Linda Collins Quotes

We want to feel the pain of her loss, because at least it is something of her to feel. However, the result is that we don't sleep. The nearest thing to sleep that I experience is blacking out, from which I emerge instantly awake, twitchy and unrefreshed. And always, I wake with the knowledge that she is dead. There are no vestiges of dreams where she is alive. I don't seem to dream at all.

My dad - Victoria's grandfather, "Poppa Jim", as she called him - is forever waist-deep in the warm water of the harbour, holding a body.

Dad's voice falters as he says goodbye. He is choking down his own grief to protect Mum, I know. He loves her deeply. I accept that he is incapable of expressing all this, and I am incapable of even saying the right thing, should he ever do so. And lurking deeper, is the knowledge that he has been here, himself. When I was aged about 5, his father - my grandfather - had cancer and took his own life by walking into the sea. My dad found his body under a jetty. What would it have been like to experience that tragedy? And then, to try and live, to go on raising a family, with those images haunting you?

Aswepulluptothe industrial facility that houses the newspaper's operations, I feel immense dread. It is because my life is utterly changed, and yet returning to work symbolises picking up the reins of continuity. It trivialises Victoria's death. How can resuming work and paying the bills be more important than mourning the loss of one's own child? Such grief will take a lifetime. If I get out of the car and go in through the entrance, it means suppressing that grief. It means the farce begins of having people think that you accept she is dead. And it is the beginning of 'After'.

They see it as perfectly normal for me to sit beside Victoria's body for hours on end, telling her how much I love her and all the things I meant to inform her of but never got around to. How her grandfather Jack was a conscientious objector in the Second World War, but did not want to be separated from his mates, and so became an ambulance officer. How Grandma Sheila recalls him waking from a frequent dream of the trenches, always crying out, "I can't reach him, I can't reach him." That he was a brave man who did the best he could within his own principles. Of how he would have loved her and been so proud of her. Asking Vic to tell Jack we miss him.

Parents have their own reasons for what they say and who they are, and I had always loved them even if they seemed dismissive, but that day I realise a horrible truth. Possibly they love me, but they really don't like me.
It feels like I am losing not just my daughter, but my family.

Amid this constant physical presence of fellow human beings, we gaze inward, trying to absorb what has happened with our lives and why the person we love the most is not here.

I try to be the rock that I see they hope I can be. People can take only so much distress and hair-tearing. They need to be given to, as well as to give. What they want from me is hope, that I can carry on, that everything will sort of be all right.

If we had flown Victoria to New Zealand, she would have been at a funeral home, with private viewings in an atmosphere of stilted, muffled unquiet. I would have had little opportunity to sit with the body and pour out my lament.
The Singaporeans would not have been there with their reassuring ease in the ritual of mourning. My family might have come bristling with disrespect, and rent the air with accusations and blame. Some mourners would have been embarrassed by my tears. They and others would have wanted the whole thing done and dusted quickly. The funeral director or an assistant might well have been the ones dressing the body. I would have not realised the normality of death so
quickly, and more importantly at this point, the absolute necessity to go briefly mad with grief, to cover yourself - metaphorically - in the dowdy burlap of mourning.

Vocational guidance officers speak about scores necessary to get into university, how to calculate them, what band might be needed to get into various institutions, what countries they can offer information on, what courses are available.
The post-school future they outline is entirely about getting into a university. There is nothing on alternative futures. The parents around me seem fine with this. Presumably they have academically successful children and have bought into the notion that raising a child is primarily
about getting them to pass exams to enable them to be an economically productive unit in society.
All those claims of building better humans, of being the best you can be, of following your passion, of learning to be inclusive and that everyone has something to offer, are all lies. It is simply about being a banker, IT or human resource person, sales manager, accountant, or a supportive spouse.