Category Archives: Open Letters

The lost parent

July 17th, 2015

Empty Nest you say? I think you’re mistaken. That phrase belongs to that moment in time when you saw your fluffy little chicks off to school. This is so much more.

You once marveled at how cute they looked in a uniform and with a heart ready to burst you waved goodbye. The oversized backpack marched off full of importance. You may have turned around with an invisible elbow punch to your thigh or if you needed to earn a living – went to work guilt free. Knowing all the while that you would pick them up at 3.00pm and continue to micro manage them, shaping their little souls and being amused at their emerging personalities and proud of their achievements.

Now they are driving around independently, they have friends you don’t know, and when you see them off at the airport you know its only going to fuel the desire to travel. You may lose them for years. They are no longer yours to manage. You find yourself breathing so shallow that if something else distracted you—you worry you may forget to breathe altogether. There is a disconnection and it threatens to undo that sense of purpose you only discovered was possible when you had your chicks in the first place.

When they were born and during those first few years you occasionally contemplated about your past life and tried to remember what motivated you. Then life got so busy you forget to reflect and plan. You may perceive that you are multi dimensional but your first characteristic, the thing that defines you the most – is that you are a parent.

You might be in your forties. You feel like a teenager again without the invincibility. There is peril everywhere for them and for you. Your path is uncertain. Here’s hoping, you are only halfway there – so what the hell happens now?

Dear Mrs Walsh

July 6th, 2015

I hope that you can grieve for your husband in the same way that you would if a stranger had murdered him and had been brought to swift and appropriate justice and showed deep remorse for his actions.

I hope that you can grieve for your son, for his drug use, his addiction, his mental health past, present and in the future, and the calamity he has brought upon himself – as if he had murdered a stranger who had no ties.

I hope that you can separate these two, long-term for both are burdens enough to bear and to reconcile these grievances’ is beyond comprehension for any mere mortal.

Finally I hope, that on reflecting upon the relationship between your husband and your son, as we all would upon a husbands natural death, that you keep close to your heart the idea that they both coveted a reconnection of spirit and loving bond, for how can a father and son not?

Know that please, it was only the scourge on our society that irreparably damaged this possibility and we the Australian public, football followers and others, grieve with you. Let us make ICE the dirtiest word that ever existed and maybe our youth will steer clear.

God Bless.

(I’ve made assumptions here and I apologise for any offence this may cause. I wrote this as an emotional reaction to an event as it was portrayed on our screens, which I acknowledge should never be accepted as the full truth.)

Why not seek out a writer for a funeral service?

I appreciated my writing ability more than I ever thought possible, when in March 2016 I wrote and performed my younger brother’s eulogy.  Much like a performing artist, what makes a good writer, one that our fellow humans will respond to, is fearlessness and authenticity. While I knew writing my brother’s eulogy was going to be difficult I knew in the marrow of my bones it was going to be my privilege and my gift to him. I have in the past written and performed my mother’s and my maternal grandmother’s eulolgies, so I knew that if I could get through it, an exalted sense of closure would be my reward. Ajay was only thirty-five and I had placed upon myself extra responsibility to do a good job for my father, who as you can imagine was the person I was most worried about. Dad gave me one direction, he said ‘Don’t make it about me or dwell on his (decade long) illness’. This one remake was invaluable – the essence of a eulogy should not be about the speakers grief or on behalf of someone’s else grief; apart from introducing your relationship to the deceased at the beginning,  the eulogy should remain focussed on celebrating the deceased person’s life, leaving any purely personal note short and at the end.

In hindsight I was grateful that we had a little extra time from what’s normally the case because Ajay had made a detour to the coroner before his service – for some routine tests due to him being so young and dying at home. It was comforting to hear from our funeral home representative and our private celebrant, Anne Young, who I couldn’t reccomend highly enough, that there is never a need to rush the scheduling of a service, and that there was no reason in our case why Ajay’s service could not be booked for two weeks hence. This would allow the coroner plenty of time and remove any conjecture on the date. Nevertheless, it took me until two days before his service before I found my space –  I had a late afternoon nap and started writing at 11.00pm, finishing at 3.00am. I stepped outside the following morning at 7.30am,  relieved but bedraggled and incredibly sad and puffy to drive my son to the bustop. I was greeted by the most beautiful morning sky I have ever seen in suburbia. It was a Toy Story sky at sunrise, with great bands of sunlight emanateing from the horizon like an iconic image on a festival poster.  At once I knew Ajay was with me right there on the path. I choked up a sob of joy steeped in grief. He was sending me a message, ‘Well done, you got it done, good job, and thank you.’

Later, while munching on a sandwich at Ajay’s funeral, much relieved the service had gone well I had a tap on the shoulder from another (not our own) uniformed funeral-home director. He introduced himself and apologised immediately for interrupting me but said he felt compelled to come and talk to me. He explained that while he wasn’t eaves dropping on Ajay’s service, he could hear the audio as the microphone traveled beyond the chapel into other parts of the building. He said he wanted to tell me that he had heard hundreds of eulogies and that the one I had done for Ajay was one of the best.

It got me thinking that if a grieving family can hire a private celebrant to MC a service within a funeral home or anywhere else for that matter, why can’t people hire a bonafide writer to help them compose the eulogy? It is after all a key component to a service and a daunting exercise for most people; you would not be alone if the thought of writing a eulogy added another layer of stress to the prospect of performing one. What to do? Find someone who can help – and they don’t need to know the deceased – it will be a collaboration of what you want to say with a helping hand of a writer – your memories and your stories.  And if there is no one in your circle up to the task – seek out a professional.  Performing a well set out eulogly will not only enhance the service for all the mourners present but should leave you feeling accomplished, honoured, and privledged to have contributed to your loved one’s goodbye.

Rest in everlasting peace Ajay.

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