It’s been a masterful work of art this transitional season of life. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable, so sure, so afraid, so vulnerable, so trusting of the miracles that are still unfolding. But it’s been an arduous and abundant road.

I’m trying to write it was hard but it seems that anchor point of light won’t let me give over to the darkness. I’m continually drawn to the light within it all. Just like the yin yang symbol. There is not complete dark or light there is always a seed of each other within. And so we dance, and you can dance with me as I share with you the mix of them both.

The day we found out about the tennis ball sized tumor growing inside Hampus’ head wasn’t a day where there had only been stardust and rainbows so this had the capacity to shatter my core.

No I had been in the eye of the storm for a few weeks.

Where to begin? Here I guess.

Life had been simple yet unamused, we were cantering down the path we’d paved but we had committed to changing course. We were ready to adjust and I had sensed it would happen in January. However, at this point in time, Mid-November, we had no real idea how or where we were going to go. At this point things had felt eery for me. A sense that something was happening behind closed doors I just wasn’t sure what that was yet (in the physical and ethereal realms).

It had been a peculiar spring with coughs lingering longer than ever before, treatments weren’t working that I’d used 100’s of times, and a felt sense of imminent separation was in the air. I was tired but trusted, my babies were strong and capable of healing.

But when it hit “I have chosen to step away from our friendship” I was numb and began to unravel. Every conversation. Every wrong action I’d taken. Every abstract iteration of the worst of me and I wallowed in heart break and deeply saw the weakness of my deepest self in this despair.

I was in conflict, my body was numb and cold, my mind was weak but running overtime, my milk dried and baby Aqua suckled like a ravaged puppy to keep whatever she could flowing. I didn’t sleep much, if at all some nights, but somehow I continued finding simple joy in little moments.

The very next week a positive case of whooping cough was identified in the community of bush school and so the witch hunt began. For context my child had been coughing for 6 weeks at this point, a ghastly cough, with phlegm and vomiting at times. I was aware of the possibility that she may have had whooping cough by now but I had believed she wasn’t contagious as she was otherwise well. I felt sick thinking I’d shared this illness. Only keeping her home when she was feeling unwell.

The pressure mounted and fingers were steadfastly pointed. In order to “clear our” names off the burn list, I took my 3 kids to the doctor for the first time in their lives and we tested to see if it were in fact whooping cough. I was overcome with guilt along with my despair. It seemed everyone now all of a sudden had “her cough” and was being tested. The energy was angry tending rageful and I had taken full ownership and responsibility for all of these children’s illnesses.

As it turns out my child was negative and so too was every other child my daughter had mildly been in contact with. To my confusion the doctor shared for me the risk of contagion if she had of been positive would have meant my child would have had to spit into someone else’s mouth directly. Little did I know my own ideas of health and individual treatment would soon be affirmed in a very unexpected way.

I found myself sitting somewhere between heart break, sadness, guilt, disappointment, hurt and deep gratitude for my little family. Especially Hampus, my rock and confidant through it all. The next week I felt empty. It had been such a rollercoaster, so many tears, so many gut dropping punches. I felt weak and tired but was focused on treading lightly forwards as the show must go on.

But that very Thursday I received a call from Hampus -
“They’ve found something on my scan about my eye, they’ve told me to go straight to emergency.”

“Oh ok, what do you want to do? Did you see what they found? Was it big?” I responded.

“Yeh pretty big” stated Hamp nonchalant.

“Ok, but you feel ok?” I enquired.

“Yeh” he responded easefuly.

“Ok, I’ll call the Wizard and see if he can see you” I intuitively replied, I knew this would be a good idea.