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Unscrambling Grief (Illustrated): Your Story - Your Way

Unscrambling Grief (Illustrated): Your Story - Your Way

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Unscrambling Grief (Illustrated): Your Story - Your Way

Longitud:
83 página
52 minutos
Editorial:
Publicado:
Apr 26, 2016
ISBN:
9781456622749
Formato:
Libro

Descripción

I've led an interesting life of both tragedy and blessing, which is why I put pen to paper and wrote Unscrambling Grief - the heart-wrenching story of our loss of two daughters, for two different reasons.

It's an easy read of just over an hour, illustrated with humorous cartoons to make a point in a light-hearted way. The guest speaker at the book launch described it as a must read book for everyone, because grief bypasses no-one.

Unscrambling Grief concludes with stories written by others, about their foray on this unwelcome path. It's filled with hope and encouragement, to spur you on to cope with your own journey or that of a friend.

Readers are describing this book as relational and real - not like a text book.
Editorial:
Publicado:
Apr 26, 2016
ISBN:
9781456622749
Formato:
Libro

Sobre el autor


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Vista previa del libro

Unscrambling Grief (Illustrated) - Gail Miller

Chapter 1

Our Story ...

An idyllic weekend in winter had come to an end. My husband, Ron and I had spent three days with our two children at my in-laws beach shack, in the tiny seaside village of Second Valley, tramping over the hills overlooking the cold, grey, wintry waters. We’d trudged through wads of soggy seaweed, nestling against the rock wall that shelters the crescent shaped beach, whilst our daughter Cathryn yelled to us above the roar of the crashing waves: ‘Look at the wobbly foam.’ She and her brother Luke, sploshed around in their gumboots on this magic winters day.

This blue-eyed preschooler with blonde curls and sky blue metal-rimmed spectacles, looked up to Luke, literally, as our handsome nine year old son was already growing into a tall young man. They never fought, instead delighting in each other’s company.

The shack cleaned and the car packed, we said goodbye to Second Valley, as we’d done many times before. Instead of going home, Ron and Cathryn were going to spend several days with Granny and Grandpop on their little farm. Cathryn was so excited about her three-day sleepover at her grandparent’s home.

She particularly loved the tree house, nestled in an enormous gum tree, with rough wooden steps meandering up the trunk to the door. Perched aloft, she could imagine herself as master of a pirate ship, or a member of the Swiss Family Robinson. On the long chain swing nearby, she could swing ‘til the cows came home,’ or at least the sheep, as was the case on this farmlet. Sitting one way, Cathryn could gaze at the hill that stretched upwards behind the house, dotted with sheep nibbling the grass. In the opposite direction was the most glorious view over the vineyards and almond orchards on their gentle slopes, and in the distance, a panoramic view of the ocean.

What more could a little girl want? The rocky pond and waterfall, under the wisteria canopy beyond the lounge room, was guarded by a gnome holding a fishing rod. But he didn’t frighten the wrens away as they fluttered down to drink.

Driving away from Granny and Grandpop’s house, I glanced in the rear view mirror one last time. Ron and Cathryn stood in the carport waving at Luke and me as we headed for home. Luke’s school holidays were over, so it was time for us to resume our normal routine.

An odd and unexpected thought flashed through my mind as I looked at Cathryn: ‘Will I ever see you again?’ I wondered, but quickly dismissed this random and crazy question.

Chapter 2

Two am ...

Three nights later I awoke at our home in Eden Hills at 2am. Strangely, that same morning at 2am my sister awoke in Blackwood, just two and a half kilometers away. At 2am a very close friend awoke just three kilometers away. Why was this significant? Who was to know?

I heard a car stop on the street in the cul-de-sac in front of the house and shortly after a firm knock at the front door. It was the middle of the night, so I gingerly opened the door, and saw two police officers in their navy uniforms, a lady and a man, and behind them my husband Ron. A chill ran down my spine as my mind raced, trying to understand what was happening.

I looked at Ron and knew that something was dreadfully wrong. Have you ever been in a situation where you didn’t know if you would throw up, or collapse, or if you could ever stop shaking? That’s how I felt in that nanosecond after I opened our wooden front door. ‘Gail, we need to talk to you,’ one of the police officers said. ‘Can we come

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