So this is Christmas

As Christmas 2011 approached I took stock of my life. My mother was cleared and discharged from hospital, but my daughter was still critically ill. In the meantime my partner was in another hospital having his knee replaced and would be out of action and out of work for up to six months, and here I was with three children and about to become unemployed. Despite it all or, perhaps because of it all, I thanked that quiet place within my heart for leading me to make my decision. Meantime, Whispers was making sales and I was speaking to book clubs. More than anything, beyond 'fame' or monetary gain, I wanted my book to be read and it has given me the greatest pleasure to hear how much Rupert is loved. 

A Day of Mixed Emotions

The wait for November when my book would be finally published was excruciating. With all the 'fuss' of winning the competition winding down, I just wanted to see Whispers on the shelf. Superstition was lurking. What if the publishing company goes broke before the date of release? What if there's a mistake and the judges.... What if the printing press jams? But other, more urgent matters took over. My daughter was stricken with a life-threatening infection that would require heart surgery. My mother was to have exploratory surgery, for cancer. With my daughter in hospital, my granddaughter came to live with us, joining the two others that we care for. I was still working full-time and the combination of work, caring for three children and travelling to hospitals was taking its toll. Yoga remained my constant support. On the day of publication, my daughter was scheduled for surgery. Who cares about a book, I thought. But once again the surgery was put off for another day. When I was certain that she was resting, I caught the tram to my favourite bookstore, Readings in Carlton. I stood by the shelves looking for Whispers but was unable to find it. "Can I help you?" asked a shop assistant. I cleared my throat. "My ... book ... is published today," I told him. He beamed with genuine pleasure, "Congratulations! What's it called?" When I told him he excused himself to search the inventory. Five minutes later he returned with a hand full of ... Whispers in the Wiring. "I'll put it here," he said, leaning up into the "A" authors and placing it next to "Amis". He angled one copy so that its cover faced into the shop and turned to me and smiled. "Thanks," I said, "Do you mind if I take a photo with my phone?" He laughed, "Go ahead." When he left I stood looking at it for some time. Again that disassociation. I was staring at it but I couldn't feel anything. I took the photo and went to a local cafe. Over a latte and apricot Danish I offered a quiet toast to myself, and to Rupert and Neti. I got on the tram and sat with my mother in one hospital, then back to my daughter's bedside in another. 

No turning back

The annual review with the Principal. This was it; no turning back. Waves of conflicting thoughts pulsed through my mind as I walked into her office. Hold to the plan, I told myself. What plan! Just a dream to reinvent myself on my terms. In that office, a core of establishment, of careful considerations and the promotion of right choices, I wavered. I was a fool to consider leaving. I would be a nobody, I would be unemployed! But that steady flame within swelled with the promise of making other choices. Calm ran through my veins like oil, soothing the agitation of my nerves. I heard myself resigning, and something not tuned to my conscious mind breathed a great sigh of relief.