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Archives

Monday, March 06, 2006
The jumbled muttering thoughts of a reflective mindset :: grudknows :: 5

Tears.  Sadness.  Relief.  Phone rings.  It’s my sister on her way to a funeral hundreds of kilometres away.  I think it’s a routine family check in (normal when any of us are on the road), but it’s news of yet another death.  TC, then Joe.  It’s referred to by those in the industry as the “big C with the little answer nobody knows” - the Spanish dancer.  It’s a dance without discrimination and without joy. Full of emotion - both for the dancer and audience.  Pain.  Grief.  Sometimes guilt, but not this time.

I won’t be there, but already, I can see tomorrows crowd of mourners standing solemnly on the jetty - some staunchly holding in their grief, others tears streaming down their face and those there to pay their respects - neighbours, life time friends, acquaintances, new friends, a small country community.  As they stand there, the family prepares the ashes and flings them off the jetty and on to the choppy waves of the bay where they are whirled away by the water - most likely to end up on the jagged rock that border the bay.  Perhaps, though, TC is watching and will see his last chance to prank the people he loves.  I can see the twinkle in his eye as he dances about and sends some of the ashes back to the mourners - chuckling at the looks on their faces as some of his ashes come to rest on them and laughing in glee at his success.

TC and Joe, both such jokers, full of life, both with that twinkle of good humour and mischief in their eyes.  It’s either an argument for or against the presence of god.  On the against side, we have two great people being taken so close together - why?  I guess, it was their time to go. And truth be told there is as much relief from those left behind as sadness - relief that their pain is over and their dignity still intact.  On the for side, we have the fact that they’ve got company - where ever it is they’re going, if there is a god - because where ever it is, they’re going to the same place.  I’m not convinced either way by these flimsy whimsical reflective arguments for and against god but my brain still can’t help but pause for thought on the matter.

There’s nothing quite like death to signal the end of an era. 

The wake, if I were there, would be mingled with memories of my childhood - both in the faces present and due to the surroundings which were a daily part of my childhood. 

The wake is in the old woolshed, a place where I used to play on rainy days, where my cousin and I spent hours and hours of our free time fixing up the old engine that ran the shears… my thoughts would then flick to my cousin’s suicide and how long it was before TC could bring himself to talk freely of his son.  The adult me and the childhood me would stand together, memories, sadness, thoughts of the future, greeting old friends and places with joy. 

Sometimes, it’s kind of complicated when you move away - the people and places that were once part of your life are now so far away - in more ways than one - the people there still see you as a kid or the person you once were and you can’t always break out of the box they store you in and introduce them to the you you are now.  And then you have reason to go back.  More often than not there’s been a death in the family.  And all of the yous get fused together in a jumbled nostalgic, bitter sweet way.  And that, my friends, is part of the wonderful thing we called life.


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