Thanks Ming (Menzies Goyder) for always reminding me of your dad, Anthony. You have the same larger-than-life presence, the same laugh, the same booming voice, the same gregariousness. The other day, when you sat in your car for ages before coming in, it reminded me of how Ants used to do the same thing and it used to drive me mad! Your love of loud music, dancing, your easy-going nature, and your love of me … the saddest thing for me is that you never really knew Anthony the way he was because he began to get so sick when you were just a baby – one disease after another. In a few hours it will be the second anniversary of his death. Thank you for being with me that night and thank you for your support ever since. I am choosing to spend today alone because the memory of that night, when Ants pushed my hand out of his and we went outside and then, five minutes later, he died, still haunts me. You have been my rock (well, mostly!) and not only do I love you for being you, but I also love you for being so much like Anthony. Best son anyone could wish for. And you gave him such joy!
Exciting news!
My mother, Meg, who has featured in many of my posts over the years, has now launched her own blog. This is good timing as I am taking a blog sabbatical.
Anyway, her blog can be found at:
https://thatandalittlebitofthis.home.blog/
She is wise and funny and interesting so, if you feel like checking her out, it will be worth it!
Imagined conversation 68
Me: I hope you realise that these conversations are not about me feeling sorry for myself.
Anthony: Of course I do, Jules.
Me: Mostly I feel really lucky. I don’t think I understood what a rare relationship we had until after you died.
Anthony: An against the odds love story.
Me: There is no need to steal my phrases!
Anthony: You are only two years older than I was when we got married.
Me: Now that is quite weird. Your point?
Anthony: I began a brand new life at 57. You can do that too, at 59.
Me: I hope you aren’t suggesting me getting a boyfriend! Two people have already suggested that. Bleah!
Anthony: JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH, NO!
Me: Why are you speaking in an Irish accent?
Anthony: There are a lot of Irish nuns here.
Me: Oh, okay.
Anthony: You know your idea of working on a book about grief with C as illustrator?
Me: Yes.
Anthony: Genius.
Me: Thanks for the go-ahead. That means a hell of a lot.
Anthony: No need to mention hell; it is a bit of a dirty word here.
Me: Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I am not feeling sorry for myself, just sad, missing you, and kind of wanting go back in time and re-do some of our situations differently.
Anthony: Like you boiling the marmalade all over the Aga?
Me: No, more like you telling me off for being unavailable to look after your mother just after my dad died, when I wanted to comfort my own mother.
Anthony: It wasn’t a particularly good start was it.
Me: No, and it was so embarrassing (in retrospect) for me to be so transparently in love with a man twice my age. 60 Minutes recently did a story about this, so the shock/horror of a 23-year age difference is still newsworthy.
Anthony: I know that these conversations are imagined, Jules, but there is something real about them too.
Me: I feel compelled to keep talking to you like this, at least until August is over. Ming has been amazing, and keeps telling me to tell him if I am particularly depressed, always offering me hugs.
Anthony: My son.
Me: Yes. The dogs are comforting too!
Anthony: Good night, Jules.
Me: Good night, Ants.
A visit to my psychologist: Imagined conversation 64
Anthony: Two conversations in one day. I am honoured!
Me: I went to see my psychologist, Daniella, today.
Anthony: Why do you need to see a psychologist?
Me: Let me think … well it just might be that the anniversary of your death is looming and glooming me – duhhh.
Anthony: Oh, that.
Me: I even cried a bit at the start of the session. I try not to do this usually but when she asked what was wrong I just said August, and then she realised. She was just as amazed as I am that it is nearly a year since you died.
Anthony: Daniella seems a benevolent soul.
Me: Bloody hell – I have never heard you say anything like that before!
Anthony: After death comes wisdom.
Me: Really?
Anthony: You will find a reference to this in the Song of Solomon.
Me: Okay, I get it now. You are trying to make me laugh. Bravo – you have succeeded!
Anthony: So what did Daniella say?
Me: To give myself a break, to stop berating myself for this and that, to breathe. She even indicated that my vibes were making her breathless. I told her that I had this constant mantra in my head of get over it, get over it, GET OVER IT, JULIE, since August 1st.
Anthony: And?
Me: Well then I blabbed on about how grateful I was for our rather unique relationship, our against-multiple-odds love story, Boney M, and my recurrent dream in which I take you from the nursing home to a party, forget your meds and you miraculously stand up out of the wheelchair and begin dancing.
Anthony: That dream has actually come true, Jules.
Me: Yes, that is what Daniella said! Do you still do your jumping up and down on-the-spot dance moves? You do realise, I hope, that the cracks in the wall of the living room are probably due to that dancing phase of yours.
Anthony: Sorry.
Me: I so wish Ming had known you back then and I told Daniella that too. I think that makes me sadder than anything else in the wake of your death; your beautiful son, who is so much like you in so many ways, never knew the ultra-lively man I fell for.
Anthony: Why have you put such a dreadful photo of me here?
Me: Because it was just before the nursing home days and Peter visited you once a week after that – one of your many wonderful nephews. His visits were like gold – remember?
Anthony: Yes.
Me: So Daniella suggested focussing on all of the good stuff, the funny stories, the great memories; she even suggested turning some of the sad bits of our story into something comical. Ingenious!
Having a laugh in the midst of grief: Imagined conversation 62
Anthony: I really liked what you wrote yesterday.
Me: Why, thank you, kind sir!
Anthony: The Boney M clip was wonderful.
Me: I knew you would appreciate that. I wish now that I had thought to play it to you in the nursing home. Oh well – the benefit of hindsight and all that.
Anthony: Yes, I did get a little tired of The Office, especially the American version.
Me: I know. Sorry about that but I loved it and it was a brilliant way of passing the hours in the nursing home. I would give anything now to be sitting next to you, holding your hand while you dozed, or stared, mystified, at a millionth episode of The Office, eating olives and sipping wine on a sunny Sunday like today. Or else, chatting with my mother as she did her hairpin lace, both of us on either side of you, our chatter inevitably putting you to sleep.
Anthony: She really did love me, that mother of yours, even though I broke your heart when you were still just a kid of 18. And then broke it again.
Me: Again?
Anthony: By dying.
Me: Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, she really did love you. To begin with, no. I am quite sure both of my parents were appalled that their innocent, teenage daughter had fallen for a middle-aged man who was at the opposite end of the spectrum of their belief system, Christianity. If I recall correctly, you were a self-declared atheist and, as a rather evangelical adolescent, I convinced you that an agnostic stance might be safer. We did have some rather heated theological discussions.
Anthony: Yes, I slipped into Heaven via the back door.
Me: What?
Anthony: Just kidding, Jules!
Me: One of things that most fascinates me about grief is the fact that it is, actually, really fascinating. I can watch that Boney M clip and cry and laugh in the same moment; I can remember the first moment I saw you and the last moment I saw you as if 40 years of knowing each other is a single, resonating clash of unexpected harmony. Now that you have been dead for nearly a year, I love you just as much as I did when you were still alive.
Anthony: I have never quite understood how your mind works, Jules, but if it is of any comfort, I miss you too.
Me: In just a few days it will be the first anniversary of your death which is so weird because it feels like it was just the other day. I am not quite sure what I am supposed to do on this day. Do I go somewhere – away? Ming has asked me the same question – should we go out for breakfast? What do you do on a deathday? August itself has paralysed me somewhat, Ants, which I did NOT anticipate. I feel like I am at some sort of event where you have to choose between various PTSD showbags!
Anthony: I will be having a similar day, Jules. I think it would be a good idea to simply have a nap.
Me: Okay. I just want to get to September and out of August.
Anthony: Perfectly understandable, Jules; after all, I was your knight in shining armour.
Me: You were also a horribly cruel, heart-breaking bastard! Remember our first argument, underneath the clothesline just after my dad died, and I called you a selfish pig?
Anthony: Shhhh! I am in Heaven now and I do not want to jeopardise that.
Me: I am so glad that we figured out it was a family farm, financial situation and not personal. 57-year-old bachelors do not usually get married. I think the expectation was for you to leave your inheritance to either your siblings or nieces and nephews.
Anthony: Why are you bringing this up now?
Me: Because I am not afraid any more of the backlash after we announced our engagement. I was so naïve then! You were so wonderfully brave (although I did wonder why we were taking a case of champagne to accompany our engagement announcement). This is hilarious in retrospect!
Anthony: Bravo, Jules!
Me: When I look back at that scene, champagne flowing, beaming expressions on every single face, I am amazed at what happened next.
Anthony: And…?
Me: Well, the funny/paradoxical thing is I actually do not care anymore about the person who hurt you most and I wish I had developed this ability to be indifferent earlier in my life.
Anthony: Make peace, not war.
Me: I thought the saying was more like, make love, not war, via John Lennon? Your roomie?
Anthony: There is no need to stoke old coals, Jules.
Me: Why do you not want me to tell the truth, Ants?
Anthony: Because I am already dead anyway. It does not matter!
Me: Okay….
Anthony: Have a laugh, Jules!
Me: Good idea!
Imagined conversation 60
Anthony: I thought we weren’t going to have these talks any more.
Me: You sound hurt.
Anthony: Not hurt exactly, more nonplussed.
Me: It is all the details of death that prevent any finality and, yeah, that dreadful word, closure.
Anthony: Like what?
Me: Like the stupid Probate thing – registering – via our lawyer, your Will to the Supreme Court – to prove that I am your beneficiary, executor, wife etc.
Anthony: So how are your inherited paddocks?
Me: Oh, swimmingly, Ants – the rain has been relentless! Anyway, I need some photo ID of you for this probate process and all I can find is a very scary portrait of you on an out-dated passport.
Anthony: Why is it scary?
Me: You look like a thug!
Anthony: So what happens next?
Me: Apparently, once we get past this probate thing, I will become officially entitled to everything – the house, land, your shares, your holiday house in Bermuda – everything!
Anthony: I thought you thought sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, Jules.
Me: And I thought death was simple, Ants. How could I have possibly anticipated the amount of red tape that would surround your death, or the length of time if would take for this probate thing?
Anthony: I am so sorry, Jules!
Me: Why? Not your fault but I tell you what, Ants, I am getting things clearly written and legal-easy for Ming in case I die sooner rather than later. You never know.
Anthony: You never know what is around the corner.
Me: You used to say that to me all the time in a funny way!
Anthony: Jules?
Me: Yes, oh wise one?
Anthony: Tell Ming that it is all going to be splendid.
Me: Okay. I will. And if it is all right with you, I would like to continue these conversations every now and then, for awhile.
Anthony: Good idea and I am relieved..
Me: Me too, Ants. I love you so much!
Anthony: And the whole of Heaven heaves for you too, Jules.
Me: Bleah!
Photo taken before Ants got really sick – maybe 2007?
Imagined conversation 50
Anthony: How’s Ming?
Me: Yes, Ming, it’s always Ming. What about me? When you were still alive the first thing you would always say to me is “How’s Ming?” instead of what you should have said….
Anthony: Hello, your royal highness; is that better?
Me: Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.
Anthony: So is repetitiveness.
Me: Ming is fine and now recovering well from a dreadful bout of lovesickness, the details of which I will not divulge here but you know anyway.
Anthony: I only ever understood that when I thought I might lose you, Jules.
Me: Understood what?
Anthony: Lovesickness.
Me: Oh yes, that phase. I remember you crying down the phone and I thought you must have been pretending because it was so unlike your usual macho-ness. And the flowers you sent! Cheap, poignant and astonishing, almost as astonishing as your utterance of the words ‘love’ and ‘marry’ and I was just about to get on a plane to the other side of Australia to see a man who adored me.
Anthony: Those flowers weren’t cheap, Jules.
Me: It was too late, Ants.
Anthony: I was going to lose you, Jules.
Me: I lied to you and said I was just visiting a friend up north.
Anthony: I suspected and rang the travel agent and he broke protocol by telling me you were going to Sydney.
Me: Yeah, to meet a man who adored me instantly. I had finally given up on you. It wasn’t a game, or a dare, or an ultimatum; I really had decided that this confirmed bachelor, best friend, workaholic dairy farmer wasn’t suitable.
Anthony: I’m so sorry, Jules.
Me: Yeah, that’s what you kept saying on the phone to me the night before my flight; you used every lovesick cliché I’d ever heard. I took notes because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and I wrote them on a big pad during my plane flight because I knew, if I didn’t write your words down, I would never believe you had said them.
Anthony: I suddenly realised I might lose you.
Me: Better late than never I suppose but you have no idea how ghastly it was to be chased around a penthouse for days on end by a man who had paid for my trip and expected some sort of recompense. Even when I read him bits from my notes of what you had said to me in that phone-call, through the locked bathroom door, he persisted.
Anthony: Why did you go?
Me: It was all booked and paid for and I felt obligated. How was I supposed to know you would have this almost-too-late epiphany about me?
Anthony: I feel like such an idiot now.
Me: Good.
Anthony: I thought forgiveness was important to you.
Me: It is, but a little bit of guilt doesn’t do anyone any harm.
Anthony: Jules?
Me: What?
Anthony: How’s Ming?
Me: Much better.
Anthony: That’s all I wanted to know.
Me: What about me?
Anthony: You are ferociously fine, Jules.
Me: And the best thing about this post?
Anthony: You are laughing?
Me: Yes!
jmgoyder 