Three gorgeous children, under the age of 8, in a Brisbane suburban backyard on a sunny Monday morning. They embark on a serious lizard-hunting expedition. My heart swells with joy…. and aches with sorrow as I watch them.
A Great Nephew
The oldest boy is my great-nephew. He is my sister’s grandson, visiting from New Zealand with his parents for a lovely long weekend of family connection and to join our annual Christmas Carols extravaganza. I visited my sister in New Zealand in January 2025. At 79 years old, she was living at home with her husband, and while she seemed somewhat withdrawn and a little confused, life was much like it had been for many years. I had an underlying sense of disquiet and gently encouraged her to talk about death and dying with her children. By May, everything had changed, and we found ourselves revisiting New Zealand. This time, my sister was living in an aged care facility and did not know who I was. She was frail and unable to walk. She will never watch her grandson curiously adventuring in her backyard or hear his yelps of delight.
A Great Niece
The girl is my great niece. She lives in Brisbane and is the youngest granddaughter of my husband’s brother, who died in 2024, too young at 66. We’ve had the delight of looking after her for six Mondays in the lead-up to Christmas. Although she lives close by, we have previously spent more time with her older sisters, so we relished getting to know this smart and inquisitive girl who loves exploring our garden. I wish her Poppy could see her now, eyes bright with wonder.
A Grandson
The youngest boy is my grandson, with us regularly on Mondays. He is the link between the two older children who come from different branches of his family. They are second cousins to him but strangers to each other until now. His excitement is pure, his joy contagious as his second cousins join him on a lizard hunt. In their laughter, I hear the next generation weaving new threads of connection.
Ordinary days, extraordinary moments
An ordinary day, but not an ordinary moment. It’s a moment heavy with meaning—a snapshot of family history, love and loss. A moment that rewards every effort to show up for these children, and honours the trust their parents place in us. A moment that whispers: This is what matters.
I am so grateful to be here on this day with these three children and hold this memory close.
What was your 2025 Moment?
This was mine—a simple backyard adventure that became a treasured memory. Life gives us these quiet, extraordinary moments if we pause long enough to notice them.
I’d love to hear your magic moment for 2025. What was the moment that made you stop, breathe, and think, This is what matters? Share your moments in the comments below. Let’s celebrate the beauty of everyday life together.
With both trepidation and excitement, Samilya and I launched our book Not Forgotten: They called me number 10 at Neerkol orphanage at 
The launch took place after the volunteers monthly lunch. Before we even had the books ready for sale we were besieged by Samilya’s colleagues and friends wanting a copy. Everyone clamoured for Samilya to sign their copy.
Remember those first weeks of lockdown early in 2020, before we got jaded and screened out? That’s when it was still fun to do zoom calls. I hadn’t yet done 8 weeks of telehealth as a psychologist and 
The impact of the pandemic hit my son and his fiancé with an unexpected ferocity. She was unable to return to the UK for her mother’s funeral and her sister’s wedding was cancelled. The ease of living overseas, where a trip home is just a day and some hard earned money evaporated overnight. If she went home for the funeral, she would not be able to return to Australia. I’m so glad she stayed. I’m also glad they had travelled to see her mum when she was ill earlier in the year.
I worried more as I stitched this wreath. My daughter and her partner were locked down in Melbourne. Basically they’d been in lockdown since 21 March 2020 and restrictions didn’t begin to ease until November 2020. I worried about their mental health, their relationship and their jobs. While they found it tough they also flourished creating art, furniture and gourmet meals. They embraced a buy local strategy and our birthdays were celebrated with bundles of gifts found within a 5 km ring of where they lived.
This wreath is for Ms Forgotten Australian’s youngest daughter’s family who hold a special place in my heart. The family underwent 4 Covid tests this year, whereas I had none. Like any family, the kids, 4 and 6 years old, bought home coughs and colds which resulted in multiple tests. I don’t know any child who looks forward to having a stranger stick a swab up their nose! It takes fortitude and integrity to turn up for yet another Covid test with fearful children, who probably just have a cold.
Our nephew, his pregnant wife, their 9 month and 4 year old daughters started the year living with us as they made the move from Sydney to Brisbane. Then they bought a new home, he started a new job, she upstaged him by giving birth to a new baby girl during Covid, and of course were separated from interstate family. Its been lovely watching their excitement and joy at each new adventure. As they hang their wreath each Christmas, I’m sure they will remember the many new beginnings of 2020, not just that they lived through a pandemic.
Clients often experience a wave of relief after their first counselling session. Their burden is shared and they feel joined on their journey. That old saying, a worry shared is a worry halved rings true.
