Fiftieths, Funerals, and a Fur Baby
I don’t quite know how to start writing again. It’s been nearly 6 months. I’ve wanted to, but couldn’t find the strength. You see, my Dad died….
They’re difficult words to write. But, deep breath…. I’ve written them now. For some reason, it’s felt a lot harder to put those words into writing than saying them out loud. Perhaps the words on a page somehow cement the truth that Dad is no longer physically here, after his battle with Glioblastoma brain cancer.
It’s been three months since he passed, and my emotions have been all tangled up with fiftieth parties, the other funerals I’ve attended of my Great-Uncle and Godfather, and the joys and tribulations of bringing into the fold a gorgeous puppy. Appropriate emotions have been misguided, and I’ve found myself weeping during 50th speeches, laughing at the wrong time in funerals, and teary cleaning up dog poo. It's all just felt a bit ……. messy.
I recently started reading ‘These Precious Days’ by Ann Patchett, ironically, suggested to me by my cousin Annabelle, whilst she was was chronically unwell last year battling her own cancer journey. The author writes an essay about a dear friend after their death, and the time she’s helping his daughter clean out his house. I was struck by this sentence which the daughter expressed to her about the experience: “He made everything magic when he was alive, now it’s all just stuff". It’s a familiar feeling I had whilst cleaning out some of Dad’s possessions. The mix-master evoked memories of Dad making delicious pasties, the boots took me back to my wedding day when he gleefully danced on the bar with some of my girlfriends, and his car (whilst a more modern version of what he drove in my childhood) transported my mind to a multitude of memories such as the trip across the Nullarbor plain, camping adventures to the Flinders Ranges, and picking up hitchhikers as we drove around Ireland together. Dad was full of life, a storyteller, and an enormous light in the lives of so many people. He DID make things magic for us growing up, and now it’s all just stuff.
As much as the funerals have been sad and sombre, especially Dad’s, there has been a level of grounding and contentment I’ve felt around them. Perhaps because I caught up with so many cousins and family friends I hadn’t seen in a long time, many since childhood. As I get closer to the age of 50, there’s much reflection on my own life, as well as the lives of those that have gone before me, and I felt comfort in all of the stories I heard about Dad. It was also a wonderful bonding time for my sister, brother, and I. Living in three different states, our catch ups are restricted to about 2-3 times a year, and without partners and kids in tow, we were able to bond like we did as kids, and share in the many funny stories of our childhood. It felt wrong to be laughing in the week that Dad was in hospital, but they were special moments with my siblings that we hadn’t experienced in a long time. It felt like rare, precious gold dust, and I wanted to bottle up the feelings of both joy and sorrow we were experiencing, with the label ‘LIFE’.
It also struck me that this is something we ALL go through, many times throughout our life. And like so often when I’m writing a blog post, something jumps into my inbox that resonates so deeply with what I’m writing about at the time. In this instance, it’s Nick Cave once again, responding to a letter on his Red Hand Files:
“Later that night, when I reopened the Files, I landed on your letter straight away, Ryu. Something resonated. As I read what you had written, I thought of the deep, mysterious reserves of feeling we all carry around with us that are suddenly and inexplicably triggered by small recognitions of our common struggles. I thought of the intricate sorrows that are threaded through our lives, binding us all together, the shared tears that wash clear our eyes to better see the many tasks set in front of us. And I remembered what Susie had said – that we should go lightly among them. If we are consumed by these things then we become of little value to ourselves, each other, or the world. This is something I must learn and relearn constantly.” Nick Cave
Deep mysterious reserves of feeling we all carry.
Common struggles.
Intricate sorrows threaded through our lives.
Binding us all together.
Shared tears.
What beautiful, powerful, and true words.
Life goes on, and we all must find ways to continue to move through in our own way.
Which brings me to the fiftieths!
I’m lucky to have attended boarding school in Adelaide with some awesome girls. Despite being ruled by an iron fist by some scary nuns with nicknames such as ‘Dragon’, we seemed to thrive, and now have life-long friendships where we share in all our peaks and valleys of life. The friendships just get stronger and stronger, the more we pass through the each stage.
Most of us were born in 1973, so the fiftieths have been aplenty. I’ve tried to attend most so far, but as we now all live throughout the country, getting to all of them can be a tad difficult. One that I wasn’t able to attend was Leonie’s in Brisbane, but she wrote some fantastic words which I’d like to share here:
“Many of you know I go on a girls weekend pretty much once a year. It’s crazy, lots of laughs and the best therapy you could hope for.
So when I talk about that … these are the girls I go with.
35 years ago … they came from mining towns, were daughters of wheat and sheep farmers … picked oranges in the Riverland, lived in Darwin and had parents who worked in a general store in a tiny town that few have ever heard of.
Now they are magificent women, mums, running their own companies, farms .. lawyers .. interior designers … teachers, wine marketers and one of the best dermatologists in Australia.
I am so damn proud of these women, their energy, their kindness and how they all make this world a better place.
It’s funny how life decisions put you in touch with different people who make your life richer.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. I’m so full of gratitude for these amazing women. It’s a wonderful feeling of grounding, and coming home, when we all get together. Many of them were at Dad’s funeral, and it felt like the sisters had come together to share the grief and the love. It really felt special.
But it’s also worth mentioning here how Dad knew many of the friends of my siblings and I. Not just the old school friends, but also the new friends we’ve all made along the course of life. I think our friends kept him young at heart, he loved partying with them, and would take any opportunity he could get to hang out with us. He was a fun, wisdom filled, guiding light to so many of my friends. One such example was when I was packing up to move to the US back in December 2018. I was alone with four young children and stressed to my eyeballs as I tried to pack up the whole house, deal with the kids emotions around moving to a new country, and finish some study. Dad came over to help me out for a week, and also attended my farewell party. Suffice to say, he guided a few of the girls on the ‘rules of life’ and also had a great night!
Funerals and fiftieths make us ponder the meaning of life. The death of a significant other causes us to reflect on our own mortality, and the contribution we have made to the world. Many of us, like myself, will feel like there is still much more to achieve, and that we haven’t yet fulfilled our full potential. We’re still dreaming, and trying to put those dreams into action, but can at times feel frustrated. I’ve often had that feeling that ‘I’m getting in the way of myself’. Values are updated, and new directions start to take shape. The things that no longer serve us start to drift away, but it can be a difficult time to maneuver on an emotional level, especially while there are still multiple children to take care of and guide to be their own best self. I’ve found myself questioning much in life lately, and at times, struggling with many aspects of motherhood / caring / identity. When I left the US two years ago, I felt like I had gone through a metamorphosis and was ready to spread my wings after living life in a bit of a cocoon, but the Universe had something else in store. ‘Coming down with a thud’ is the phrase that comes to mind. But…. we all know this is life, and the key is to just keep putting one foot in front of the other and to keep those dreams alive.
On the 22nd November, 2022, I cracked open a double-yoker egg from one of our backyard hens. This was around the time Dad’s cancer was confirmed (he’d been taken in for tests on the 11th November, and passed exactly 4 months later on the 11th March). It’s rare to get a double-yoker, about 1 in 1000, but funnily, I’ve had another since!! Of course I researched what it might mean scientifically as well as spiritually (that’s the ‘woo-woo’ in me as my sister would say), and it seems there’s many different spiritual superstitions.
Norsemen believed double-yolk eggs were a sign death was preparing to come for a visit… hmm, coincidence?.
But others believe it can be a sign of wealth and prosperity, and that good luck is on its way. Yes!
Some believe it can be a sign you’re having twins! Well, there were twins in the family; but no, thank you, my baby years are long past.
And it can also mean that new beginnings are on their way. Well, I like the sound of this.
The Bible says they represent the nature of Christ, as being both human and divine.
And others says a double-yolker can be seen as a reminder of the importance of patience and waiting for the right time for things to happen.
Interesting stuff…..
Loss and endings are really just the crumbling taking place around us, so that we can re-build again. At times, it may seem like everything is going against us, but when we look back, we might see that the Universe was clearing a path for us, in readiness for the next stage of our journey Often, we don’t know why things are happening to us, but later, we might understand that they were happening for us.
One amazing example of this is the beautiful, late, Tina Turner. What an absolutely inspiring woman. I love her take on mental health and adversity:
“Don’t worry if you think you’re the only one facing challenges. If the people around you don’t seem to have problems, that just means you don’t know them well enough to see their troubles, or they’re very good at hiding them. Problems are inescapable for all living beings.”
and
“I’ve never met anyone who didn’t have problems of one sort or another. If we find ourselves without any problems, it’s just a matter of time until something pops up. That’s life!”
But the one that stood out to me the most, and the one I’ll be using on myself from now on is this one:
Thank you Tina Turner, for the music, the memories, and the wisdom….
And finally, the fur baby. Please meet Darby Day.
She’s now seven months old, and I’ve suddenly realised she was born at the same time Dad’s cancer was confirmed. I’m not sure gaining another ‘child’ at this stage of my life was the absolute best idea I’ve ever had, perhaps a trained puppy might have been a wiser choice, but she is gorgeous, and we love her!!!
I can’t imagine life without her now.
Dogs just make life better…..
Dad with our beloved dog Cass, Port Vincent circa 1980.
Dad’s Eulogy
If you’d like a copy of Edward or Natasha’s, please let me know. Edward covered the history, the early years and what it was like running the farm with Dad. Tash wrote a hilarious poem. Here is mine:
“Dad called me ‘Teeny Weeny’ – or ‘Poor Ole Teeny Weeny’ whenever I was feeling a bit sad. I was the middle child, a bit sensitive, who always asked Dad “where’s my poh” (pillow) – but I wasn’t so Teeny… towering over Dad from about the age of 12!
Dad loved travelling and adventure, and he installed this into us with our countless trips around Australia. One of the most memorable moments of my life was in 1980, when my siblings and I were surprised with PLANE tickets from Mum and Dad to fly to Alice Springs. Plane travel back then very expensive, so this was an absolute treat. I was SO excited.
But it was the more simple holidays that seem to hold the strongest memories for me. There were trips to the Michels place at Swan Reach on the River Murray, camping at Wilpena Pound in the Flinders Ranges (where somehow Dad managed to wrangle an ‘unofficial campsite’ in the bush because he happened to be mates with the manager - well, drank beer with him at least). There was Easter at the Stockmans Wartaka Station (where the kids had just as much fun as the adults), and summer holidays spent at Port Vincent and Port Rickaby, where we were allowed to roam free while the adults had a good time! (it WAS the 70s and 80s – no helicopter parenting back then!)
These humble holidays provided us with wonderful friendships, a sense of adventure, and a chance to get out of our comfort zone with hikes, water skiing, fishing, campfire making and cooking, motorbike riding, and learning how to do circle work in paddocks!
These trips away were also a great opportunity for Dad to practice some of his favourite sayings:
“Everything in life is just a little test”
“Life wasn’t meant to be easy”
and
“Easy come, easy go” in reference to money.
These were often quoted whilst camping, as we’d be looking up to the stars, when Dad was giving us a D&M about something or other – or when we were driving home from the footy club quite late, when he’d stop because he’d hit a bunny, which he’d then proceed to bury.
You see, Dad LOVED animals. Growing up, there were always lots of cats and dogs around the farm, but a firm favourite of Dad’s was Wally – who was supposed to be a sheep dog, but who Dad used to let in to sit by the fire. He wasn’t really the best sheep dog going around, but he was a beautiful companion!
In between Mum and Heather, Dad met a nice lady he was a little bit keen on. He went to visit her in country WA, but she stomped on all the ants on an ant hill. Suffice to say Dad wasn’t interested in ‘that’ nice lady any more.
Dad’s Catholic faith was very strong - like many of the Catholic families on the Yorke Peninsula. Dad knew he was going to a better place after his passing, and we can take great comfort in this.
Growing up as kids, Church to me meant faith, but also community – I loved hanging with all the Mahar cousins, but also with those that felt like cousins, such as the Honners and the Taheny’s, many of whom are here today. The time spent catching up with others ‘after’ the mass was often as long as the ‘actual’ mass, even when old Father Honner was taking it. Of course, the promised chocolate and lollies afterwards always helped get us there…
At the end of 2018, my family moved to Memphis, Tennessee in USA. We joined a Catholic Church and school, and I was quickly transported back to this Church – St Malachys, in the 1970s and 80s, where Mass was usually full, we wore our Sunday best, and community was paramount. It gave me beautiful vibes of Dad here in Minlaton, and I found myself both longing for some elements of the old days, and also gratitude to Dad for the upbringing we had.
Dad and Heather came and visited my family in 2019 whilst we were living in Memphis. There was a grammatic saying that Dad was enamoured with:
You = 1
Y’all = 2
and
All Y’all = 3 or more
He just loved it, and told everyone he met about it – even if they’d lived in Tennessee their whole life. To me, this spoke volumes about Dad’s character – his curiosity about another culture, his love of things new and unique to his way of thinking, and his joy in sharing his knowledge to all those he came across.
My 4 kids have some great memories of Pa Mick, but the one that stands out the most to them, is Dad letting them drive home on his lap from the ‘sandhills bbq’ one year. Pa thought it would be a bit of fun to let the kids steer for a while – and I think purposely led them into bushes - but he swerved at the last minute, just to give them a bit of a thrill.
My siblings and I have sought solace in all the wonderful memories of Dad that our friends and family have shared with us this past week. There are FAR too many to mention, but here is a snippet of what has been written about Dad:
“A true gentleman”
“A gentle giant loved by so many”
“A top bloke with a gusto for life”
“A beautiful man with a heart of gold”
“A larger than life character”
“A strong, kind, and stoic man who never judged”
The last direct words Dad said to me were ‘Teeny Weeny’, and I can hear him right now, saying ‘Poor Ole Teeny Weeny’, but whilst I’m sad now, and will miss him forever, I’ll always hold dear the wonderful values of strength, curiosity, adventure, and humbleness he installed into me.
Thank you Dad, you were a wonderful teacher and an amazing father. RIP.”