Is the Party Over? Fiona Kent's Journey Through Love, Life and Letting Go

Idle chatter over a beer on a Friday night became the norm. It served my needs, socially and emotionally. It filled the mysterious after-work void left behind by the last break-up. He seemed to reciprocate the sentiment. No topic was off limits, except of course those related to our professional employment. Five o'clock closing was the unspoken, enforced rule to ensure a complete switch-on to balance work and life.

Playful moments in the waves on our boogie boards began to take over hot summer evenings, irrespective of the day of the week. The thrill of stronger surf with an incoming tide and a northerly blowing invoked mutual delight. Even his beloved retrievers joined in. We never did buy them their own boards. Perhaps we should have, as they rode ours whenever they could.

Unbidden stares into the flickering light of the campfire conjured thoughts of what our futures might become. The occasional glance at the glinting Southern Cross directed our conversations towards offshore fishing, navigation, and endless questions about how early explorers found their way safely to South Australian shores. We lost track of time.

Before we knew it, we were putting each other's bins out and walking the dogs together. Cross-referencing who needed to be dropped at which of the not-so-nearby airports led to long early-morning and late-night drives, ostensibly to conserve time and fuel. In essence, this created a new habit of gourmet picnics at random parking bays along the highway. All flights went to the city. It was a given that one must return home and share treats from the Central Market.

Then he popped the question. I wasn't quite ready. I may have responded so at the time. But adventure was what I was after. That would be a yes. Adventure together, in earnest it was. Limestone and brick, piped music, parquetry floors, and a shed to fulfil the needs of every man's dreams, and maybe mine too. Welcome to the mortgage repayment priority over parties in the city lifestyle. Parties at home instead. Why waste what was built for entertaining in?

Dreams of travelling South America for a year, on full pay, flew out with the appearance of solid double lines in that window. Lyrics from any song which popped into our heads at 3am drowned out the teething screams. To this day, I am still figuring out who was more comforted by:

"Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores, porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones..."

Groovy dance moves perfected in another lifetime swayed the little blue eyelids shut, day or night. Singing in the shower hydrated the vocal folds, and possibly refreshed our weary faces. Long nights partying followed by long days at work proved to be the perfect fitness preparation. She was cute though, even at 4am.

She needed a playmate.

How did we get here?

Escaping the four walls. The great outdoors beckoned once again, demanding a change in incentive. Hockey, basketball, tennis, dance. Exactly how many genres could these children possibly master? Team sailing. The stage for Rapunzel, stuck in the watch tower, wishing for something better to do on a perfect summer's day.

Part-time jobs were squeezed into the little cracks in their calendars. Mum's taxi, and Dad's, got a fair workout. So did the kitchen.

I used to have my own life.

A song with no backing track drifts on the shower steam through the window into the garden swelling my heart. Tyres crushing gravel on their way out the driveway filled it with both pride and sheer terror. Thank God for Find My iPhone. They were safe. I had to trust. Always.

Piano caressed with dust. Bedrooms silent. Biscuit boxes unopened. The odd text message here and there reminding me of my achievements. A new void to fill.

Now what?