Anniversaries

This past week I celebrated an anniversary, albeit an unpleasant one – it was a year ago on Valentine’s day that I sat in the sunlight hospital room at the Creswick Hospital, near where I grew up in Australia and witnessed my dad’s last breath and his final passing.   Many of you bared witness to my recent quest to hike the Kokoda Track in Papua New Guinea in remembrance of his life.   Strangely this anniversary was much less painful to get through because of the things I did to celebrate his life and to grieve his loss over the past year, not so with the passing of mum some 25 years ago.   

I still remember the call from my heartbroken dad as he said that mum had died earlier that day, in a similar hospital surrounding except that she had died alone...  It was the day before my birthday, and now sets an ominous tone each April. My birthday is a day I truly dread; that same old sinking feeling starts as April inexorably approaches, and with each passing day a little more antsy in my feelings of guilt and looming loss.

Why I often ask myself?   After all it’s been a quarter century since she passed and now I’m an adult with a family of my own.  Lots of reasons for but the most pressing is the sense of guilt - did I do enough, did she know how much I loved her, why wasn’t I there for her in her final days like I was dad?   Clearly I still struggle with the feelings of loss and regret that shroud that time in my life.  I also realize now that I didn’t really grieve for mum after her passing.   I could put it down to my youth, or perhaps my naivety in such matters, but I distinctly remember compartmentalizing her loss and closing the door to it – “best not to dwell too much - just get on with life and it will pass” type of approach.   I got to tell you that approach did do so well!    

In retrospect, mum lived a life of disappointment and unfulfilled dreams; feeling trapped in small town Australia and a cycle of poverty during the 1950’s and 1960’s can only be classed as form of hell that knows no bounds.  Was this the catalyst for her turning to alcohol to take away the pain?   Was she searching for acceptance into this small and isolated community, an outsider and a divorcee with children from another marriage – whatever the reason her sadness was pervasive? Mum was always sad, upset and/or frustrated about something, her eyes said it all and you could gauge her moods by just a quick glance.  She rarely laughed and often was unwell (likely due to either getting a hangover or trying to get rid of one).   She also had a foul temper, quick to anger and long (if ever) to forgive and forget. 

Clunes - Australia
  Here is where I grew up...

 Growing up I thought I must have been adopted, how could it be any other way? I bared little in common with my family and definitely had deep feelings of wanting out from an early age.   My strong “fight or flight” tendency was forged young; I committed myself to finding a way out of this suffocating environment as soon as I could.   Those of you who know me well would concur that I continue to exhibit traits of strong independence and a degree of restlessness all these years on.  I guess that’s what happens when your personality is forged in this sort of crucible.  

My day of freedom came late one January day, arriving home from another back breaking day on the farm that I was working on as a contractor – it was harvest and we were flat out, 12 hours on, 12 hours off seven days a week for the princely sum of $100 per week (man I was rich!)   That was the day I received my acceptance letter to University.  I felt a wave of anticipation wash over me as I shakily opened the letter, and relief as I slowly read and re-read the contents.  I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, it wasn’t just an opportunity to attend University (the only one of five kids to make it) but they were also offering me a scholarship no less.   Finally after all these years the day had come. 

Mum had instinctively known what the contents of the letter would say, and she silently left the room.  Was she happy for me or sad, did it make the pain of staying worse for her with me about to leave?   

Craig, Bon (Craig & Al's mum) & Alan Darrell - circa 1978
St Arnard - Australia

 So at the ripe old age of 17 I left home, I was out.  Free to find my own way, not tethered to this soul crushing environment any longer, but at that age so immature and unworldly (some of you might still say the same thing, although I’d like that its evolved just a little!) that it was a tough start in the “real world” and University was both exciting and overwhelming at the same time.  It was to great fortune and to some degree my saving grace that I met my best mate in the first few weeks of University – Craig Darrell and his brother Alan.  They became my surrogate brothers and to this day, some 30 years distant we are still exceptionally close.  

That was long ago.   The good news, over time my relationships with my siblings has largely healed, although until my dad got sick my younger brother James and I never really spoke. Neither of us was willing to give ground and recognize our pettiness over long forgotten injustices grounded deep in our childhood.  Strangely even though we both grew up in that environment, it affected us in very different ways.  My coping mechanism was to flee; his was to stay and prove that he cared.  Deep down we completely misunderstood each other’s intentions and continued to hold a grudge until we had to come together to confront dad’s terminal illness.   If I can say there was a silver lining in dad’s illness, it was the opportunity to reconnect with James and finally build a relationship that we’d never had.  In fact, it was opportunities to bond with all of my siblings and to some degree feel welcomed back into the fold – albeit a little late.

Glenda & TW - Nov 2011 (post Kokoda adventure)

My sister Glenda and I still struggle emotionally with mum’s death, perhaps a little more openly than the others and as that April anniversary looms we talk a little more often, a little longer and delve into topics little more deeply than normal.   I’m not sure what mum would think if she were looking down on me now.  Would she believe the life I’ve been able to build for myself – a loving family, two wonderful kids and a relatively successful career with boundless opportunities to travel and explore the world.   I hope she would be happy for me.  

My resolution for this coming anniversary is to embrace her loss and not run or dismiss it, perhaps in some small way that will help begin the healing…finally!