Tiny Stories

A helicopter hovers high above me, the buzzing dot juxtaposed against the clouds edged with sunlight, reminiscent of the Ascension. I am not Catholic, but even I am surprised when I recognise this term and share it with my husband all those years ago. I am even more surprised to find that - as we attend a friend’s wedding - my responses are automatic. “Peace be with you,” he chants, “and also with you” I reply without hesitation. A suburban chick in the country, we pile into the car with his endless siblings, off to the early morning mass, my first foray into ritual and ceremony, my own family devoid of such things. I watch The Virgin, the pressed robes of the priest, take in the smells of humanity and incense, the shuffling as he genuflects in the aisle. I absorb more than I know. © S andy Millar - available on Unsplash Back in the moment, I watch the helicopter, framed with heavenly light, I wonder about their rituals, these pilots. Getting the call, the adrenalin starts pumping thro...

It’s the 1990s. We live in a quiet cul-de-sac in suburbia, a new home and a new baby, my heart full of love, my bank account stripped. We know our neighbours, a wonderful mix of families with kids and grandkids, divorcees and immigrants. We wave to a nervous Tracey as she drives off on her wedding day, her father pleased as Punch, her mother’s eyes wet with tears and pride. Less than six months later, we are in the chapel. Tracey is in her wedding gown, but we cannot see it, even though she takes centre stage. Her husband is distraught, a lifetime of hope gone. Celine Dion plays in the background, a song that I will forever associate with this beautiful bride, It’s All Coming Back to Me Now. As I sit at my computer today, listening to this long, dramatic ballad, I’m transported back to the chapel, to conversations, to happiness, to the intense grief. ~ The amygala, the hippocampus, the adrenal glands - these are all parts of our bodies which kick in, responding automatically to our en...