Ramblings of a Ringless Wife

Ringless Wife, Messy House, Cluttered Brain. All in a standard day.

June 29: One of the things that I hate about me

As you may have gathered, I am a very emotional person. Like, super-crazy-Frodo-Baggins style emotive.

I laugh a lot, smile a lot, rejoice a lot. Then there is the flip side – I cry a lot, I get angry a lot, and I get hurt… a lot. And, unfortunately for me, it hurts deeply.

My problem is that I place too much store in old friendships. I think that the years entitle me to a phone call, even if you don’t want anything. I think that the years mean when I need someone, that they should be there too. Like I am for them.

Yet, I am consistently let down. In the last two months, who my friends are has become strikingly obvious. Ready for this? I have two. That’s two people out of my medium sized (about 15) friends circle who have checked up on me, dragged me out of my house, have called me just to make sure I am alive. While I am grateful – and I mean, eternally grateful – for these two, it’s made me hurt for the ones who I expected to be there.

In the last eight weeks, I have had my world turn up side down on its axis; and while it is now slowly going back to the way it should be, I’ m finding myself getting angrier at the people who I thought would have my back. I had a few friends who I thought I could count on, who I thought would be there for me even while the road was akin to that of getting to Mordor. To know I was wrong hurts more than anything I have gone through. It also scares me.

The two friends that have been there have literally carried me. If it wasn’t for them and Dan, I would have been lost and floating somewhere out near the Starship Enterprise. But it makes me angry for them – why have they had to carry me and my burden, when those who claim to love me and care for me were no where to be seen? Why have they had to shoulder me alone, when there should have been others, some having been my friends for more than a decade and a half? I have been there for all of them – when things went south and no one believed in them or their abilities, I did.

This is what I hate about me. I feel things so keenly, and deeply. I hurt on a level that is hard for me to move on from. It distracts me, it angers me, and seeing them pop up on my Facebook make me want to hurl abuse at them.

Friendship isn’t about who can help you with possessions when you have none. It’s not all about fun and sunshine and roses and who can skoll the most vodka.  Sometimes, it’s about walking a rocky road, barefoot and bleeding; it’s about sitting beside someone while they are power-chucking even though you are retching yourself; it’s about recognising that they need you more than you realise. Sometimes, it’s about being Frodo’s Samwise.

I wish I could turn myself into a non-emotive, self sufficient shrew – it would hurt less than feeling like the people who I thought would hold me have dropped me.

I wish I could be one of these people that flit from friend to friend and not look back.

I wish I could be important enough to those that are important me.

I wish I would learn this lesson, once and for all, so I didn’t keep getting hurt.


April 25: They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, We will remember them.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

Today is a day which every Australian, new or old, stops for a moment; they think of the lives that were lost, the lives that came home, and the lives that came home ruined.I start every ANZAC day at 4am. I get up, Put more clothes on than I will probably need, and make a pilgrimage to the local war memorial. I stand there for the dawn service, surrounded by my family, who all create a wind buffer for my ANZAC grandfather. We spend just 20 minutes a year, so not a big sacrifice, in the bitter cold; we stand tall and proud, not just of my Pop who wears his medals upon his aged chest, but of all the service men and women who work and sacrifice their lives to keep our Country safe.

I always shed a tear at the Last Post. I am now while it’s playing on the computer. This bugle sound is more than a few notes put together in a pleasing tune: It is the sound that called men and women to their deaths, and it is the sound that we use to acknowledge them and their sacrifice and what they gave so we could live in the Australia we do today.

I may not always be happy with my Country, and I may not always like the way we have headed – but I am always so proud of our Army Troops, our Diggers, our long passed Rats of Tobruk. It took me a long time (I was 19 before I first went to a Dawn Service – and it changed my view completely) to realise the amount of respect, dignity, honour and appreciation that our Diggers deserve. They perform a job from which they may not return so I can sit on my back porch and speak English.

In WW1, Australians paid a heavy price. We had a population of less than 5 million and 416,809 men enlisted. Of that 416,809,  over 60,000 were killed and 156,000 were wounded, gassed, or taken prisoner. As it was for a lot of countries, it was the most costly War in terms of casualties. Almost 10% of our Nations population suited up in camouflage, kissed their families and sweethearts good bye and left proudly, excitedly, and above all, honourably.

In WW2, between 3 September 1939 – 30 June 1947, There were 39366 Australian military deaths and 735 civilian deaths. Our population was roughly 6 million, and 2 million soldiers signed up. 33% of our population fought for our freedom, again.

Today, I sit here and I give thanks, appreciation, and several tears for the men and women who helped save our country, who died for our country, and who continue to strive for the Peace most humans want.

Today, I sat and just looked at my Pop, and my heart broke for the children, grand children, and families of those who weren’t as lucky as my family was.

Lest We Forget.

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