Little Silk Wings

02/10/2021

I attempted to smuggle drugs into the prison the other day.

It wasn’t very well planned and I didn’t get as far as I'd hoped.

Here’s how it went down - how I, went down.

I was sitting with my back against a wall in the waiting area, watching the little dude I’d brought there play. We were going to visit one of his parents and soon we’d wander together through the fairly high-tech security systems where your eyeballs are your identity.

I noticed some working dogs being led around the back of the visiting centre.

A few minutes later I heard a conversation to my right - a dog handler was asking another person in the waiting area to be a guinea pig for one of his dogs - he wanted him to put some synthetic drugs in his pocket and see if the sniffer dog found it.

I noticed right away that the guy he was proposing this to looked a little uncertain so I, never one to shy away from adventure, looked over and said “I’ll do it!”. The near guinea pig dude suddenly looked relieved and slid away a little, the handler raised his eyebrows at me and said ‘…are you…sure…?’

Yep, I’m in!

So he handed me the goods, I put it in my pocket, he gave me some important sounding instructions and that was it. He walked off and around the corner and it was me and the baby again.

And a pocket full of drugs.
With the dogs somewhere nearby.

My God, I thought. What have I done? How is this going to go down? What if this dog goes bonkers and thinks we’re on an episode of Border Security? How will I…explain this to my family? Is this how I’ll get my first book deal? THE PRISON GUY TOLD ME TO DO IT it’d be called.

The buzzer sounded and it was time to line up. This was it.
Mouths open, tongues out, legs apart, people were all around us, giving everyone the once over. I was preparing to be asked to cough and squat when someone shouted that we all had to stand still for the dogs to be brought in.

Here we go. This was the end of my days. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a few trickles of sweat making their way down my face and back. I looked down at the small bulge in my pocket and wandered who I’d throw the baby to when I had to make haste and climb up a wall.

The door slammed…and in bounded a happy, jumpy little puppy with his tongue flopping about who hadn’t yet outgrown his baby fluff.
Ha! A Puppy! And suddenly I remembered some of the instructions I’d been given by old mate..’Don’t touch the dog, don’t pat him, don’t talk to him’… And now it made sense, I smiled.

The ball of fluff excitedly ran up to the first person, jumped around a little, and kept going, on to the next. He occasionally looked up for reassurance that he was being a Good Boy and whatever signal his master gave him, must have assured him he was doing great, so on he went. To the next person, then to the next. And then it was me.

He sniffed, he walked around himself a bit, he sniffed again, and he sat down at my feet. It was ALL I COULD DO TO NOT PAT HIS LITTLE HEAD AND TELL HIM HE WON! But he still had work to do. On he went, to check out everyone else.

On his way back down the line of people, he did the same when he reached me and I couldn’t help a little finger slip out on to his head and give him the SMALLEST of pets. He was SUCH a good boy. And his trophy? A ball, that was thrown hard against the floor so he could chase it down the corridor, FULL of glee and pride that he had done his job perfectly.

I handed back the goods with a big grin and suggested to the handler that his puppy had done well. He smiled back, rolled his eyes and said so far he’s ok. I think he was proud…possibly a little impatient for the puppy stage to be over.

As for me, I spent the rest of the morning feeling a little like a badass, super grateful for puppies in training, and generally concerned for any lingering synthetic drug scent on my jeans for my exit out of there.

22/08/2021

She’d been bad, you see.

Today, with a baby in arms and three other children wandering close by, we heard the loud and particularly hostile voice of a woman who seemed to be uncontrollably ranting, screaming at someone.

At first, I thought she was having some kind of episode. And as we got closer, I noticed people were all looking at her, wondering what the commotion was about…and it was then that I noticed, she was screaming at (who I assumed to be) her daughter.

Her daughter would have been 8, maybe 10 at most.

She’d been bad, you see.

As we we nearly at arms distance, mum used both her hands to violently shove her daughter away from her, I think she might have even screamed at her to get away from her - it was a bit inaudible - and the girl was flung back. She was crying, haunched over and nearly embarrassed, and hurriedly caught up to her mum again.

It happened again, this time harder. With more force.

I went to the little girl, yelling for mum to stop. I bent over and asker her if she was OK? She slid out of my embrace and ran back to her mother. Back to the person who was supposed to keep her safe.
But…yeah, that’s right. She’d been bad.

They headed out towards the carpark, mum screaming in the face of this little girl, hitting and forcefully shoving her, while she cowered next to her, quietly sobbing, and kept walking.

The small crowd had grown a little and a voice called out for someone to call the police.

I looked over to the security guard standing around and said
‘Are you going to do anything!?’
And he replied ‘I am employed to look after (this shop) only. They didn’t come in here, so it’s not my business’.

Oh, ok.

I looked back over at her and my kids looked up at me and I started to walk the other way. Someone will do something. Someone will follow her, someone will call the police. My heart was thumping, my eyes were wild and everyone was….the same, I think. As I took a few steps though, I thought

…’something is going to happen to her tonight. And. What the hell am I teaching my kids, by walking in the opposite direction’.

So I followed her. I went past some ladies who I just felt were good people and asked if my big 3 could sit with them while I made sure the little girl was ok.

I dialled 000, while I walked into the carpark.

At first, I couldn’t see her. There were cars and people everywhere, and upon beginning to describe what this little girl was being subjected to, my own voice cracked and I could feel hot tears running down my face. I walked to the end of the carpark and a man said to me ‘wow, that poor little girl. They went up that way’ and pointed to the above carpark. I changed baby over to my other hip and began to climb the stairs, still talking to the police.

I reached the top of the staircase and the start of the upper level carpark and could hear her. Still screaming, still hitting, still unable to control herself.

I reached the car and saw that she was pounding the girl from the drivers seat. I banged on the window, screaming at her now and at the officer who was still on the phone. She wound her window down, and spat at me “Do you know how BAD she has been?! She has been BAD".

I loudly replied “She is a CHILD! Stop HURTING her!”.

She wound her window up, then just as quickly wound it back down and stated “I am taking her home to TEACH her a LESSON”.

I was sobbing on the phone myself by now, pleading for the police to come. ‘Please come. She’s going to take her home …she’s going to take her home and I think she could kill her’ I said.

Descriptions of people given, model make and plates of the car, carpark exit was discussed and as she drove out of the carpark I heard the sirens.

As I walked back through the carpark and down the stairs, someone said to me ‘That was so bad. I can imagine what will happen at home - she’ll probably hit her over the head with a saucepan or something’.

I just stared at him. Maybe I mumbled something, I’m not sure. I went back and thanked the ladies who sat with my other kids and began the important discussions with them about what had just happened and why I needed to act act quickly.

Why I needed to call it out. 

Why we ALL need to call it out, all the time.

I had a few more words to say to that security guard before my kids were in earshot, too. I reminded him that in the NT, over 18’s are ALL mandatory reporters and that his preference to look the other way was disgraceful.

Please, call it out.

As I tell my kids and as we spoke about again this afternoon - if it feels bad in your heart or gives you a funny feeling in your belly, TELL someone.

If the abuse is blaringly obvious, TELL someone. Ask an adult to DO something.

This is NOT about differences in punishment styles or parenting choices. This is NOT about not wanting to break up a family to send a child into foster care or save them from facing the shame and embarrassment of an investigation.

This is about defending children. Being obligated to protect, when protection is lacking. Recognising when there is a power imbalance and someone is being hurt. Calling out abuse - and making sure our kids are a witness to us calling it out, too.

13/08/2021

I got a free foot piercing the other night.

This is how it came about.

Bedtime had been successfully early for a change and I was basking in my glory of 5 sleeping children. Earlier that night, I’d put a treatment through my hair that smelled of rainbows and lollipops and had finally shaved my legs. The night was cooler than usual so the windows were open - there was a breeze dancing across my face that seemed to be whispering “all is good with the world”.

As I began to drift off myself, I was startled by a commotion at the bus stop. I love living close to a bus stop.

The group of males were loud. Their choice of words were somewhat inconsistent with what I would prefer my children to be exposed to and I shut everyone’s windows, turned on the air con and went to settle back to bed. The bus will come soon.

The bus didn’t come soon. The language grew in intensity as well as volume and the baby started to make little noises indicating he wasn’t far off a grumpy awakening. I began to question the integrity of the night breeze whispers and committed myself to marching right on out there and demanding that they quieten up or take it somewhere else. As I walked to open the front door, I heard what sounded like someone throwing another against the side of the bus stop shelter and the victim’s ensuing rage was immediately evident.

I was outside. I’d had it. I could have just called the police - I’d done that many times previously with these bus stop antics but tonight I was time poor and they needed a mother growling.

It was dark outside, but I could see that there was probably 7 of them. Two were tackling each other on the ground, the others were seeing how many profanities they could fit into one high pitched yell that would have reached my neighbouring suburbs.

I made up my mind to quickly and elegantly - like a deer, or a mountain goat - make my way over to the part of the fence that was closest to the bus stop and demand that they stop.

So I set off.

I calculated it was going to take me 5 steps to get to where I needed to be, in order to firstly startle them and then take the opportunity to berate their evening’s life choices.

I was ready and strong.

I decided that my last step was going to be a leap on to a pallet that was shoved against the fence because the dogs kept digging there. In my head, it was going to work perfectly. A cranky white woman suddenly emerging from the darkness to land firmly but sophisticatedly on a pallet, to tell them who for and what’s what.

I leapt.

Both my feet were off the ground. My night vision was pretty good and I knew roughly where I was going to land on the pallet and calculated this decision based on not wanting the pallet to flip up and bring me undone before I’d even began my rant. It was not unlike the old netball days - fast walk, decide on the intercept, leap - intercept - land heavily but with stability on the front foot. That was me, pretending I was back in those days.

Except. There was a nail.

Apparently my night vision doesn’t include the ability to see a few inch worth of nail sticking up toward the sky, awaiting the bare foot of a woman pretending she’s back playing high school netball. Down my foot went, the nail refusing to budge.

Well.

If I’d thought the profanities coming from the bus stop were bad, nothing was going to prepare me for what I heard leaving my own mouth in the ensuing moments. I had to literally lift my foot up off the nail and feel it slide back out of my foot. The proceeding gutteral noises coming from yours truly well out-shone anything anyone had done at the bus stop that night and whilst wondering if I was having a near-death or a spiritual awakening type of experience, I realised that the bus stop had gone quiet.

I sat, breathed.

Took another breath, and somewhere from the vicinity of the bus stop came the voice of a young male who quietly and seemingly anxiously said … ‘you... ok Sister?

Yeah…I managed to let out. Yeah, I’m ok.

I didn’t need to ask them to be quiet after that - they were traumatised into silence - and I hobbled inside. The closest antiseptic to me in that moment was a bottle of gin, so I stood over a towel and poured it on. I would have expected it to hurt, but everything was numb so I just kept pouring. I found a few bandaids and went to bed, confused at how quickly my life had gone from rainbows and lollipops to pouring gin into a hole in my foot.

But. The kids didn't wake up, so that was a win. And like I said, I got a free piercing out of the experience...although I'm probably not likely to recommend that particular method anytime soon.

12/08/2021

We were presenting Let Me See My Baby in Tasmania in July 2019 when, during our break for dinner, I saw an elderly lady sitting alone at a small table.

I walked over and asked if I could sit with her for a few minutes.

She was well into her 80's and had heard about our event on the local ABC radio. She bought herself a ticket and came along, alone.
She was dressed beautifully.

After a few minutes I asked her how she felt about what she had been a part of for the first few hours of Let Me See My Baby. She hesitated, then told me it was the first time in her life she had felt as though she was allowed to remember her first born daughter, who was stillborn.

When I asked her what her daughters name was, she told me, and added that this was the first time she had told anyone her daughters name.

85 years of age.

The reason for our efforts to travel to Tasmania and the logistical challenges we faced to present there suddenly became crystal clear.

Thanks Prudence Todd for the share of the below article - it brought up this beautiful memory of my own.

Amy x

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=362486705230292&id=100044068974301

I met 102-year-old Thelma in her home before I photographed her. We chatted and I learned all about her incredible 102 years on this earth. When I learned that she lost her first daughter, Francis Lorraine at 2 months old, I lost it. The tears just poured out of my eyes and I had a hard time catching my breath.

I told her that I lost my first daughter too. We talked about her little Francis Lorraine and my little Ava Maria. I paused as I allowed myself to breath through the tears. Then, I looked at her and said, "I just have one question for you. Does it still hurt?"

Thelma is blind, so she did not look back at me. She looked straight ahead and raised her chin a little bit, very strong and poised in her conviction, and she said, "Yes, it still hurts".

It still hurts.

She is 102 years old and it still hurts. I knew what she was going to say, but I still needed to ask. I needed to hear her say it. It is still hurts.

You are not alone. There is a tribe of women that have carried that immeasurable sorrow for decades and it still hurts. But, Thelma is living proof of the most magnificent, beautiful, FULL, incredible life after the most heartbreaking of losses. She is a beacon of hope and grace, shining bright for the world. ❤ What a comfort.

I will treasure that memory of her until I take my last breath. ❤

Here is Thelma with her beautiful rainbow daughter. ❤

In loving memory of Francis Lorraine, April 27th 1941 to June 12th 1941.

10/08/2021

Our first Let Me See My Baby event was four years ago. I remember my heart thumping so loudly I was sure the mic would pick it up.

Pictured is Jess mid-sentence. I wish we'd recorded the audio.

Covid has put a big Stop sign in front of our future LMSMB events. Jess and I have had lots of conversations about presenting the events on-line. I admire the many people and businesses making adjustments and being creative in this way...I'm just not sure I can do it with our little Not For Profit, without seeing people's faces and feeling the energy in the room 💜

When I see memories of the LMSMB events we presented in 2018, 2019 and the one we manage to squeeze in, in 2020... my feeling of sadness of the loss of what we could have achieved is almost overwhelming. I have been ready to close our pages and forget we even tried.

But I remember with so much gratitude the people who supported our mission in so many ways 🙏 and instead of leaving Let Me See My Baby in the past, I'll commit to celebrating all we achieved in the time we had... remembering all the babies we had the privilege of knowing existed...all the families who trusted us with their stories and all our speakers who put their heart and soul into answering the toughest of questions around perinatal bereavement ❤

Amy x

02/05/2021

Thinking of all our bereaved mothers, today on International Bereaved Mother's Day, and every day 💕

01/04/2021

A week ago, the New Zealand government voted unanimously to give Mothers and their partners three days bereavement leave following a miscarriage or stillbirth.

It's only three days...but such an exciting step forward ❣️

Legislation allowing three days’ leave applies to parents, their partners, and parents planning to have a child through adoption or surrogacy

11/03/2021

Just a little reminder that even though things have been quiet regarding the 'Let Me See My Baby' events, we've been busy keeping our list of resources updated.

Feel free to bookmark this page so you have it handy in case you're called to support a loved one 💚

Visit the post for more.

14/02/2021

*update - all is well 🙏 his skull was visible and three layers of stitches later he's devouring chocolate and ice blocks 💕

When attempting to backflip from a spa into a pool, try to not land on your head on a glass ledge.

In theatre now...

08/01/2021

A little update.

We said goodbye to a cherished young member of our family a few weeks ago.

Foster care placement endings bring real grief.

The depth of this loss is a sorrow felt on so many levels, especially for my own children. They will come to their own understandings of the foster system in their own time. In the meantime, we are together and enjoying holiday time.

Work wise - Little Silk Wings events are 'on hold' until such time as we are allowed to travel again...and when that time happens, it will be good. I miss everything that comes with running our events, from the pure joy to the crippling anxiety of talking with brilliant people and being with different communities around Australia discussing perinatal bereavement.

I'm working on some other projects that are keeping me busy and being the wet season here in Darwin now I'm also working on not leaving the washing out for 27 rinses. 🤪🤘

05/12/2020

First bike for the sweetest birthday girl 🚴‍♀️

I left her helmet at the shops... and couldn't figure out how to assemble the brakes... but she's riding anyway! 😂
Raising kids tough 👊

04/12/2020

On the eve of his foster sister's 6th birthday...
I watch, and I celebrate.

First, I celebrate my children.

I celebrate them for the loss they experience throughout the fostering process. The loss of possessions, of space and privacy, of their Mum's time...the loss of innocence, as they are exposed to truths of trauma that is foster children's journey.

Then, I celebrate myself.

I'm about to enter my 12th year of foster care.
I thought it would get easier?
It never does.
I'm only now emerging from a deep wading through the thick of the most challenging placement I have ever experienced.
..And, of course, we all celebrate the incredible little girl who will wake up tomorrow... to a room full of gifts, a family who treasure her unconditionally and regardless, in a life where she she WILL have options and she WILL succeed.

❤️ Amy ❤️