:: About Peaches (Again)

Aw Peachy keen.

Here’s the thing. I really do feel terrible about Peaches. I am trying to make sense of how deeply sad I feel, so I thought I’d write it down.

Back in the 80s when Live Aid was on telly for days and days, Bob Geldof seemed like the very best man in the universe. (I think he actually is.) Not only was he on stage with Duran Duran, the good kind of Madonna and David Bowie, he was trying to tackle the terrible problems in Africa AND he was in love with Paula Yates.  Le sigh.

I taped the whole 20 gazillion hour show and played it back on the VCR over and over again in my Canberra lounge room. I bought the single, knew all the words, knew who sung which bit, mimicked the hair, worried about Africa. It totally defined my teenage years and was my very first taste of being part of something bigger and more important than me.

Next Bob married Paula. They were the ultimate cool couple. When life seemed so straight and square and set in stone, Bob and Paula were doing their own thing, creative and wild and funny looking. Dapper and dandy and sassy and minxy, they were everything most families couldn’t be, in an irreverent and cheeky and loved up way.

Even their version of beauty was different to the usual good looks we were being fed via the media. They were INTERESTING, challenging and lovingly unwholesome. So good.

Around this time I was being lovingly unwholesome too. I left home, moved states, fell in love, had a baby.  Bob and Paula did that too (the baby bit, I mean… and the love bit too, actually.)

Once they got started there was no stopping them.  (I was MUCH more restrained!) Soon enough there were Bob n Paula babies with unlikely names all over the place. It was a pleasure to behold!

Miss Peaches was 12 months younger than my Rin and I loved seeing her in supermarket mags when I bought my Cadbury Dairy Milk at Safeway. I was really stoked when the local library got Paula’s parenting book and I could read a bit more about how to be an irreverent but common-sense parent. (I think Peaches parented a lot like Paula did in the early years, before it all went a bit awry…)

Next, things took a pretty sharp turn in an even more unexpected direction. Paula fell in love with Michael Hutchence (and vice-versa). We were SO sad for Bob, although… it was MICHAEL HUTCHENCE! This created a confusing Bob-loyal-Paula-admiring-Michael-crushing quandry. It seemed that it would be hard NOT to fall in love with Michael and we watched as the babies with unlikely names were bestowed a sister with an equally fabulous moniker and somehow Bob worked it all out, got a new girlfriend, got on with things. Um, amazing blended family alert!

And then it got awful. Michael died. Paula died. It was all a bit shocking. Little Tiger was dispatched to the arms of Bob and her sisters. It was super terrible, but we knew Bob was a great man and he’d see everyone through. (Somehow.)

For a while we watched all the wildly named girls grow up in their own wild or unwild ways. We really cared because these lovely girls were navigating this really tough stuff right before our eyes. We wanted them to do well, thrive, bloom, just be okay.

All those weekly magazines were keen to share a glimpse of a Pixie or a Fifi or a Peaches at every opportunity. We saw them working life out in the gossip pages, eager for any news or signs of progress, positivity, happiness. And, in our minds, we sent virtual smooches and squeezes.

(It was the Geldofs and the Royals when it came to tabloid-famous families. That was it. I know I related more to the Geldof/Yates/Hutchence version of messy family life, although there were bits I could most definitely do without.)

It was so comforting and inspiring when Peaches popped out the other side of adolescence, an adult, and a clever blooming one at that. We shared her clever demolition of that blonde lady on telly with pride and admiration. We giggled along with her on Twitter as she shared her cute life with us.  But just as we were falling even more in love with Peaches via Instagram, it’s all turned around again. In the space of a few days we’ve gone from hearting pics of Parpy on Insta to trying not to read the RIP Peaches tributes that have appeared under every photo. I shake my head. I do.

Yet again, somehow Bob’s got to work it out. (Not to mention Peaches’ Thomas, Astala and Phaedra and Peaches’ sisters. How MUST they feel?)

I only know how I feel. I feel like a little part of me has been lost. Clever, fun, kind, wobbly Peaches who seemed to be totally triumphing and moving out of the foggy family past is gone. That chirpy, radiant, hopeful grown child (of a departed, fragile, awesome mumma), who was definitely going to forge ahead to a happy, wonderful, juggly life has been denied that chance. One of those familiar, gorgeous Geldof girls who we felt an affinity with, a soft-spot for and far-flung duty of care to has just disappeared.

It all seems completely unfair.

Again we’ll be worriedly watching to see if everyone’s okay. Hands on hearts, many of us feeling the loss too.  A peachy part of life (albeit viewed from afar) is gone.

I feel so sorry that people will think of the terrible tragedies in the family when they speak of Peaches now. That her thoughtful, clever, determined positivity may be overlooked amidst the sadness. I’m sorry that she didn’t get her chance to realise all the BIG, GREAT things she was obviously destined for. I’m sorry that her boys will not get to know her, that she doesn’t get the chance to just do the normal things a woman her age can do, that she’s been somehow robbed of all those special and less special little moments, that she didn’t get a chance to plan for that. I’m sorry that her loved-up, all-in, do-it-their-way family have lost this lovely girl.

And I think that there’s only so much a really great man can take. I think Bob’s had to deal with more than anyone ever should. I wish I could give him a squeeze, make him a cup of tea, bake some banana bread. SOMETHING. I actually can’t imagine what would be helpful at a time like this, truth be told.

I hope he’s being looked after. I really do.