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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave Anything you want my darling. Anything you need. Just give me the word.’ Tom had said tenderly to his emotionally weathered partner. How could she love him more at that moment? In that one small but monumental phrase he picked her up as if a craftsman might carefully gather and mend the broken parts of a toy. He will do the shopping, the clothes, look after the kids, and make dinner that night. - Quote by Felicity Chapman

Anything you want my darling. Anything you need. Just give me the word.’ Tom had said tenderly to his emotionally weathered partner. How could she love him more at that moment? In that one small but monumental phrase he picked her up as if a craftsman might carefully gather and mend the broken parts of a toy. He will do the shopping, the clothes, look after the kids, and make dinner that night.

Felicity Chapman
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Looking down from a fork in the tree, a little girl shivers in the bitter autumn wind. She could be inside in the warmth. Inside; amidst all the smelly pots and pans and piles of dirty clothes. The darkened lounge room flickering out a constant reel of cartoons; the light outside strangled as it tries to valiantly penetrate curtains too hard for a child to open.Michelle had gone into her Auntie’s room, as she had done many times before, to say that she will just be outside. ‘Okay my dearie,’ came the exhausted reply. There Patricia lay, her crumpled hair peeping out from the blankets. The stale, sour, smell of too much hibernation trapped in that tiny room. Her frayed sequin shoes left discarded near the door. The feather cap hanging limply from her dresser door, waiting for life to ride underneath it once again and for the wind to make it shimmer with delight. Michelle had walked outside, hoping that this canyon of loneliness would not follow her down the stairs. Out into the sounds of activity, the fresh waft of sea air, and the theatrical display of birdlife. There, Michelle now sits, watching it all as she reunites with the silent strength of her tree.
Felicity Chapman
She is a prisoner on the stage as her eyes dart from her notes to the awaiting guests. She cannot leave. She has to live out each excruciating moment. She can no longer feel why it was important to do this in the first place. Her mind has become a Holocaust survivor, just grasping at life, trying to see it through in the paltry way that it exists right now.
Felicity Chapman
The truth had been said but evil had been done.
Felicity Chapman
After an eternity she tries to rise. When was it that she had slunk and crouched on the tiles like a haggard waif? Black crows fly down to feast on her eyes. Trembling, her body summons its strength to stand against the swirling mass around her. A long strand of hair falls across her face. She does not bother to brush it back. Instead it stays there like a fly stuck in ointment, strands glued to her tear stained face. Steadying herself on the kitchen bench she edges her way toward the sink to fill a glass of water. Breathe Lisa! Her troubled mind instructs.
Felicity Chapman
If you have ever felt slightly nauseous walking through an aged care facility, puckered your face against a smell, observed a grown woman clutching a dolly with desperation, felt a flood of melancholy as death fills your view – then you are in a perfect position to be a supportive psychotherapist for those whose lives are peppered with this everyday.
Felicity Chapman
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