Wendy Slee KMA

“ I think my Daddy’s going to die” she said.

I had found her standing by herself staring out the glass door at the back of my house, maybe watching the trees, maybe not really seeing anything.

“I know, sweety” I said. “Your Daddy is very sick, and he might die, but they are trying to fix him at the hospital”
I did not know what else to say.

Her big brown eyes fixed on mine, unblinking.
“It’s because of the alcohol, he drinks too much alcohol”.

Stunned, I did not know what to say. For a child so young, she had seen too many things, and had worked out a lot for herself.

“Two drinks is okay” she said, wisely nodding to herself “but more than that makes you sick. It’s not good to have more than that.”

My heart broke for her. Yet she did not seem sad. Somehow, that was what made it worse. She was totally accepting of the situation, it was like it was an everyday experience to be taken on, worked though and discarded.

For me, the whole situation had shocked me and filled me with grief.

I had followed the ambulance from town, on my way home from work. The sight of an ambulance, lights flashing, on its way along the highway towards my farm home, was an unusual one, and it filled me with dread.
“Please turn off. Please don’t be someone in my family” I silently prayed as I drove behind it. There were not many homes along that stretch of road, as it was mainly farmland. I felt ashamed for hoping it was someone other than my family.

Then the ambulance turned into my neighbour’s driveway.
My heart thumped. A young couple with young kids – not a good sign; worse still, a man who had succumbed to depression after losing his mother, his grandmother and a friend in the past year, and more recently having lost his job and dealing with relationship troubles. I had felt his pain before and it was vast. These were people I cared about, I so desired to help, yet it seemed impossible to know where to begin. Sometimes friendship seems such a small and helpless thing against the demons that haunt people’s lives

Neighbours were running across the paddock at the sight of the ambulance. The son stood at the door, white face, showing the ambos in and leading them to……

A man, OD’d on the bedroom floor. Purple… foaming at the mouth ………… dying.

The fourteen year old boy, traumatized, quivering in shock, tells me had been at home with his little sister and the phone had rung. He had taken it up to his stepdad’s room to give him the call, and found him like that.

His eyes were haunted, the tears quivered right there, he all but broke down and I prepared myself to hug him, but then something hauled him back and he blocked it. His Mum was home now, it would be all right.

“Help me get your little sister’s clothes and school things” I said to him, “and she can come home with me for the night. I will take care of her and get her to school tomorrow. That will make it easier for your Mum”.

The little girl was wandering around the house totally oblivious to the drama unfolding, telling everyone who would listen
“My daddy hurt himself. He had an accident.”

The boy handed me a school bag and one pair of pants. He could not focus, could not think. He did not know what to do. I told him I would take care of it, give his sister my own daughter’s clothes….it would be okay. I asked if he would like to come with us, but he said no. He wanted to stay with his Mum.

I wanted to hug him, but he had a barrier up that seemed to preclude anyone coming close to comfort him.

I plucked up the courage and walked back up to the bedroom. I did not look down. I tried to block the sight of the ambulance officers, working on the body on the floor. I caught the eye of the woman, my friend and neighbour, and just said “I am taking your daughter home with me, to help you out…..” But she did not hear, her face white and distressed staring blankly across the room at me.

So the little girl happily got in my car as if it was the greatest adventure ever. She was the same age as my daughter and they were school friends. All she could think about was staying with Maya. It was going to be fun.

I was amazed at the resilience of small children, how they could seemingly shed the horror of things they had witnessed and just play. What a blessing it was that they could “just play”. I was holding back tears and shock at what had just taken place in that home, yet this little girl could only think about what fun she was going to have.

But now, a few hours later, she had played for a while, the novelty was over, and reality had set in. She had wandered to a place by herself as her little mind tried to come to terms with what was happening.

“I think my Daddy’s going to die”.