Talya Goding

A few years ago, through blogging, I became mates with an awesome woman called Talya Goding. Talya was juggling multiple medical conditions, a situation she handled with a rare mixture of raw honesty, strength, vulnerability and grace. She shared her story of living with an ostomy and her cancer story through her blog, Feeling Ostomistic. She even used her experiences to help and support other young people going through similar struggles.

 

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The sweet, kind, generous, hilarious friend that would make it her business to tell me about crazy vagina products or hit me up with blogger goss. And yesterday morning, I learned that she had passed away in her sleep.

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Grief and the festive season, what a combination.

This time of year is full of tinsel, food and celebrations. Work parties, family get-togethers, catching up with friends. Add in the seemingly endless trips to the shops and it’s easy for anyone to feel a bit overwhelmed. But what if festive is the last thing you’re feeling right now? What if, instead of excited and happy, planning your holidays or stocking up for a party, you’re riding a tidal wave of shock and grief and loss?

Friend, I have been there and it sucks.

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This is a guest post written by Felicity Frankish from The Baby Vine.

The Death Chat

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Parenting is full of hard (and hilarious) conversations. The first one that springs to mind is usually The Talk- the good old “how are babies made” chat. But another important talk might come up sooner than you think. The conversation about the end of life. It could be the loss of a beloved pet or the death of a special family member. Or it could be as seemingly innocuous as a dead mouse on the road…

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Post-bereavement hallucinations

Several years ago know, a friend named Rebecca passed away. We’d been close in high school and kept in touch sporadically over the years. The last time we met up, she was hopeful about her treatment and planning to fight off the illness that had invaded her body. We sat in a busy cafe in the middle of Newtown, drinking coffee and giggling over what idiots we’d been in high school. She told me about her more recent travels, I probably bored the pants off her with stories of my kids. A few months later, she was gone.

A few weeks later, bustling through the city, I saw her. Wearing a black checkered shirt over a singlet, she dipped her face down behind her hand, lighting a cigarette. She looked up and met my eye as I stepped towards her, my mouth already forming her name. When I blinked, Bec’s face was gone. It wasn’t her, just someone with only a passing resemblance.

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