I just called to say I love you

I grew up in the 1980s in a small town with a population of around 200 people, mostly farming communities. The Mallee landscape was harsh but beautiful. Springtime would line the scrub with wildflowers of all colours, the trees would flower vibrant colours and it was beautiful. I would spend my days out there with my brother, who was also my best friend. We didn't like being at home as my dad was a violent alcoholic who hurt us and our Mum. As soon as he would knock off work at the railways, he would head to the pub, using most of our families income on booze and then come home later in the night ready to fight. My brother and I witnessed things we shouldn't have and experienced things that shouldn't happen to little kids.

As a result of this trauma, I developed a trauma related stutter and selective mutism. Talking was hard, people would always comment that I was shy. I wasn't shy. I was traumatised. In my childhood, I had a big family and at the time, we were all within a 60km radius, which isn't much when you live in a small town and the one person who influenced my life the most was my Nan.

Nan lived up the road, about 15kms away in another remote town. She was a gorgeous Aboriginal woman. She didn't drink, she was always smiling, always cooking, always feeding the various animals and always singing. I used to stay with her as much as possible. I would feel warm, safe and cozy and her hugs made me feel like everything was going to be ok. Nan used to sing all the time, no matter what she was doing. The love and joy in her voice made my little heart shine and I would sing along with her, even if I didn't know the words and sung off key. It made me feel close to her and it made me feel safe. My Nan must have known, but I didn't realise until she pointed it out to me one day. When I would sing, my voice came back. I had words in my throat and I was sharing them with Nan when I would sing. And I didn't stutter.

We never sought help for anything to do with mental health or trauma when we were growing up. It wasn't even thought of, we were just trying to not get killed by my dad. So when Nan and I were making damper in the kitchen, collecting eggs from the chookshed, feeding the dogs or walking in the scrub, we would sing. I don't know how long I stuttered for, or for how long but all I know is that when I was with Nan, I was safe, I was loved, I had everything I needed. Sometimes she would call us on the phone and when we answered, she would sing the line "I just called to say I love you" by Stevie Wonder and I would be suddenly in my happy place again.

They say even if you live in a world of traumatic events, if you have even 1 good person, you might just make it out ok. Nan was mine. She died from bone marrow cancer when I was 17 which was a devastating loss but I still hear her singing Elvis Presley and Stevie Wonder in my head. As I grew into adulthood, I have collected a bunch of tattoos along the way, 20 of them actually and my 15th one was for my Nan. The treble clef, music notes and the giant love heart is in honour of my Nan, honouring the woman who kept me safe, reminded me I was worthy to the point that when I was with her, my selective mutism and trauma induced stutter would go away, just by simply singing and being in her presence.