Theresa is 16. Our darling Paul was 14 years, 4 months and 14 days young.

"Mary's dead....??" The mare held my weight. I was leaning two hands against her side just trying to stay upright. The retained heat from our ride moving from her body through into my hands. Seconds flew by as my eyes closed then reluctantly opened again to see my mothers lips move.

"Yes dear"

Mum's words echoed around me and I pounced. This couldn't possibly be true! I had so much to do with, and for, Mary. So much to say. So many miles to travel in life with her.

"But I have to meet her! I was going to see her in person and say thank-you and give her a big hug... oh fuck, those poor boys"

"Language Theresa" Mother dragged me from the mares side and wrapped me in her arms tight.

Daddy went bush after he received the telegram, its butter yellow parchment fluttered gracefully to the kitchen floor, and there, it remained.

I imagine he lifted his trusty Akubra off the nail on the hallway wall, pressed it deep on his head and strode purposely, with his back ramrod straight, from the house. The old Honda then kicked over and flogged hard as it wheeled out of the shed, down the rutted road that led to the north of the property. I think he may have gone to the gorge....

All I saw was dust, thick choking red dust.

Therefore, it was mother that broke the news. Tenderly spoken as I curry-combed my horse after a ride out along the razorback of the gorge. Where beautiful towering sandstone cliffs form a spectacle of steep-sided rock which narrow and widen inconsistently all along the way. Colours light to dark, showing eons of time etched through the mighty wall in waves.

That same gorge that daddy most likely was now riding into. Albeit, a hundred feet below where I had drawn on the mare's rein and watched the sulphur crested cockatoos flocking across the expanse of blue overhead. Squawking and flapping so close together they seemed to make a blanket of white as they banked north east only to spread miles wide over the cloudless azure sky as they turned to wing true north.

He loves that boulder- strewn creek that leads to our 'secret' ever so deep, freshwater pools.

His thinking place. His heaven on earth.

"Sorry Ma" We both had tears glistening and threatening a cloud burst in our eyes as she helped me place the mare in the paddock. Woodenly, and somewhat blind to everything around me, I lifted the stock saddle to place it in its spot in the tack room, bridle raised higher still, to the peg on the wall above. Mary was part of us, certainly part of me and I felt all those feelings you're supposed to feel even though I've never laid eyes on her...

Oh yes I did.. when I was first born.......

"She wasn't feeling well in her last letter remember?" We made the kitchen, me slumping into a chair, mother sitting with her usual grace. I don't recall passing the homesteads dilapidated garden gate, touching fingers to the strands of dry grass that stuck out into my path as I walked... nor felt the screen door whack against my back as it slammed shut behind me. Come to think of it I must have climbed the stairs to get into the house, yet nothing tallied in those moments bar the wave of a butter yellow parchment as mummy sat with dejection at the kitchen table, the sad news held in her hand.

A pile of spuds sat half peeled, forgotten. Now they were turning brown in the afternoon heat. "Do you want me to fetch the envelope from my shoe box?"

"No darling, it's all right. Jim must be having a hard time of it... and yes those boys too, so young to be without"

I started crying inside for everybody then.. Daddy losing his only sister, my mother losing a miracle worker of a friend, and sister-in-law.

Crying for Jim and crying for the two boys just..... what were they now? Twelve and nigh on fourteen... losing their mum....

Crying for me.

I'm just being greedy now.

My thoughts whirled like a cyclone inside. Spinning round and round taunting me for all the moments I would not share with her, Mary, my real mum...

Crying for myself.

Honestly, I shouldn't be so attached. I've never heard her voice or known her hugs, had my hair touched by her hairbrush as she tugged it through nor felt her kisses on my cheek... I shouldn't cry for my not having met her or my not having gone on a grand holiday to England to see her. I shouldn't. I should cry for people that actually knew her, knew her voice and kisses and hugs and love and how wonderful she was. I should-

Tears burst forth. A storm of pain and anger and greed and yes, I feel it- horrid jealously all rolling like thunder and pelting rain over me. I ached for them that had her; I felt anger and green with envy for me that hadn't.

"I'm so horrible. I think horrible things" Gulping down a breath I felt my fingers curled tight in mums' shirt. Holding on for my mind to slow from the torrential rain of guilt.

Yes guilt. I was guilty of thinking of myself not Jim, not James or Michael... me.

Me, me, me!

"Oh huny, hush now... hush. She knew you loved her, you can cry, you can yell. Oh baby, you can" Mum pressed me close and began to sob right alongside of me.

"But she didn't know I loved her, not really" I wiped my tears and sniffled as I looked out the window for daddy. I crossed my fingers that nothing bad would happen to him too; while he was out and all upset on his lonesome.

"Oh yes she did Terri. From the moment you arrived to the last breath she took she knew you loved her... From your tiny hand pressed against her cheek when you were first born. From all those drawings you lovingly made and sent to her.... All the long letters you wrote... She knew you had her in your mind and heart and soul so don't you ever let anyone tell you any different" Mum stood and shook her hands out "Now off you go, do the chores it's overly late, shoo! I've got laundry to fold, and the men's' meals to get started"

We walked away from our tears, each tangled and twisted in our own thoughts.

When daddy eventually arrived home in the evening moonlight, we all lay in my parents' big bed, comforter tugged up high, even though it was a little warm. We cuddled close.... and when my breathing settled and mother's little snores blessed my ears, I heard the most distressful noise I think I had ever heard in my whole entire life. So sad the sound, it hurt me deep inside. It was my big strong daddy crying. My big brave, never scared of nothing, daddy crying in the darkness.

I snuggled closer and wrapped him to me tight and, because I wasn't there, wished love and gigantic hugs to my other family so far away from me, across the ocean waves.

*****

"Fetch him down" Jim stood grasping the banister rail at the bottom of the stairs. The funeral was at half two and they had to be leaving. Needed to be on time to say.... to say good-.... Steel up man! It does a fellow no good to break in the daylight hours. Hurry the lads up, let's get this day done, then you can break "Hurry up Michael!"

"He says he isn't up to it. He says he can't" His fingers bit into his palms as he told his father the news. Ever since mother had passed Paul wouldn't react to anything Michael said, wouldn't fight nor flee, just sat staring out his window vacantly or curled into himself, pretending to sleep. And, not much better was Da, who would retire to his room for eons and then some. Michael. Well Michael coped, but barely. Feet treading ever so gingerly for fear of creating any kind of disturbance in the delicate balance between coping and collapse. Michael now ate like a sparrow; His mouth and jaw and tongue all grudgingly chewing tiny helpings of whatever Auntie Gin had set upon the gas cooker that afternoon.

To Michael food all tasted horrid now. Just like the grey skies all about.

Since that godawful day it was like the sunshine and happiness had evaporated out of everything in their lives. Since she went away, they were all left with a hollow void and pain in their hearts.

Passing by photographs, stepping higher, Jim forlornly proceeded to fetch Paul himself.

The poor lads' door stood a smidge ajar, and the lad lay huddled on the bed. Jim took all the emerging adolescence in. Eyes staring at nought it seemed. Paul lay facing the pale lemon wall, knees drawn up and in, hands wrapping them tight.

The man that Jim was today, the father he should be, was at a loss. No words of wisdom could assemble, he could mutter nothing to fix this, nothing. His eyes dropped to his own hand. A visible tremor had now resulted in his fingers clutching the doorknob overly tight. Unconsciously, he was again glassy-eyed.. What could he say to a motherless boy that would warm his eyes from the chill of loss and disperse the tears that filled them.

And truthfully... curled up on his bed was what he felt like doing himself.

For an eternity and a day....

Mary would push him though; there would be no qualms about that particular fact. From beyond the grave, from heaven, she would see them right and there was not a doubt, not one, that she would somehow, someway, push and prod and poke him in the heart to raise her, no, their boys proper. She would push him to do what was right by them, for them and of course, she would be an angel hovering over all of them, guiding them on the right paths for the rest of their lives.

Goodness, how do you be a man, a father, when all you want to do is go right along and die with her? Step to the cliff edge and join her in the bowels of death. To stay forever, with the woman you pledged your entire life to.

"Paul" Jim whispered as he drew the lad up beside him on the bed. Hands flew as soon as Jim touched him, hugging his Da so tight. Holding him close, squeezing promises out of the hollow man.

Yes lad, I promise I will be here with you. You boys are not alone. Never ever shall you be alone.

"We have to go now lad and see her off to the angels. Wipe your eyes. That a boy" Jim offered his handkerchief and let a glimmer of a smile drift over his ashen face as Paul snatched the starched white hanky away and, with embarrassment bellying his movements, blew; and wiped tears and the slick mess off from under his nose.

No tears had appeared before this sombre day and Jim McCartney wondered if they would stick around or flee as fast as they had arrived. Paul, being of that age now, where adolescence collides and crashes clashes with adulthood.

Tempered and curbed a child's innocence was as adulting pressed its weight of masculinity, and bottled emotions, on to shoulders with no thought of the youth it crushes beneath.

No middle-ground for his boy to step. As a teen, so very recently emerged, was pounded down by adulthoods responsibilities. Nothing to quell nor ease the ways of the world of a man.

Paul stood and lifted his chin defiantly. And those eyes. Those eyes his mother had boosted to anyone who would listen.. were the 'most gorgeous eyes of a child she had ever seen,' steeled.

He would survive; And he would step into a world without his mother, whether he liked it.... or not.

Jim followed Paul down the narrow staircase, fingers gently touching frames of her charming image as he descended. Jim straighten his hunch as he reached the last step.

He would survive; And he would step into the world without his wife, whether he liked it.... or not.

Glossary

Cockatoo- The Sulphur-crested Cockatoo are probably Australia's best known parrot. Average 50cm in length and 780g (1.7 pound) in weight. These birds are often kept as pets, as they are extremely intelligent and are very good at learning to talk. They can be very loud, mischievous and live for more than 70 years! (I've had a few so I know how loud they are!) Great little clip of a tame Cocky here http://education.abc.net.au/home#!/media/1226773/