My Walk Through The Shadow Of Death…
Death is always hard to talk, and write about, especially when confronted with it in your own family, and/or circle of close friends.
Then again, baby boomers like me probably don’t expect to die anyway…
This post isn’t meant to be overly religious, or spiritual, but I believe that those factors come into every ones’ experience.
I had been thinking about writing this article because a friend’s daughter had been having trouble following the passing of her father.
Writing to her made me realize that there are many more people, obviously, going through the same thing.
This was brought home to me again by the fact that my friend Geoff’s mother has just had a heart attack.
I was with Geoff last year on a business trip when I got word that Dad had been taken to hospital, and he was close at hand when Dad passed away a few hours later.
As a former health professional, I’m acquainted with the clinical aspects of death, but when it strikes family members, the event assumes a completely different perspective.
Part of the problem in western society is that we go to hospital to have babies, and to die, so that we have, in a sense, lost touch with part of the cycle of life.
Dying is, and always has been, a natural part of of the rhythm of life if you like.
My Parents.
During the depression years of the 1930’s, my (maternal) grandfather had gone on the road seeking work, and supported his family while making a living shearing sheep, and droving cattle. My grandmother stayed at home rearing her 14 children practically by herself
My mother was a country girl, who’d grown up in the Gulgong area of NSW, and moved to the regional center of Bathurst, NSW Australia, during World War 2.
She lived with my great grandmother and worked in the city.
Dad too had grown up in a regional area, in the Victorian city of Ballarat.
Ballarat had a rich history as well, in more ways than one, being a major gold mining area, something that it had in common with Bathurst. Both cities had a history of turbulence and martial law, and both played a role in the Federation of the Australian colonies.
Bathurst was the first settlement west of the Blue Mountains, and is Australia’s oldest inland city.
It was here that my mother, Violet, met my father, Alan, who was in the area at an army base training before being shipped to New Guinea, and then the final push on to Japan.
Because Bathurst hosted a munitions factory, as well as other key industries the army conducted patrols around the city, and it was on one of these occasions that Alan met Violet…
Not that she was terribly enthused with his first advances.
Dad used to chuckle at how he’d ‘made his move on the redhead’ while his Greek mate Angelo was talking Mr Venardos, the owner of the cafe where Mum worked, into turning the kitchen appliances back on so that she could cook them a meal.
After promising to meet him, she’d slipped away, but being persistent, and smitten, he found her again, and, as they say, the rest is history.
Being young, and in love during wartime must have been very difficult, so much so that after meeting Violet, Alan was often in trouble for being late back to camp, and even going AWOL for a short time on one occasion.
Mum passed away in March of 2003, after a long battle with cancer, and a series of infections, just weeks short of their 60th wedding anniversary.
The only good thing that came out of it, apart from the fact that her physical pain was finished, was the fact that I had a chance to really talk to her on a gut level, and apologise for all the times that I’d been a complete meat head!
Of course, Dad was never the same, and like an old magpie, (Australian magpies are known to mate for life) pined away for his mate over the next three years. I’m forever thankful though that we had that extra time, and even though I could see his rapid decline, packed as much as I could into the time we had.
This really is the center of my story, the relationship that I had with my parents. Knowing how much they loved their family, and that they knew that they in turn were much loved and appreciated, has made my journey much easier.
Relationships don’t come easy, they are always hard work, and as strong willed and determined as my parents were, I was too, (and, so are my own offspring), so clashes inevitably occurred.
I am always mindful of the need to express love and appreciation today in my relationships. None of us are going to walk this earth forever, at least not in our present state of being. Memories are how our loved ones live on, until we meet again.
One of the last things I did with Dad before he passed away was to have dinner, and watch a game of rugby together. He was tired out as we had a house full of kids, ours, as well as friends, and relatives. It was a happy time.
The next day is one that I will never forget, and one that I would never want to repeat. Being there when he died wasn’t easy!
I’d seen it happen, but had never experienced it from this perspective. Dad had already suffered three heart attacks and been brought around, and I knew in my heart that to try and keep him here would have been to appease my own selfishness.
The hours and days following were even more horrific, dealing with siblings, nieces and nephews, as well as my own children, and their grief, as well as my own…
The bright spot of that week though occurred for me a few days later. I was in the backyard and heard a rustling in the trees overhead, then a pair of magpies winged around around me just inches above my head, singing for joy. Nothing unusual, apart from the fact that they were totally out of season…
As I stood there, with tears streaming down my face, I gave thanks for my Mum and Dad, and for the fact that they had always been there for me. And I resolved that if I could be half the man my Dad was, then my life could be counted as a success.
As I spoke at Dad’s funeral, and related how the best thing that he and my Mum had done for me was just to be there, I looked up at the people in the packed Church.
There were people from a number of different nationalities and racial groups, and different stations in life, all there to show their respects for my Dad, my hero…
Catch Up With Allan (Ozegold) On Plurk!
Condolences Allan. My mother passed away decades ago, my father, just last year.
You’re right, we don’t exactly embrace death, we boomers. And we do expect to live forever. But that’s also due to things like accelerating medical technology, our faith in better living standards bringing longer lives, and - especially - a society that is determined to make us all into ancient children without a full depth of emotional experience.
Australia especially has become a “not my fault!” nanny state in recent times, and I think people feel they can evade our death just as society allows us to evade our responsibilities.
My Mother passed away three years ago, and I was lucky enough to be in a position to spend time with her alone during her last few years. She was 93 when her time came, and up until the last three weeks she had lived a very good life without illness or disability. So while I tended to her garden (nowhere near as well as she had done), she would sit and watch and give advice. We went for many walks, often not talking much, just being together. During her last few weeks she declined very rapidly.
Although I did not have to make any decision about life support, I did have to come to grips with the fact that she did not want a tube feeding her, and thus would gradually starve to death. She had lost her ability to swallow and to speak, so her only means of communication was to try to scrawl out what she wanted to say on paper. It was an extremely emotional time. Thinking about it still brings an up-welling of tears, but it is balanced out by the gratitude for having the time to spend with her. It was my opportunity to face the inevitability of death, and to give back the care she had given to me throughout my life. I shall cherish that time always.
With my Father, who passed away several years earlier, I was not in a position to spend time with him towards the end of his life. My one-on-one time with him was spent as I grew up, in a boat fishing the small lakes around our home. Those are also times I still cherish. Just two fishermen swapping fish-tales and philosophy.
They will both always be held in a special place in my heart.
How sad. It would be most interesting to get your ‘family, siblings, nieces and nephews’ perspective on how well you ‘dealt’ with them. Somehow, your outpouring of martyrdom seems to be missing a few facts.
Ummm outpouring of martyrdom?
I shared how I walked through the experience, and wasn’t seeking your, or anyone else’s sympathy.
In fact, if you look in the first part of the post you will see that I said that I’d written it to help a friend’s daughter in her grief.
By ‘dealing with my family…’, I simply meant that I was the one who had to break the news to them, and help organize their travel and accommodation.
Of course, all that would have meant writing an extra long post, which I didn’t feel was necessary at the time.
I had to wait until now to write it just for you!
As for my family’s point of view, they are more than welcome to share it on their blogs.
In the meantime, have a nice day, and may you have a great 2008!