking me up on suspicion of drugs, and apparently a headlight out. When I arrived home, to a house that I do not live in, and have never seen in my life, my friend was standing at the top of the stairs waiting for me. For whatever reason, she had moved in with my family and me.
After relaying my story to my friend and realizing that she did not seem at al surprised, I asked her if everything was okay. She replied with an evil laugh and the confession that she had set it up, and that PMO would be coming to take me away soon. She said that she was jealous of what I had accomplished in life, and of all the nice things that I had, so she was taking it. Apparently she had only asked to move in because she liked my daughters bedroom and knew she could have her kicked out of it for her. In disbelief I went to walk up the stairs towards her and she hit me with a metal bat.
That woke me up. I was almost in tears and messaged her immediately. Everything is as it should be.
Generally, I can make a decent connection from my subconscious to my dreams, but this one has me stumped.

Two months... already??

It's the two month anniversary of my friend's death today. It is also his wife's birthday. What a great reminder every year, huh? I spoke to her this morning and she was miserable, and was dealing with a hangover from last nights festivites. Needless to say, she was not really in the mood for conversation.
I can not imagine how she must feel. My husband annoys the hell out of me on a daily basis, he goes on deployments to fight for his country, risking his life, but I can not fathom what it must feel like to lose a spouse. Watching them die is something else altogether. I am an extremely strong person, and have been through quite a bit in the little time I've been here on Earth, but I do not feel that I would have the strength to deal with someone that close to me dying.
I am really excited to take the death and dying class next semester. For some reason, I am fascinated by that concept lately, and surely just because of Tracky's death.
I wrote a song about death once. It was written because it seemed that everyone I knew had someone die on them.... all within two weeks of each other. All my friends were miserable, and it felt like the life was gone from them, too.
The song is now one of my favorites of mine. If anyone is interested, it can be heard at www.myspace.com/avengelyna
It is called 'Convulserator'.

Oh, to be a blue bird

I used to walk during my lunch break... most days.

One day, as I left the parking lot with it's big iron gate, and turned the corner to the first stretch of my walking route, a blue bird landed in front of me and began to hop along beside me, as though it's purpose for the day was to join me while I dutifully worked exercise into my life. The sun was shining through the many clouds that cover that beautiful city on an almost too regular basis (in most people's opinions... I however, love clouds, rain etc). This magnificent creature, with it's impossible-to-describe-the-exact-shade-of-blue feathers, made itself a part of my life for just a few moments, looking curiously up at me; a giant compared to it's tiny frame. Yet it was not afraid. It did not fly away. It just hopped happily along with me, taking in my thoughts, like an old friend listening to my troubles without me needing to say a word.

Just seeing that bird, with the sun shining on our backs as we walked together for that brief moment in time, made me think about all the beautiful things in my life that I should be grateful for.

Oh, to be a blue bird. To be able to inspire as this bird inspired me.

At first, I thought it was it's physical beauty that made me think about beauty itself. But I was wrong. It had nothing to do with the stunning display of color which adorned it's wings, but the innocence and absolute trust with which it presented itself to me... somehow knowing that I would not dream of abusing that trust by hurting it in any way.
That innocence is what made me think about true beauty for the remainder of my walk.
Perhaps it is time to remember that lesson again now. To truly appreciate the beautiful things in my life, to keep myself grounded and humble.

Oh, to be a blue bird...

The little engine that could

It's tough to write a lit crit paper, and say what you mean, while arguing that your perception of the book is the true and correct meaning. I have an A in all my other classes and can finish my first semester with a 4.0 GPA, providing I get one in my English class... so I am terrrified! Perhaps that is the problem; knowing that it is so close, and putting excess pressure on myself. Time to recite positive affirmations and continue plugging away. I can write this paper. My thoughts are valid, and I am presenting them in a way that pleases Ms Cheraz. They are clear, meaningful, and true to my thesis. I will succeed. I will succeed. I will succceed.

He won't forget you in a hurry

St Patricks Day. One year later.
I was walking along that same dirt road I had seen one year ago. So many bad memories, so much hurt and heart ache. The bar was lively, oblivious to what this day meant for me. I could already hear the music flowing through the open windows. Cars that were headed to the pub were driving along beside me. One in particular, a dark SUV with a young, good looking guy inside slowed to my walking pace.
"mmmmm you headed to the bar? My friends are over there in that other building and I don't wanna be lonely in there by myself"
"you don't want to be around me today, trust me"
"yeah I do cutie... I'll buy you a drink"
I jumped onto the front of his car. I could feel warm metal underneath my butt, and we drove to the bar slowly with me riding on the hood.
"you should call your friends and tell them to get out of that building, it's gonna go up in flames anyway"
Some people, especially when they are strangers just don't know how to take a comment like that, so they laugh it off; take it as a joke.
"hahahahaha we don't need them around, I'm not lonely now I have you to hang with", I watched in horror as yet again, my words rang too true.
The building lit up the night sky, smoke quickly forming a screen so no-one could see what was going on. My new 'friend' ran to the burning cage that held on tight to his friends. I sat in the gutter and cried.
What was it about me and this place? Why was it that when I woke that morning I just knew that I had to be there again that day? Why did I know that my feeling of doom was going to be lived out as it had one year before?
That's when he walked up. A stranger wearing a dark hoodie pulled tight around his face, dark galsses and a long, red beard. The wirey, stringy kind of beard. He made me nervous as he approached me, but he sat quietly beside me and followed my gaze as I watched that guy run to his friends and cried.
"he's not going to forget you in a hurry"
"what? what makes you say that?"
He laughed.
I got up to walk away and he grabbed my arm.
"You're a witch. Don't EVER forget that"

I woke up screaming for the first time in quite a while yesterday. It freaked the absolute hell out of me. The smell of fire and death is still in my nose and has been making me ill ever since I woke up.

Sure, go ahead.

It was early in the afternoon, and I could almost feel the light draining from the day. Something wasn't right. Still, I ordered another round of Guiness and sat down with friends; friends that I had made through M. He, too, was there. I could feel the rough grain of the wooden table beneath my fingers as we talked and I fidgeted, as is my way. Conversation led to the cars we could see driving up and down the dirt road that ran alongside the Irish pub we were in. A couple of the boys thought they should ask if they could join in, since fishtailing up a dirt road is somewhat appealing to boys, especially after a few drinks.
"Sure, go ahead, they're gonna burn up once that one hits that tree and rolls back into the other two."
Blank stares from everyone at the table followed by "what the hell are you talking about Fliss?", "why would you say something like that?", "that's not even funny. I thought we were having a good day today, why start in on that bull?".
"Sorry" I said, and finished the last of my beer.
The boys that were going to play in the cars got up and walked out, visually and verbally making their annoyance with my comment known.
The sun started to set and it seemed like the afternoon was disappearing quickly into some kind of time warp. I watched the boys walk along the dusty road towards the now moonlit cars, childishly playing in the soft surface beneath the tires. The people left at the table with me seemed oblivious to what was going on just outside that window, yet I could not take my eyes off them. I tried to continue conversation while we drank our beer and celebrated the day that everyone is a little Irish.
The celtic band was playing all sorts of magical, happy notes as young girls dressed in traditional Irish dress danced about in their tap shoes for the well-on-their-way patrons. Those notes and sounds became blurry as I watched my comment from earlier in the afternoon drift word for word out the window and along the dirt road to where it settled in slow motion on the car sliding into the old, oversized tree that was looming above them. Then came the loud and thunderous boom as the side of the car made contact with the solidness of that tree. Everyone in the bar turned to look out that window by our table, as the sound was so intrusive it had deafened the band. The sky lit up with flames that had been forseen, and the smell of fright and disbelief hung heavy throughout that bar. All eyes watched as the car ricocheted off the tree and into the path of the other two cars that were now frantically trying to gain control and get out of the way. It was useless. More flames as the sound of metal against metal scratched against everyones core.
"What the hell did you do? YOU KNEW!!!!" Accusing eyes were now upon me, like somehow I had something to do with this. All around me, people erupted into panic and disarray. There were so many legs running towards the burning cars, and screams of help could still be faintly heard above the noise from the twisted wrecks. Confused questions were still being screamed at me while I sat and wondered what had made me say what I had said this afternoon. Had I seen it before? Had I dreamed it? Hadn't those words just come out knowlingly, without even really having to think about it beforehand at all? Yes. That's exactly how it had been. It was as if the image of it was seen for the first time as I spoke the words; like it was something I was conjuring up as I went. As the final moans of helplessness came from the trapped bodies inside the charred remnants of what once were cars, I walked away from the people who had called me their friend until today. I knew that this would change things. It already had.

Finally

My friend died on Friday. He had cancer that started out as melanoma, and in the last 7 months spread to his organs, his spine, his bones and his brain. For the last week he was barely a shadow of the person I knew, laying in his bed with a diaper on, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. I'm glad that he is gone, and no longer has to suffer the ridiculous amount of pain that no 35 year old man that served his country in the United States Army should have felt outside of combat. I am glad that his wife no longer has to sit by his bed, day after day, holding on and being strong for him, trying to be just his wife instead of his nurse. I am glad that I don't have to think of him writhing in pain whenever a breath was trying to work it's way in and out of his lungs. Oh, the joy to know that his brain is not trying to function through the mush it became anymore. But I hurt. I hurt so bad for his wife, and his family and for myself. I hurt for the people who are not over the suffering, but are beginning yet another round of it. I hurt for the fact that I won't hear him laughing on the other end of the phone, telling me that a dingo ate his baby in a horrible Australian accent. I hurt knowing that he won't be coming to visit this summer like we planned. I hurt knowing that he wont fly another kite with my daughters. I hope he doesn't hurt anymore.

Paths

A twisting path does lie ahead
where my desires must be fed.
The road it goes from here to there,
which way to go, I just don't care.
It's not the best thing I could do
to choose the path that leads to you,
for when I look that way I see
the broken mess that could be me,
to give the love I feel inside
with leave me with nowhere to hide.
You'd have it all and in return
my heart is left to slowly burn.
You care enough to roll the dice
but what you feel does not suffice.
Now there I am, I'm all alone
I can not breathe, I cry and groan,
all torn and hurt I'm pushed away
left to fight another day.
So I turn and face the other road
which also bears a heavy load.
To choose this way would leave me blind
for with this path you're left behind.
I walk along with deep regret,
forever more I pay the debt.
I am so lost, I feel so cold,
my dream of you I did not hold,
for selfishness did take control
now lonely tears I must console.
I'm holding back, I am refined
when suddenly there's love defined.
But though I see another's face
I can not seem to fill your place.
So here I stand, two paths I see,
I must choose one, which will it
Is leaving what I have to do,

or do I risk my heart on you?

Noisy

"Will you guys please be quiet?" I beg.

My girls are feeding off each others frenzy. My older two daughters both have a handful of friends staying over, and there is way too many squealing little girls for an entire square mile, let alone one little house.
"Enough!" I scowl. "It's time to settle down. There is a 4 year old in the house and it is too late for you all to be carrying on this loudly."
The giggling continues.

I don't mind that they are having fun. In fact, I encourage them to laugh and it gives me great peace to know that they are able to feel this way with Nick being gone. I only wish I could be so simply delighted. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe its not the fact that they are rambunctious, or that its after 9pm at night. Maybe its just that I am jealous. It's been so long since I was able to feel so free. Every day that he is gone is like another pound added to the weight of loneliness that rests upon my shoulders.

"Mum, can we please have some soda?" my daughter Brianna now asks.
"Not a snowballs chance!" I reply with a scoff, appalled that she would ask such a question in the midst of my attempts to calm these kids down.
She runs back to her room and blasts a cd. The jingle of the high pitched, fast beating song that she continues to amplify grates against my nerves. I twitch. More squeals. My eyes close and I take a long, deep breath, picturing the air filling up my lungs and washing my insides with calm as I do so. The door closes to her room, softening the intensity of the music. Better. The other group - Tayla's friends - are still downstairs, and still chattering loudly about this boy and that boy, and that girl and what she was wearing and oh my god did you see who she's going out with and what about Mr so and so from school, he's so WEIRD!
Deep breath.
"Girls, do you maybe want to go into Tay's room to talk? At least that way I can have Angel down here with me and she can have some sort of quiet." I ask gently.
No answer, just more girl talk.

I try to ignore them and get lost in my own thoughts. How long has it been since he deployed anyway? I haven't counted in a few days because work has been so crazy, and then there was the arrangements for tonight's sleepover. Friday, Thursday, Wednesday, Tuesday... that had been day 153, so 156 days today. It's too long. I want my husband home. Then maybe I could leave him here with all this commotion and I could go out and enjoy my own kind of giggling folly with my friends. I knew how to be fun, didn't I? At least I used to.

"Mum, we're hungry, what can we eat?"
The cupboards smack open and closed as graffiti stained, teenage hands tear apart my kitchen looking for snacks.
"There's some popcorn up top. Go upstairs and I will make it for you, but please just take it down a notch or five, okay?"
They hear me now, and a mess of skinny legs, not quite fitting with the rest of their frames, run upstairs. The giggling continues.

I prepare the popcorn in the microwave and focus on the blue numbers on the display, counting backwards, yet exponentially adding more seconds to how long Nick has been away. I look away, not wanting to think about it.
I turn to see Angel snuggled up silently under her blanket on the sofa. At least she is quiet.
As the microwave beeps to let me know it is done, I reach inside and pull out the popcorn. It's hot, but they can deal. The faster they have something in their mouths, the faster they are likely to be hushed. I take it upstairs to their little bellies, waiting for the buttery goodness.
"Thanks Mum."
"No worries," I say, "just please keep it down now okay? It really is getting late and I don't want the neighbors complaining."

Back downstairs, the thumping of their feet reverberates through the floor, shaking my pictures on the wall. I wonder what Nick would say if he was here. Would he be mad at them? I hope not. Frustrated I would understand, for I am feeling that now myself. Brianna's door opens, and the bass thunders down the stairs from her room.
"Brianna! Turn it down!" I yell.
Squealing again, and running down the first flight of stairs, then back up again.
"Brianna, its time to stop."

Then I hear the thumping on her sisters bedroom door. Another door opening, sending sound waves of the constant teenage garble downstairs entangled in the nerve grating song that seems to be on repeat.
I get up from the sofa where I've been sitting with Angel, trying to get her to sleep among all the noise. I walk to the bottom of the stairs and look up. I see all the girls on the landing outside of their bedrooms.

"SHUSHOLA!!"

They stop. Every last one of them.
Satisfied, I float back to the sofa triumphantly and snuggle up under the blanket with Angel. I hear the silence from the cd player. The voices turned to whispers. The doors close.

I'm looking forward to Nick coming home. I can't wait until its my turn to have that much fun again.

Leaving Australia

It was February 5th,2003. I was in the living room of my home in Jindera watching the breeze rustle the leaves on the gum tree out front. Both my girls were at school, it wasn't my day to work, and I was bored. I could smell the bold coffee in the cup beside me as I signed on to my yahoo messenger and watched my friends list load the names of people I knew. No one was online except a guy that I didn’t know. A friend of mine had added him to my list while I was out of town a few weeks earlier. Then out of nowhere a message window appeared on my screen. It was him.

Matt: Hi
Fliss: Hey, how are you?
Matt: pretty good. you?
Fliss: bored
Fliss: I guess my friend added you to my list while I was away last weekend... hope you don't mind...
Matt: not at all

Our conversation was fun and light and he was very smart. He kept me entertained with witty remarks and immature friends dressed in cammies walking in the background on his webcam. From that day forward we sought each other out, craving more of the friendship that was rapidly forming. Matt and I spent as many minutes of each day as we could getting to know one another. Questions and answers were shot back and forth with rapid fire until the screen became blurry and we just couldn't hold our eyes open any longer, the responsibilities of the coming day forcing us to get some sleep. For months it was the same story every day. There was an intellectual connection that neither one of us could deny, nor did we want to. We decided to meet. In early May of that same year, Matt flew south across the Pacific Ocean from Seoul, South Korea, to Sydney, Australia. With the windows down and the wind whipping my hair around my face, the music up and the smooth, melodic voice of the singer from Evanescence unknowingly creating harmonies with me, I drove to Sydney just a little too fast up the Princes Highway in my maroon Mazda 626.It was a long night waiting for his 7am flight to arrive, but I was ready.

It was a whirlwind 2 weeks with him, but he fit in perfectly. My daughters adored him, my family had never seen such manners and respect from a guy his age, so they really liked him, and he and I had fallen in love the instant we saw each other at the airport.
However, the trip came to an end. We spent the next 3 months spending less time sleeping than before, and pushed ourselves to stay awake and online with each other as much as possible. It was the only way for us to spend time together, and we took what we could get.

In August, 2003, I flew to South Korea to spend another 2 weeks with him. After the first week, he called my dad.
"Sir, I was wondering if I could ask you a question, although I know this is far from the most respectful way to ask?"
"Don't call me Sir, and what is it?" groaned my dad.
"I love your daughter very much and I would like your permission to marry her."
"I don't care what she does!" responded my father incredulously, "She's a grown woman and will do whatever she wants." Then softer this time he added "But thank you for having the decency to ask."
Wearing my denim skirt, a black t shirt and wedged flip flops, Matt and I were married in the US Embassy in Seoul, Korea, across the road from the Starbucks that we lived at during my stay.

We spoke about what would be best - living arrangement wise - and agreed that him moving to Australia would be best for everyone. The Australian Immigration laws thought differently.
It proved to be so difficult for him to be able to enter Australia, that we decided while we waited for his immigration status to be accepted, the girls and I would move to the US. It would offer us an experience of a lifetime, and enable Matt and I to be together as a family. The date was set. December 4th, 2003, I was to board a Pacific Air flight to LA with a full day stopover in Fiji with my daughters.

The day we left was one of the hardest of my life. My family and I are very close and I had never realized just how much I depended on them emotionally. Yet here I was, with our lives packed up into 6 suitcases, about to leave behind the people who had always been there for us. I had driven around town saying goodbye to each and every person that meant something to us, then finally in the early afternoon, as the hot summer sun gleamed through the dining room window, we gathered at my grandma's house to have one last cup of tea together as a family. When it came time for us to get into the car to drive to the airport, my dad climbed into his car as one by one our family members kissed the girls goodbye and strapped them into their car seats in the back seat. My car was packed to the roof with our luggage, with just enough room for my brother, his girlfriend and me to fit in. Slowly, I went down the line. My brother Josh waited till last. He and I have a special bond and he was by far the hardest one to leave behind. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and the tears began for both of us, as the smell of eucalyptus in the tree nearby burned its painful memory into my brain forever. I sobbed into his yellow t-shirt as I clung to my brother, my rock, my best friend for as long as I could before my other brother, Joran, took my hand and led me to car, dragging me away. I got into the driver’s seat and started the car, reversing slowly and carefully out the bendy driveway and onto the street. I saw my brother fall to the ground and cry with his face in his hands. My emergency brake screeched my car to a sudden stop. My door flung open so fast I thought it might break off entirely. I didn't care. My brother was hurting and it was my fault. I ran to him and hugged him again. As I held his face in my hands I told him that I'd be back as soon as I could. I kissed the tears from his cheek and walked away, back to the idling car in the middle of the street. Joran had already switched to the driver’s seat knowing full well there was no possible way for me to drive safely. Knowing too, that there was no possible way I could drive away from everything I had ever known.

The airport goodbye with my dad and my brother Joran was not much better. The two of them are very similar to each other. Neither one really talks about how they feel, and they both have an ability to hold back emotion much better than Josh and I. This time was different, as Joran cried for what had to have been the first time sober since he was a child. My dad held it together only until it was time for us to go through the gates to board our plane, leaving them at the gate unable to join us. I only remember seeing my dad cry a handful of times throughout my entire life, so it really hit home to know that this was hurting him, too. I couldn't leave. I couldn't let go and walk away. As a million thoughts and questions rushed through my head, the one that stuck out was if I was doing the right thing. If this was really worth it in the end, not knowing when I would be back or when I would see the people I loved so much.
"You need to go before you miss your flight", my dad said as he untangled my arms from around him and gently pushed me towards the gate. "Everything will be fine, Baby. You're a fighter."

The girls and I walked through security, turning around to face them and blow a kiss one last time. Then the metal gates closed in front of us as the girls excitedly tugged on my hands and pulled me towards our future. I knew in my mind that leaving Australia to be a family with Matt was worth the risk, worth the challenges we had faced and would still have to face. I knew in my heart that I was doing the right thing.

As our plane lifted off the ground, my daughter’s hands in mine, we watched our home disappear from our tiny window and we said goodbye to Australia.