jmgoyder

As my sister-in-law, Jo, somehow got my brother, Mark, onto a plane from Darwin to Perth, last August (2023), a flurry of messages and phone calls were exchanged amongst the extended family. In the wake of Mark refusing further brain tumour treatment, Jo had taken him on a holiday. Mark had already overcome the first brain tumour, received extensive treatment, and recovered. When another brain tumour appeared, it felt too surreal and impossible to process. I was very much in denial, our mother more realistic. My other brother, Brin, was just as shocked as I was, I think, as we watched our big/little brother, Mark’s breathing slow down.

My mother and I went back to our motel as various of his offspring said goodbye to Mark. Of course, Jo’s phone call to us, just moments later, confirmed the worst; Mark had died.

As Mark’s older sister, I sometimes want to yell out, “Where are you, Mark?” Sometimes this in forests, sometimes ice-rinks, sometimes snow slopes, sometimes in massive piles of bright red maple leaves, Canada, PNG, Bunbury, Walpole, Heaven….

A sense of urgency? Mark would never say that.

Oh, to be left-handed!

A few days before Christmas, I was preparing to host a Christmas Eve brunch for the various family members who were available. I was decluttering at high speed when I tripped over a brick doorstop outside, dropped a full box of old candle holders and chipped glassware that I was about to bin. I hit my head on something before plummeting my right hand onto broken glass, full force. I think I may have briefly passed out, but I do remember trying to rinse my hand at the kitchen sink, then wrapping it in a towel before driving myself to the hospital. The bruise to my head and a black eye was later determined to be a concussion.

Long story short: the cuts to my right hand were to the bone, 3 tendons and 2 nerves were severed and muscle tissue in palm of hand irreparably damaged + a nicked artery. It has been over two months since this happened but as a result of micro-surgery, tramadol, antibiotics for wound infection, multiple weekly visits to the wound clinic and hand clinic, my hand is beginning to work again.

The worst thing about this experience was how badly I handled the trauma and stress of the injury. I was nasty to the people I love most; I was argumentative, weepy, irrational and awful! To those affected, I’m so sorry!

The wound clinic visits have shown how much worse it could have been for me and my heart goes out to those who have experienced much more catastrophic injuries.

I may never get proper sensation back in my right thumb and forefinger. It was my own silly fault anyway.

Oh, to be forgiven AND left-handed!

Today would have been your 88th birthday, Anthony, so Menzies, Benita, and your little granddaughter, went to the cemetery. I cried inside the big hug of Ming as this beloved toddler ran around, gathering leaves and branches to place on your grave. It was uncanny the way she seemed to connect with you but of course that is my imagination taking a bit of a leap. You would have adored her the way I do, and she would have adored you. In my mind’s eye, I see her clambering onto your lap and noticing your furrowed brow, your big nose, and your twinkling eyes. Happy birthday Ants.

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When I die, which of course, I will,

I want my family and friends to know

that I did my best,

that laughter, kindness and generosity

were attributes my family – my extended family – gave me.

When I die, which of course I will,

I will be able to, once again, hug my father, and my husband, and, now,

my brother.

Laughter

Kindness

Generosity

Mark.

When I die, which of course I will,

I think I might just say

Thank you.

For the last six years, I have dreaded this month’s anniversary of Anthony’s death – August 23rd.

How absolutely ridiculous! I am ashamed and embarrassed at my self-pity, and Ants would have swiftly told me to get a grip, be stronger, stop. His clone, Ming, has now taken on this role, haha!

I loved (love) Anthony so much and the ongoing grief hurts a lot of course BUT….

…. there is a new kid on the block, born in August a year ago, a grandchild with the bluest eyes, the most incredible giggle, and the best re-definition of August for me, for ever.

Yesterday afternoon, feeling ghastly with a cold/flu thing, I decided to go online and order some fast food to be delivered. Ordinarily, I don’t eat fast food, but I was feeling a vulnerable craving for chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy – comfort food.

I made the order, then realised that I had run out of milk, so I drove down to the closest shop to get the milk, thinking to myself that I could easily have picked up the fast-food order myself. Hindsight is everything, of course.

Just as it was getting dark, I returned home, with my milk, to find a big delivery truck in my driveway. Alarmed by the super-duper headlights shining onto the front of my house, I ducked down in my car, hoping to avoid the intruder.

But he saw me! “Your gravy, ma’am” he said, as he left. I suspected that he was a bit amused, or bemused, or perhaps thought I was a bit of a character.

On my doorstep was a tiny little container of gravy.

We absolutely have to talk about death differently; we have to ‘do’ death differently; we have to face its inevitability with our eyes wide open, instead of shying away. My dad died when I was 19; my husband died seven years ago; my mother’s best friend died a couple of weeks ago – and more and more and more people I know have died, or are dying. To the thousands of us who grieve these deaths, let’s have a chat.

To give some context, this brother of mine has beaten the cancer once and may even beat it again. Mark has always been a pillar of strength and resilience. Please click onto above links to help out – thanks!

Yesterday, the 27th of March, 2023, marked what would have been our 30th wedding anniversary – Anthony’s and mine (well, obviously!)

I tried to be sad but I just couldn’t squeeze any more tears out because, despite how much I miss this beautiful man, I am finally beginning to feel fine again….

Anthony: Have you met someone else?

Me: NO!

Anthony: Good,

Me: It would be hard to meet someone like you, Ants.

Anthony: Good.

Me: I was actually being a bit sarcastic, Ants, but in a kind way.

Anthony: I miss that, Jules,

Me: Oh me too, Ants – the jokes, the humour, the self-deprecating irony of our conversations….

Anthony: And then there was Ming.

Me: And then there was Ming.

Today would have been Anthony’s 87th birthday. Since he died, over six years ago, I have missed him to the point of sobbing (yesterday).

I have forgotten all about him. And then I remember and feel a sickening guilt.

I have created an imaginary dialogue with him on this blog.

I have tried to create a new life-without-Anthony for myself.

And I have been able to see how Ming is, in so many ways, his father’s son, especially in terms of kindness.

Grief is the weirdest thing: it hits you when you least expect it (automatically buying Anthony’s favourite cheese in the supermarket); bumping into an old friend who didn’t know he had died; the latest photo of our first grandchild who Anthony will never see ….

…. but there is also a joyful component to grief I guess, in that the person you miss so much was the most wonderful person ever.

Happy birthday, Ants