On The Trail Of Charles Sobhraj---The Pureness Of Evil And Friedrich Nietzsche Chapter Four
Without Prejudice
After I had finished the book I sank into a depression so bad I was beside myself with fear and horror.
Stupidly I had looked up on Google Nietzsche and Nihilism and was instantly bottomed out.
Did life really have no meaning ?
Was this world, our lives, just a ghastly series of events that merely ended in pain, suffering and death.
I was sick, I had no where to go, so at six thirty at night I went to bed. Rain thundered down beating a tattoo on the tin roof, scaring the family cat, that adopts me sometimes and he yowled to be let out.
I turned off all the lights and went back to the land of Counterpane, my bed and sobbed like a baby.
I cried for the Father that had lost his Son to a Monster, the Cobra, Charles Sobhraj. I cried for the daughter I had lost at 12, 26 long years ago. It's not something you get over. It lives with you, the grief and it is like it was yesterday.
People say stupid things like,
" But it was soooooo long ago "
But to a parent, it's not. It's yesterday and the agony is mixed with the sweetness of the child.
I cried, I raged, I spoke to myself and a God I thought had abandoned me, snot and tears flowing into my pillow, the tissue box fallen onto the floor forgotten.
I begged to " Go Home "
I cried for my Mum and Dad.
They too had lost a child, my brother Jamie aged 11. I was 5 when he died.
But mostly I just kept repeating that I wanted to be with her, Lauren, to look once more on that beautiful face, to hold her, to walk hand in hand with her in a meadow in a better world.
I despaired of life. I felt selfish and stupid, ugly, lonely, abandoned.
" Where was she ?"
I thought about ending my pain, and what effect that would have on others.and I thought the only one it would affect would be Cruz. My nearly five year old Grandson that out of 14 Grand Kids is a standout. And he lives me. Adores me.
What would his life be like without " Nana "
I thought of him coming up my steps with his box of Weetbix and his plastic bottle of milk to let me make breakfast for him.
How he would stand there other times with his hands behind his back,
Stating with delight,
" I got a pwize for you "
And then laughing as he handed me a piece of Lego.
And at the time in my despair for mankind I didn't care. That's what depression does.
He would grow up, become a man, barely remembering his Nana.
I never forgot Jamie and his spirit, his laugh, his jokes, his beautiful moon like face, freckled, like mine. I was 5. And I never forgot him and never will.
In the mid nineties one of my children brought me a photo of Jamie's Grave in Port Augusta and almost forty years after he died I broke down and sobbed for him, cried for that beautiful boy. A rusted cross on a mound of grass is all he had.
I broke down then. Asked my siblings to do something. They were wealthy and I was flat broke but I asked them and they did. He has a beautiful grave now. My Sister and husband travelled from Qld To S.A. And buried him properly.
She went through the Newspaper Archives in Adelaide and as she turned the pages she was filled with a feeling of dread as it neared the date Lauren died. Jamie aged 11 and Lauren aged 12 died on the same day, 32 years apart. 30th November. Both children killed tragically. She under water he under sand.
I ended up falling asleep exhausted from crying, not wanting to get up the next day. I went back to the Doctors only because I had to. And Cruz heard me and was waving from the window.
Cest La Vie.
Nette x.
After I had finished the book I sank into a depression so bad I was beside myself with fear and horror.
Stupidly I had looked up on Google Nietzsche and Nihilism and was instantly bottomed out.
Did life really have no meaning ?
Was this world, our lives, just a ghastly series of events that merely ended in pain, suffering and death.
I was sick, I had no where to go, so at six thirty at night I went to bed. Rain thundered down beating a tattoo on the tin roof, scaring the family cat, that adopts me sometimes and he yowled to be let out.
I turned off all the lights and went back to the land of Counterpane, my bed and sobbed like a baby.
I cried for the Father that had lost his Son to a Monster, the Cobra, Charles Sobhraj. I cried for the daughter I had lost at 12, 26 long years ago. It's not something you get over. It lives with you, the grief and it is like it was yesterday.
People say stupid things like,
" But it was soooooo long ago "
But to a parent, it's not. It's yesterday and the agony is mixed with the sweetness of the child.
I cried, I raged, I spoke to myself and a God I thought had abandoned me, snot and tears flowing into my pillow, the tissue box fallen onto the floor forgotten.
I begged to " Go Home "
I cried for my Mum and Dad.
They too had lost a child, my brother Jamie aged 11. I was 5 when he died.
But mostly I just kept repeating that I wanted to be with her, Lauren, to look once more on that beautiful face, to hold her, to walk hand in hand with her in a meadow in a better world.
I despaired of life. I felt selfish and stupid, ugly, lonely, abandoned.
" Where was she ?"
I thought about ending my pain, and what effect that would have on others.and I thought the only one it would affect would be Cruz. My nearly five year old Grandson that out of 14 Grand Kids is a standout. And he lives me. Adores me.
What would his life be like without " Nana "
I thought of him coming up my steps with his box of Weetbix and his plastic bottle of milk to let me make breakfast for him.
How he would stand there other times with his hands behind his back,
Stating with delight,
" I got a pwize for you "
And then laughing as he handed me a piece of Lego.
And at the time in my despair for mankind I didn't care. That's what depression does.
He would grow up, become a man, barely remembering his Nana.
I never forgot Jamie and his spirit, his laugh, his jokes, his beautiful moon like face, freckled, like mine. I was 5. And I never forgot him and never will.
In the mid nineties one of my children brought me a photo of Jamie's Grave in Port Augusta and almost forty years after he died I broke down and sobbed for him, cried for that beautiful boy. A rusted cross on a mound of grass is all he had.
I broke down then. Asked my siblings to do something. They were wealthy and I was flat broke but I asked them and they did. He has a beautiful grave now. My Sister and husband travelled from Qld To S.A. And buried him properly.
She went through the Newspaper Archives in Adelaide and as she turned the pages she was filled with a feeling of dread as it neared the date Lauren died. Jamie aged 11 and Lauren aged 12 died on the same day, 32 years apart. 30th November. Both children killed tragically. She under water he under sand.
I ended up falling asleep exhausted from crying, not wanting to get up the next day. I went back to the Doctors only because I had to. And Cruz heard me and was waving from the window.
Cest La Vie.
Nette x.
