i'm back

Oh wow, talk about time flying. I didn't realise that it's been six months since I last blogged.

I apologise for the long silence. All I can say is, it's been an eventful six months:

* I've lost six people who meant something in my life, and my heart is still healing from the losses.

* We had to bury Merlin, our beloved pet cat who was born with a congenital illness and died when he was only slightly over a year old.

* We've adopted two King Charles Cavalier-mix puppies who couldn't find a home.

Suffice to say that everyone in the household is still adjusting to the changes.


Racer (left) and Merlin ... two stray kittens of the same age, from different litters, came into our home and our hearts in September last year


Merlin was such a gentle, loving soul. He loved everybody, and everyone -- especially Toby (right) -- loved him right back. Merlin had the ability to defuse a volatile situation simply by going up to whichever cat was angry or stressed and cuddling up against them.


Best friends forever... Toby, Merlin and Racer.


Oh, how we miss our little angel. He was with us for such a short time, but the impact that this little sickly cat made on all our lives -- simply by showing us the power of love.

The biggest legacy that Merlin left us is this important lesson: It's not how long you live that makes the difference, but how you live that does.

We are so grateful that he chose to share his life and love with us.

And now Bronte and Boomer have come to teach us more about life and love.



Bronte (above) and her brother Boomer

pidgie's story

Yesterday afternoon, Brian came home from driving Jordan to his Chinese tuition class and announced that he'd seen a bird lying hurt on the road -- probably hit by a car -- and that he was going back out to see if he could save it. He left his car parked outside our home and walked back out to the road with a hand towel.

Fifteen minutes later, he carried the hurt bird back into the house.

When he had first caught sight of it while driving home, it was lying on the side of the road, too exhausted and hurt to fly. Brian had been unable to stop his car because of traffic, but he was afraid that it would be a matter of time before the bird moved and someone ended up driving over it.

Fortunately, in the five minutes that it took him to park the car at home, grab a towel and walk-run to to the spot where he'd seen it, the bird was still there. It was a pigeon.

It panicked when it saw Brian approaching and tried to fly across the road, but it was clearly exhausted and because its leg was hurt, it was unable to land on a tree. Eventually it simply plummeted down onto the middle of the road.

God must have been looking out for it, because that usually busy road happened to be clear of traffic, and Brian managed to dash onto the road and gently pick it up.

He wrapped it in the towel and brought it home. We were pretty certain its leg was hurt or broken, but to our untrained eye, the pigeon was still alert and its heart beat strongly. That was enough for us.

We decided to take it to the vet to see if he could do anything to help it.

But it was a Sunday, and our vet was closed. We drove to the next nearest animal clinic to see if it was, by any chance, open. Fortunately, they were. But they were closed for their lunch break and would only open again at 2pm.

As it was only a little past 1pm, we decided to drive home again and see if we could give the pigeon a little water. We had no idea how long the poor thing had been lying on the road before Brian had spotted it. And with the weather being so hot and humid lately, we were afraid it would be dehydrated.

So we got home, carried it into the kitchen and gently tried to feed it some water. It was thirsty, because it caught on to what we were trying to do pretty quickly, and drank some.

We filled a small little container with more water, just in case, and then we decided to drive to the clinic again. As we had no appointment, we thought it would be a good idea to get there before it opened so that we wouldn't have to wait too long to see the vet.

We waited outside for about 15 minutes before the vet opened. In the meantime, we stroked the pigeon, talked to it and watched to make sure it was okay. It seemed all right, and our hopes were high.

We finally got to see the vet. But the prognosis wasn't good. She checked and found that its leg wasn't broken, but that its thigh was traumatised. And she said that with birds, broken legs could easily be set but nothing could be done when their thighs were damaged or traumatised.

That area, apparently, has lots of nerves, and it is such a delicate network that operations are very difficult to perform. If we really wanted to, we could take it home and see if it would eventually heal on its own but she said the bird would not be able to return to the wild anyway because it would be unable to fend for itself.

In instances like this, she said, if we hadn't come along and picked it up, the bird would likely have died eventually. Even if we decided to take the chance and care for it at home, she said healing could take a few months and there was still no guarantee that it would survive.

Also, she said, the bird had gone into shock. She recommended euthanasia.

Knowing that what she said made sense did not make it easy. I wept then and there, and Brian had to take care of the paperwork needed to put down the pigeon. Because we had to register it as a pet, he christened it Pidgie.

Oh, how I wish things had turned out differently.

In that hour or so of non-stop activity trying to save Pidgie, we had all bonded -- as fellow creatures of God's kingdom, each with a soul.

We said goodbye to Pidgie, and sent her into God's care with love and light.

As we drove home, we talked about it. Much as we mourn having had to make the decision to end a life, we also have no regrets about all that we tried to do to save Pidgie.

Having seen a bird, or any animal or creature for that matter, lying hurt, we couldn't walk away from it without trying to see if anything could be done for it.

At least we'd tried. And I like to think that Pidgie knew that too.

God bless you, Pidgie. We're just glad you're not in pain any more, and are in the company of God and the angels.

here's to you, Dad

We laid my father-in-law to rest today, 13 days after he unexpectedly passed away in his sleep in the early hours of
May 4.

He and my mother-in-law were in Perth at the time, to celebrate the 80th birthday of one of Mum's brothers. They had been looking forward to the occasion because another brother -- whom she and her siblings had not seen in 50 years, had said he would fly to Perth for the birthday bash.

So almost three weeks ago, Brian drove them both to the airport and saw them off.

From all reports, as well as from the pictures that had been taken of the birthday bash and reunion, a good time was had by all.

Dad looked fine in the pictures. He tucked into his food and even enjoyed two glasses of beer at the birthday lunch on Saturday -- something he hadn't done in years.

The next day, he simply said he wasn't feeling too well, had a slow and easy day, and watched a game of cricket (his favourite sport) before going to bed. And just like that, he was gone.

He was 86.

Brian and I managed to reach Perth just before midnight that same day. But we didn't realise there would be so much red tape to sort through, and it took over a week before Dad could be repatriated to Singapore.

In the end, we held a special service in Perth last Sunday for relatives and friends there, and then we flew home to prepare for the funeral in Singapore. Dad only came home on Tuesday night, and then we had a three-day wake before the funeral and cremation yesterday.

Today, we collected his ashes and had them interred in the columbarium of St Mary Of The Angels, a church that Mum has been attending for years.

It has been a long and stressful two weeks for us all. But mingled with the sorrow of our loss is the joy that Dad went off in the best way possible -- in his sleep, without illness and suffering. Because he had not been ill, his face was still full and he simply looked as if he were sleeping.

But the lesson that I took away from this whole experience was the fact that one quiet, unassuming man could impact so many lives.

From the friends and relatives who came from various parts of Australia to attend the service in Perth to the colleagues, friends and relatives who came for the wake and the funeral in Singapore (some Aussie relatives who had attended the Perth service even flew to Singapore to be with the family in our time of grief), all showed in one way or other how much Dad meant to them.

I was awed, yet not surprised. My memories of my father-in-law are all good.

The first time we met, when Brian brought me home for his family's annual Christmas celebration over 25 years ago, I was in my early 20s and still very shy. Coming from a small family, I was overwhelmed by the size of the Miller clan. And when Brian left me on my own to help serve their guests, I was a little lost.

But Uncle must have noticed. He quietly came up to me and, with a twinkle in his eye, asked if he could top up my drink. He stayed to chat for a while before moving on. But those few minutes were enough to make me feel at ease.

That became the pattern of our relationship over the years. Whenever Brian brought me over for a visit, Uncle always asked if he could get me something from the bar, or if he could top up my drink. And he always spent some time chatting with me.

When Brian and I finally got married after seven years of courtship, I had grown so used to calling him Uncle that I found it hard to call him Dad. Until one day, some weeks after the wedding, we happened to be alone for a few minutes and he asked, "Why are you still calling me Uncle?"

In that instant, I realised he was actually hurt by that. All feelings of awkwardness fled then, and he has been Dad ever since.

In my near-20 years of marriage, I have grown to love Brian's family like my own. But I've always had a soft spot for Dad. Despite the stories I've heard of how stern and difficult he could also be, I have only seen his gentle, loving side and appreciated his quiet humour.

At the wake, there was an Indian gentleman who came with his family to mourn Dad's passing. He had been a peon in the office which Dad headed, and he never forgot that Dad had been the one who had given him the opportunity to do better.

It was decades ago, but even after Dad retired, the gentleman and his wife would visit every year at Christmas with gifts of delicious homecooked food for the family. Such was the loyalty Dad inspired, yet he never took such blessings for granted or as his due. Every time they visited, Dad welcomed them warmly and voiced his appreciation for the wonderful food.

There were many others who came to the wake and the funeral with stories and memories of their own.

As for me, I will always remember and love the kind, observant man with a twinkle in his eye who took the time and made the effort to make this shy and rather lost young woman feel at home so many, many years ago.

I may not have a drink in my hand now, but here's to Douglas Miller. My father ... in law and in spirit.

Till we meet again, Dad.


Douglas Miller
Dec 20, 1922 - May 4, 2009

mirror, mirror on the wall

It's been a while since I last blogged.

Not because nothing much has been happening in my life, but because so much has been happening that sometimes, I'm so busy trying to process the life lessons I'm undergoing that my mind goes blank when I sit down and try to put my thoughts and emotions into words.

There have been times when the constant energy shifts make me feel like a yo-yo -- flying high when I think I'm making progress in my soul purpose, and plummeting to the depths of grief and guilt when something or someone makes me angry or say, think or do something nasty and negative.

Nobody said it was easy.

But I take comfort in the fact that I am constantly reminded of God's unconditional love through the aid and guidance of loving angels and guides. And the people and animals who are sent to share my life and the path on which I'm on are also proof of this.

Even the people and situations that I sometimes wish would just disappear in a puff of smoke are in my life for a purpose: They hold up a mirror before me that reflects who and what I am, and what I can choose to be here and now.

That's a lot to learn and to think about. No wonder my mind sometimes goes blank.

:)

more rainbow healing!

Another rainbow appeared in our skies this evening, after yet another storm in the afternoon. This one was just as big as last week's; just not as vibrant visually.

But still, it was a beauty, and totally awesome.

I wasn't as fortunate as I had been last week. By the time I reached home, the sun had gone down and it was already getting dark ... so no rainbow.

But two kind colleagues, who had seen it from one of the windows in the office earlier, brought the rainbow to my attention. So as soon as I finished work just before 7, I dashed out of the office to catch a glimpse of it while waiting for Brian to pick me up.

Driving home all the way, in heavy traffic, I kept peering up the windscreen to try to catch sight of it.

Perhaps it was the weather. Perhaps it was because of the smog, as Brian said. But it was a little more difficult to see it. Yet even though I didn't manage to experience it the way I had last week, the rainbow light and energy was still powerful enough for me to feel it while we were travelling in the car.

A girlfriend who sent me a text message to tell me about the rainbow wanted to know what this second huge rainbow appearing in our sky, so soon after the first, meant.

I think it's just God's beautiful way of confirming that better things are to come.

All higher beings are of the light and made of light.

Mother Mary's light is rainbow hued.

The new generation of children who are entering the world today, who are very connected to their higher selves and to the spiritual law that says we are all one with God, are called the Rainbow children.

The world as we know it is changing, transforming ... just as mankind on the whole is moving up a notch in mass consciousness.

That's what the rainbow light and energy is about: Transformation. Ascension. Moving on to better things, a better world where love and peace will overcome hatred and war.

That's a promise that I have utter faith in. Nothing can be more beautiful than that.

somewhere under the rainbow

We had a mother of an electrical storm early this evening, complete with awesome zigzags of lightning ripping the sky apart which were accompanied by reverberating booms of thunder that would have sent our dog Churchie running under the bed to hide, were he still alive.

The cosmic rock concert lasted all of 10, 15 minutes and then it just rained.

Being Singaporeans used to tropical thunderstorms, most of us didn't think much of it and carried on with our day ... until we made our way home after work.

For the hugest, most perfect and gorgeous rainbow adorned our sky.

Sitting in the car with Brian as he drove along the expressway, we both saw the rainbow at the same time and we both gasped at its size and beauty.

Despite our tropical weather, we don't often see rainbows after a storm here in Singapore. The ones that we do have always appeared more far away and, hence, fainter in colour.

But this one was a gigantic, clearly defined arc with the most brilliant, vibrant colours. It was just so in-your-face, and I've never seen anything like it.

Even through our rain-dappled windscreen, its magnificence was breathtaking. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

When we got home, it was just about 7 and still light (a rare occurrence for me, as I don't often get home till about 8pm). But what made it extra wonderful was that the rainbow was still visible, and now it seemed to arch right in front of our home.

The moment we got out of the car, we could see it in its entirety, in full, glorious technicolour.

We called Jordan out to look at it, and these pictures were taken by him, with his camera phone, from the stoop outside our apartment.

We got even more excited when we saw that the rainbow had a "double" arching over it. Its colours were fainter, and it wasn't a complete arc, but still it was there.



For almost five minutes, the three of us stood gazing up at this beautiful, awe-inspiring proof of God's power of creation and love. I don't know if Brian and Jordan realised it, but we were all buzzed by the high-voltage rainbow energy and light.

We watched some birds fly across the sky, as if trying to touch that beautiful arc of light and colour, and then the sun went down. All too soon, the rainbow "lost" half its arch before swiftly disappearing from view.

I thank God for this very special gift today -- a truly up-close-and-personal healing with rainbow light and energy.

And I believe that all who were beneath this rainbow today, whether we were standing outdoors admiring it or cooped up in cars or buildings, oblivious to it, received a dose of healing energy and light. It was that powerful.

Even now, as I write this, I can still feel the buzz of rainbow energy running through me. What a high.

And oh yes, I've fallen in love with God all over again.

More pictures (taken by me)!!

happy birthday, sweet 16

My son Jordan turned 16 today.

Where has the time flown?

I see this lanky young man standing before me, and images of a newborn baby with a full head of hair and tiny, long fingers flash before my eyes. I can still hear him, as a toddler, clapping his hands and singing when we were on the bus home after an outing one day, entertaining the other passengers with his infectious joy and little chipmunk voice.

I miss the long, curly ponytail that he'd had to have cut off when he started primary school -- a lock of hair that we'd left uncut since he was a baby.

I miss the little boy who used to quietly slip his hand into mine or his Dad's whenever he needed reassurance, the child who would unhesitatingly climb onto our laps for a kiss and a cuddle whenever he wanted because he was so confident of our love.

The young man who stands before me today won't let me hug him in public because it's uncool and embarrassing. But every night before he goes to bed, he willingly gives me a goodnight kiss, and returns the occasional hug that I manage to steal.

This young man no longer tells us everything, and there are things in his life that we do not know about. But while we've taught him that privacy is to be respected, he also knows that it is not to be abused; that truth and trust are to be held in even higher regard. So I'm grateful that he still willingly tells us about his day, choosing to share with us the things that matter -- his friends, his thoughts, his fears and his dreams.

As I look at Jordan today, I still see my baby, my little boy. But I also see the sensitive, compassionate, peace-loving and intelligent teenager that he is, and the wonderful man that he is becoming.

And I am grateful for this very precious gift that God entrusted into our care.

Happy birthday, son.