After paying for the coffee, Natalie strolled down to the river, where huge, old eucalypts grew along the banks. She watched the swirling, brown river making its way west. Birds squawked loudly, drowning out the occasional sound of traffic. This is the right kind of place for Chris and me. We can become part of the local community. She submitted an application for the job and settled into the Narrandera Caravan Park to await a reply. There she relaxed, occupied with reading or chatting to other occupants, easy-going, friendly folk, most of them retired.
Natalie was called in for an interview and subsequently offered the position. She doubted there was much competition in this remote area. After accepting the job, she approached a real estate agency to rent a place and was soon settled into a furnished, weather-board house with a tin roof on a large, fenced block, which would provide plenty of room for Chris to play.
She rang Gwyn. “Hi, Dad. I’m back in Australia. I’ve got a job in Narrandera in the Riverina. I’ll come up next weekend and collect Chris.”
“No, you won’t. While you were overseas we went to court and got custody of him.”
“That’s not fair. He’s my child.”
“Not any more, he’s not. You can’t have a child too afraid to go to school because he gets the stick for no reason.”
“That’s why I sent him back to you.”
“Natalie, can’t you see how disruptive it is for the child to be dragged from one place to another the way you’ve done? He needs a secure home and the chance to have friends. We tried to talk to you about it earlier but you refused to listen.”
“Can I speak to him, please?”
“Don’t upset him now. He doesn’t need that.”
Natalie heard Gwyn call Chris. Then she heard a shouted reply. “I’m not gonna talk to her.”
“I’m sorry, Natalie.”
“I heard. I’m going now. Bye.” She hung up the phone.
*
Delyth charged up to Gwyn. “How dare you. You promised you wouldn’t implement the custody order unless it was absolutely necessary. That was the only reason I went along with it.”
“You heard Chris. He doesn’t want to talk to her.”
“You’ve created that by the way you talk about her. Natalie’s our daughter and you’ve turned Chris against his own mother.”
“She isn’t a fit mother and you know it.”
“You want everything your own way, that’s all. She’ll never speak to us again after this.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, woman. She never could manage him anyway.”
“Be it on your head.”
From the next room, Chris started up with one of his screaming tantrums. For once I’m not going to calm him down. Gwyn can deal with it for a change. Delyth stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. All went silent. A short time later she saw the two of them march off together to the car with their fishing rods. It’s all right for them. She desperately wanted to speak to Natalie but didn’t have her phone number, didn’t even know where she was living. What would I say anyway? I was as much to blame as Gwyn for going along with the stupid custody action in the first place. What was I thinking? I’ll never forgive myself as long as I live.
*
Natalie remained seated in the uncomfortable old lounge chair, gazing out the window at the shrubby wattle trees, seeing nothing. She was stunned. Though Chris and she had frequently not seen eye-to-eye, she’d never imagined a time when she wouldn’t be a mother. It had given her life substance. I’m completely alone now. Chris doesn’t want me. What kind of mother am I that my own son deserts me? Has Dad been right all along? Or has he used the time with Chris to turn him against me? I thought I was providing the opportunity for him to have a more meaningful life, not suffocated by routine and western expectations. Obviously, that’s not what he wants. How could I have been so wrong?
Whatever happened to the Revolution? We were going to change the world, spread love and peace, but the world has whirled into a new soulless, technological age and I’ve been left behind. Consumerism rules. While I was looking the other way, the world turned full circle, returning to the selfish values of my parents’ generation. Economic rationalism has taken over. Where have all the loving people gone? Locked away in domesticity and 9-5 jobs? I guess it’s the same for me now. I have to work to survive.
She continued to ring her father, asking to speak to Chris but he refused to come to the phone. “He doesn’t want to talk to you, Natalie. He’s settled here and doesn’t need to be torn apart emotionally by you.”
“What if I came up?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea at present. Give it some time. Wait until you’re feeling calmer about things.”
Natalie hung up.
She wrote Chris long letters, pouring out her heart, telling him how much she loved him, apologising for her past behaviour and begging him to make some kind of contact. No reply came. She’d carelessly cut her parents out of her life in the past unless she needed something. Now she knew what it felt like. The shoe was on the other foot.
She joined the local tennis club, where everyone was friendly, but inevitably new acquaintances asked the same question, “Do you have children?” Then she found herself explaining what had happened and the old pain rose to the surface. People appeared sympathetic but Natalie wondered what they really thought about her failure as a mother. Seeing other people’s children running about amplified her loss and created a feeling of alienation. What did she have in common with these beer-guzzling country people focused on the price of oranges?
A fog of depression drifted over her, some days enveloping her more completely than others. She’d drag herself out of bed and make her way to work, to listen to the troubles of her clients. As they opened their hearts to her with their painful stories, Natalie felt a connection and empathy, to which they responded. She knew the consequences of her mistakes and was determined to help others avoid the same pitfalls. Despite her own situation, she helped others overcome their doubts and find value in their lives.
The weekend offered an escape from the now monotonous flat, dry plains of the Riverina and equally dreary country life. In the campervan she explored new territory, venturing along the Murray River and hills of northern Victoria. She walked for miles through the bush, never considering her own safety, staying overnight in isolated bush camps, far from anyone. There she tuned in to nature and found a deep, inner peace. Alone in the bush, with only her own thoughts and books to read, she felt secure in a way that alluded her in the civilized world.
One day, she was sitting in her lounge room, looking out at the yellow balls of wattle on the trees, the sun dancing off them as they waved in the breeze, when she heard a voice from deep within her soul.
You are not alone. I am with you. You have a purpose. Others need the love you have to give. Reach out to those vulnerable souls. Remember you are a spiritual being in a physical body and you are never alone. Listen and I will guide you. You are a channel for my love. Go out and provide spiritual healing to lost and bewildered souls, help them become whole and aware of their own inner beauty. Your life purpose is to help others recognise theirs. Walk among the trees, beside the river, breathe in the life spirit. Let it fill your soul. Reach out to others with the love and acceptance for which they yearn. A spiritual existence is still possible in this misdirected world. You are needed more now than ever. Your mission is to build loving connections.
Now clear in her purpose, Natalie responded to those in need with deep, spiritual love. Nothing fazed her. No pain was too great to bear. The misfortunes of the community were piled upon her. Yet, she continued to respond with compassion and love, finding satisfaction in the restoration of their lives.
She persisted with the occasional phone call to Chris but his rejection hurt too much and Natalie’s attempts at contact drifted into months, then years. She sent birthday and Christmas cards. Her parents sent her cards but there was never a word from Chris. Her
contact with Karen became intermittent. Karen wrote occasionally about her happy life with her loving husband and perfect children. Do I need further reminders of my own failures?
Over the ensuing years, her depression lifted. Middle age crept up. Her stomach bulged. Her thighs became flabby and varicose veins marred her legs. The innocence and passion of youth faded. Prince Charming would not be knocking on her door. The bald-headed, fat-bellied men of her own generation held no attraction for her. Not that she cared if she ever had sexual intercourse again. She was over it. She wouldn’t make the sacrifice of moulding her life to suit another, as her mother had done. Answerable to no one, she was free to be her own person, to think her own thoughts, unencumbered by the expectations of others. But what to do with that freedom she wasn’t sure.
Country life bored her. She no longer wanted to sit beside the river soaking up the peace of nature. She wanted to reconnect with the passion that still flickered within as a tiny spark. She wanted to reach out to life, to engage with energetic, interesting people who took life by the balls and shook it. She wanted to find a place for herself where she fitted, participating in the activities of life with all their highs and lows. It was time to come out of her shell and continue her journey.
Chapter 58
1994
Employment was readily available in Australia’s thriving capital, Canberra. It wasn’t a place Natalie had considered working but when the opportunity arose she accepted the offer of a social work position at Central Hospital and moved to accommodation in the southern suburbs. An efficient road system linked characterless satellite suburbs, with their remarkably similar shopping centres. Yet, it was pleasant driving along tree-lined roads, with cyclists and joggers on adjacent cycle-ways giving the place a youthful energy.
Needing to purchase various items for the house, Natalie ventured to the Hyperdome shopping complex. Away from fresh air and natural light, the resounding noise of voices, the cinema and shop music unnerved her. People rushed about, at times bumping against each other, seemingly lost in the business of the day. Young women exposed their flesh for the world to see. More mature ones hid theirs behind loose blouses and long skirts. With somewhere to go and something to do, there was no idle time to chat like their counterparts in Narrandera.
Yet, the lively atmosphere in Canberra stimulated Natalie. Cheerful melodies on 2CA posed a stark contrast to the mournful songs of lost love and life’s hardships, expressed in the country music from where she’d come. Surrounding eucalypt-covered mountains, with their rushing streams and abundance of walking trails, intoxicated her with their beauty after the boring, flat terrain around Narrandera.
The job at the hospital was also a dramatic change from what she was used to. Here everything was regulated and bureaucratised. She had endless hours of mandatory training to undertake before even being allowed to undertake her duties. The hospital, though probably not old, appeared dilapidated and outdated, with long dark corridors leading into enclosed wards that gave her a feeling of claustrophobia. When she did start working, it was in a locked ward for the elderly, where men and women shared four-bed rooms. Many suffered from dementia or incontinence. Odours were unpleasant and the intrusion of confused patients on others was distressing.
Huge numbers of staff – nurses, doctors, physiotherapists, occupational therapists, a speech pathologist, a dietician and another social worker, as well as any number of ring-ins – rushed about, undertaking assessments and asking patients what their goals were. Natalie thought the goals were obvious – to recover and go home, but no, patients were asked this question over and over. Their progress towards these goals was discussed at weekly case conferences, which included about 40 or 50 staff members, but excluded patients. Natalie discovered there was an obsession with discharge from the moment patients arrived. Surely, they were admitted to the hospital for a reason and treatment should be the focus.
Her role consisted principally of form-filling, either for services or guardianship orders. Everything had to be documented ad infinitum, because of paranoia about litigation. She was required to convene goal-setting and family meetings on a regular basis. Patients, outranked by large numbers of staff, dare not disagree with professionals for fear of delaying their release from this dreadful place. There was little time to get to know clients and respond to their needs. Natalie felt trapped in this new world, where accountability was paramount. At times it felt like the essence of her being was sucked dry by the computer, the statistics, the processes and the regulations that had come to tyrannize her life. Her skills in connecting with others and empowering them was a dream of the past. Here, her work intimidated clients into becoming voiceless victims.
At one of the weekly case conferences, Natalie looked across the table, stunned by the beauty of Veronica, with her smooth, black skin and dark, watery eyes. Senior Occupation Therapist, she appeared dismissive of what was going on in the room, deigning to comment only when directly asked and then, to advise apparently lesser staff how to carry out their duties. However, there was something alluring about her, perhaps in the way she ignored the ruling conventions. Natalie followed her out of the meeting.
“Where are you from?”
“London. I married an Australian and came over here fairly recently.”
“How are you finding it?”
“I miss my family and the clubs in London. Here it’s all boozing and football. The men get together and you’re left to do the cooking and cleaning up.”
“I’m new to Canberra and finding it a bit difficult too.”
“Let’s go and grab a coffee.”
They walked along the corridor together, one tall, black woman with an athletic build and long, frizzy hair twisted into plaits and her – short, dumpy and white. Veronica had an exotic look about her, while she was probably characterised by a kind of rugged determination.
It didn’t take long for Veronica to open up. “I go to a spiritualist meeting of a Tuesday evening. The leader is highly attuned. You can come with me next week if you like. It’s what keeps me going.”
“How do you know I’m spiritual?”
“I can see it in your aura.”
The two of them went to Michael’s house the following Tuesday. The fragrance of incense wafted down the driveway as they made their way to a room at the back of his house. Soft, mystical music welcomed them as they entered the room, lit dimly, only by candles. Four women and two men were already seated in comfortable chairs around the room. Natalie sat down on one of the two remaining chairs, intrigued by shelves full of an array of spiritual books and small statuettes. Wall hangings contained meaningful life messages. Veronica introduced her to everyone. Michael, with his shoulder-length hair and long, wavy beard, asked everyone to close their eyes and commenced the meeting with a prayer, asking for God’s protection. “Now focus on your breathing, allow it to slow down and become deeper. Feel the air going right to the bottom of your stomach. Hold it for a few seconds. Then slowly release it.”
As Natalie focused on her breath, she felt herself relax, experiencing a serene peacefulness throughout her body. Michael continued in a slow, quiet voice. “Imagine you are walking through a forest. See coloured flowers along the way. Hear birds twittering in the trees. A little stream runs beside the path. Notice light and shadows flickering through the trees. A gentle breeze cools you as you continue further into the forest. You come to an old, wooden door, set in a stone wall that runs as far as you can see in either direction. Look down at your hand. You are holding a key. Put it in the lock and slowly turn it. The door creaks as you open it. You walk through. Take your time. What do you see? I want each of you to continue your own journey now.”
Natalie crept along a path up a hill. She saw a little boy beckoning her at the top. As she got closer she realised it was Chris and tried to rush forward but her feet were like lead and she made no progress. His image began to fade in the mist. She could just make out the outline of her parents behind him. He turned
and walked away with them. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t restore the image. Natalie’s eyes filled with tears. She felt an excruciating pain in her stomach that became a great, empty hole. Even when Michael asked everyone to return their minds to the room and look around them, she remained in the forest, concentrating on the space where Chris had been. Finally, she dragged herself back into the room to listen to the accounts others gave of their journeys. The stories were so different but each held a special meaning to the speaker. Natalie wept as she told her story. Others comforted her, providing the consolation she needed.
It was lunch-time. Natalie and Veronica retreated to their usual picnic table outside the ward, where they could look at the flowers and listen to birds. Natalie unwrapped her lunch and forked her sliced hard-boiled egg onto her corn crisp-breads while Veronica opened a flask of blended vegetable juice and a container of mixed nuts. Natalie looked across at her friend. “So what did the clairvoyant have to say when you visited her last week?”
“She said the energies are changing, bringing the spiritual and earth planes closer together. This makes it easier to communicate with spiritual beings. A doorway is opening for us to move onto the fifth dimension. Those who go there will connect with each other in a more spiritual way.”
“I received a message about that when I was driving home the other evening. I felt all floaty and peaceful. I saw lights and shapes of things, instead of normal reality.”
Parallel Lives Page 30