
I am not a writer, not a psychologist and am certainly no life coach but when it comes to being a coper, unfortunately I have recently become an expert.
Twelve months ago my 42-year-old sister fell off a roof at her home in South East Queensland and despite the best efforts of paramedics and doctors, she didn’t survive her injuries and left behind a husband and two daughters, aged six and four. Life doesn’t prepare you for receiving “that” phone call that there has been an accident, for having to call your parents to tell them there has been an accident and for then having to fly with your parents not knowing what the news will be when you land. It certainly doesn’t prepare you for having to tell your nieces that their mother is dead and then to have to take them into ICU to say goodbye to their mother and then spend time with your deceased sister, grieving parents and young nieces and make special memories with my sister’s hand prints and footprints. Life certainly didn’t prepare me for how to be a daughter to grieving parents.
It was once we left the hospital and got back to a hotel in a strange city, in the middle of the night when the world was asleep and I was wide awake with no one to talk to, just my own thoughts that I realised that this experience could take me to a deep, dark place. I could choose then and there to fall apart or I could heed the lesson of my sister and realise that life is too short and fragile.
