jmgoyder

I’ve decided to stop posting on this blog for the time being. It has been an amazing way of recording various nuances between the life and death of my husband, Anthony, and his resilience and wisdom. But that’s enough of that, as he would probably say. Enough.

It’s a very long time since I’ve posted on this blog; a lot has happened and unhappened. What I would like to do here is to (a) collate the imagined conversations I had with my deceased husband, Anthony and (b) add a few more. It’s nearly eight years since Ants died.

Imagined Conversation

Me: Hi, Ants, sorry it’s been so long since I spoke to you like this; I got a bit lost, selling the farm, finding this cottage, resettling, you know….

Anthony: JULES! It’s okay. Although I do miss your lullaby voice.

Me: What?

Anthony: Sultry?

Me: OMG, I was trying to tell you something important about the well-being of your progeny!

Anthony: He is a champion – always has been.

Me: I know.

Anthony: “And so is she!”

Me: I think I’ve found you again, Ants.

In Australia, this is both the first day of Spring and Father’s Day.

As Ming is now the father of a 2-year-old, I decided to give him a compilation of the 24 articles I wrote about his own toddlerhood. The following is the little letter I wrote to him and glued into the front cover.

“Dear Ming

Between October 2003 and June 2005, I wrote a monthly column for a magazine called Practical Parenting. The column itself was entitled ‘Through a Child’s Eyes’ and each article drew inspiration from the experiences Anthony and I shared with you, Ming, our lovely, funny, wise, sometimes eccentric little toddler.

Now that you and B are the parents of another lovely, funny, wise, sometimes eccentric little toddler, I congratulate you! And my Father’s Day gift to you is this book.

When I look at you, through the lens of a child’s eyes, through your own child’s eyes, I see the absolute magic of fatherhood.

Happy Father’s Day, my wonderful son.

I love you.

Mum.”

Ming was pretty chuffed!

In just a few hours, it will be seven years since Anthony died.

A couple of weeks ago, it was the first anniversary of my brother, Mark’s death.

I had plenty of words to say about Anthony after he died because his death, at 81, with advanced Parkinsons disease + dementia, was expected.

Maybe I was in denial about Mark. After all, he had survived, and even thrived, after brain cancer surgery. I thought my little/big brother was going to be okay.

I have plenty to say about Mark – his life and his death, but I can’t find adequate words; I can’t write, blog, reminisce.

Decades ago, well before Anthony and I married, teenage Mark bumped into Ants at a pub and asked for $20. Anthony obliged of course.

Mark and Anthony are perhaps having a laugh, perhaps commiserating about us, remembering us as we remember them.

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.