Dying to Know

“I’ll be dead.”

My neighbour holds her wine glass and continues: “I don’t care, because I’ll be dead.”  

We are chatting about her funeral, eulogy and how she would like to be remembered.   I haven’t even asked her about her thoughts of coffin verses shroud.  Priest verses celebrant?  Home burial? 

Whilst it’s true that funerals are ‘for the living” it seems my friend can walk out of her life without a care in the world or a backward glance, but it’s not for me.

Us ‘deathies’  who work in the funeral business, love to discuss other’s funeral plans and we enjoy asking the big questions of life, and death. 

We are the death whisperers.  We are the people who give you permission to think and plan.

The thing that makes us human is that we know we will die one day. It’s what urges us on to live, knowing that the death stopwatch is ticking every second.  Having frank conversations of your own death, can give you an unexpected calmness and confidence.  These days anything goes, and new professions are being born such as funeral planners, and death doulas, or palliative carers.

‘Dying to Know Day’ is an occasion to create social and cultural change about death and dying.   The aim is to promote resilience and well-being in response to end-of-life issues, and to encourage people to build their death literacy.  It’s not morbid, in fact quite the opposite!

It’s a breath of fresh air - opening a window in your life to plan and discuss your own thoughts and wishes  with your loved ones.

Just as talking about pregnancy or chocolate won't make you pregnant or fat, chatting about death won't kill you!  

Discussion on death, dying and funerals is the new black, with Death Cafes being held regularly in Brisbane and internationally. Death Cafes are not grief workshops, nor are they support groups.   A Death Café is where people, often strangers, meet to have open and frank discussions about death, dying and grief, within safe boundaries.   Of course there’s cake too, as we celebrate our own lives.

It seems society has turned a cultural philosophical corner but there is a long way to go; we are all on the same train, with some of us getting off at different stations. I urge you to sit down with your family and have a cuppa and that special chat.  Talk about your Wills, chat about end-of-life wishes, and especially discuss and make your Advanced Health Care plan.   You don't need a terminal illness to begin these conversations, in fact, do it whilst you are well and healthy.  Making your Will, organising your Power of Attorney, and Advanced Care planning are all part of your life, and your future. 

Last month I put on my big-girl-pants and bought my own grave, and I couldn't be happier.  It occurred to me that I didn't want to be scattered, as nice as that sounds; I wanted a grieving place for future ancestors to come and visit and point, saying: “Look, they've spelt her name wrong.”

Having my grave chosen and paid for has given me added freedom to live my life.  I've made peace with my own mortality, and it gives me great comfort to know that it’s sorted.   

You'll find me gently resting somewhere in an historic cemetery, high on the hill and under a huge tree (great for photos!) with city and mountain views.

I'll be pushing up daisies, after I've kicked the bucket, how good is that?  The trick is not to fill it too soon.

My sons are relieved as that’s one less thing to worry about; they can sort out my funeral and it better include champagne!

Oh, that’s right, I’ll be dead.  

Life, death, and bubbles in between

Yesterday I chatted about death, dying, and funeral photography. I celebrated end of life traditions and cultures that shape our memories with Golie, a stunning, intelligent PhD student who shares my curiosity of preserving moments of time, fragments of grief, and the beauty of the human spirit.

Calling into the bottle shop to buy a bottle of champagne to toast to our future King, the third in line, a baby in arms: “A bottle to wet the baby’s head” I exclaim, to the confusion of the young attendant and his mate.

‘What is it today with saying that?” he demands. “Everyone’s been saying that all day long, I don’t get it,” and clearly, he doesn’t. “It’s beautiful that so many of the community want to share this special day” I explain, “You don’t really wet the baby’s head, it’s just a saying,”  and I leave him clearly muddled.

It’s hard to pass on a generation of tradition if the kids are plugged into Ipods and earplugs. They aren’t interested and it’s a worrying trend. How can you ignore the past?

Once home I send my friend a dit. Come and share champers, wet the baby’s head!

Within five minutes she tramps up my stairs, flashing her trademark smile. “Thought we should wet the baby’s head” she says, explaining that her message bank service wasn’t working but she had a hunch I’d open champagne. How well she knows me.

A good day is when you celebrate life each day. A great day is when you can reflect equally on death, and the continuation of life and royalty, with bubbles.

Cheers.

The Lightness of Being.

“Cheers mum” and we adult children raise our flutes high and toast our dear mother. After a passionate rendition of singing Happy Birthday, complete with hip-hoorays, her casket is wheeled to the waiting hearse; we watch as mum is taken for private cremation.

She wanted to make 93 and so she did, in her own way. After a horrific fall that saw her hospitalised since January - the third fall in as many years - we gave her a very pretty, symbolic, old ladies funeral: can’t ask for better. In fact, it was perfect.

Crystal bowls of her favourite chocolates for everyone to share, stunning posies of native flowers, old friends, familiar faces, a gentle priest and enough great-grandchildren to almost fill the small wooden church. Genuine tears to be sad at our loss, plenty more laughter to remind us that life does indeed go on, at a cracking pace too. Even champagne!

So how are we all coping?  Somehow I have changed. There is lightness now in my life. For the first time I have had to rely on myself.

Although dad has been gone for 9 years, I still miss his booming hello at the end of the phone line; and now there is no smiling mum asking me what my latest project involved. It’s just me now and I like it.  

I now sleep at night, not worrying about her latest injury. What did the doctor say?  Does she need to be moved to a Nursing Home? When was the last time her back was rubbed?   What needs to be done?  Her needs.   Gently caring for our elderly mother has been a loving blessing which was in danger of becoming a chore. And yet it never did. But still, now I can relax, and enjoy my life a little more. I was a good daughter; in fact we were all dutiful, obedient, caring children to our parents, returning the unconditional love shown to us. We not only did our best, but far and beyond that. And we happily exhausted ourselves.

Now, newly orphaned, there isn’t the distress I thought I would feel, only a calmness.

A lightness of being in my own skin, for the first time.

Like a modern day Gulliver, the family ties that gently wrapped loving arms around me, and gave me a stable, solid grounding; from tropical Cairns and Rockhampton, to Toowoomba and beyond to far flung Wollongong, have unravelled; as old age and death claimed the matriarchs, aunties and godmothers in my life. Three old girls dead in four weeks.  I drift through the days and nights, float through sleepless weeks, unweighted. The lightness both disturbs and comforts me, as I put into place life lessons learned from years of conversations and hands-on experience. I have to trust that I know enough. I need to believe that I can do this Living, without their voices on the end of the phone. Without loving arms surrounding me with joy. Without approval or judgement.

It has to be enough.

Now I am making my own decisions. Missing their opinions and helpful advice, yes, but gladly standing on my own two feet and looking forward to my own life, with confidence.

They say funerals are for the living, and it’s true. We created a memorable Service, which incorporated everything she wanted: The Lord’s Prayer. Traditional of course. Forever and ever, Amen.

The Magnificat. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be.

We gave mum what she wanted, and more. Now it’s our turn to live our lives with the same grace and integrity shown to us.

Living with such lightness, demands my feet be grounded. If I am ever in danger of floating away, my memories will form a rock steady base, and with both feet planted safely, my eyes look to my own horizon.

Mum's Passing - Thoughts.

March 19 2013
Thanks everyone else who has taken the time and care to comment, it's beautiful to be cared for by my Facebook family, hugely appreciated. Home now for a glass of red, my sister is showering, then back to hosptial, but not for me. I don't want to do it, I photograph too many dead people to want to see my mum like this. Over it. It was enough to hold dad in my arms as he went, I don't want to do that with mum.
I've said my goodbyes to her, and I am at peace with that. Candles are lit. x

At noon today we thought she would be gone by 1pm. Instead, her breathing regulated, her hands warmed up (!!) and here we are all those hours later. Death is a meanie, taking it's time, teasing and haunting us, every, single, fecking, day. We could still be having this conversation tomorrow! *faints.

Mum says in her halting, stuttering, breathy voice:"I must firmly tell my daughters; Family first". The irony made me weep. *sighs

Only 8 weeks ago today, my *almost 93yo mother, had sparking blue eyes, full of cheek and wit, rasing her wine glass and hugging her many grandchildren. Tonight, we keep virgil over her bed, as she sleeps peacefully snoring. Yoh Wah (*goodbye) Bunty, thanks for everything. I will miss you every day, and will never look at a telephone again without wanting to ring you at 5pm.

Worth sharing: "Go to sleep and rest your eyes. A clear conscience and no regret is what helps you sleep the sleep of babes. You have done what can be done. Believe me do not be afraid of death or the things left unsaid. Instead be able to celebrate life joy and happiness for these are what lives are for."

March 20 2013
The wind howls around the house, and cries through the trees: Where is our mother? Where is our mother?

RIP Pearl Warby, our Mother of 3 girls and 3 boys. Reader, gardener, opera lover, wife of a soldier, daughter, sister and mother to us all. Bless you and keep you in His loving arms. Toujours gai - and always a Lady. Yow Wah *goodbye

My 2 sisters are back home, red eyed, happy with grief. Phone calls are made...softly...gently.. We fresh ophans sit and raise our glasses of champagne, toasting our mum.

Playing The Lark Ascending for mum. (*And the lark just rises, going up, and up, and finally, it's out of sight) Having a quiet weep. She always wanted this for her funeral. Today we carefully ironed her beautiful purple blouse we all love, bought fresh white pretty knickers for her, and took her clothes to the funeral arranger. This afternoon we met with the always amazing Fr Cameron and planned her Service. Have to say, it’s going to be beautiful.

Flowers have started to arrive. Thank you to everyone for your kind thoughtfulness, with your loving Facebook posts, your beautiful Twitter messages of support, your phone calls, Sms’s and so on. Please know they are all read, noted, and enjoyed. Bless. X

Mum and I loved Archy and Mehitabel: we would often quote bits to each other. Please enjoy. http://donmarquis.com/archy-and-mehitabel

Happy Birthday Eve my darling mum, tomorrow we send you off with Grace and dignity, style and love. If you could see the waxing moon over Mt Archer, if you could feel the gentle night wind on your cheek once more, and know that your life was charmed, difficult, original and amazing. If you could only know, once more, the feel of my arms around you. I wish! Sleep now my darling girl, sleep now, brave girl. I love you. X

Please bear with me if I indulge in a little 1am quiet sob for my mum, whom I will never know. A private, reserved woman. The stranger in our midst. Yah wah mum. *goodbye

***

My aunty has my mother’s ears, and her own, twisted, paralyzed hands. She moans softly, Mum, mum. I am here.

Like a modern day Gulliver, the family ties that gently wrapped loving arms around me, and gave me a stable, solid grounding; from tropical Cairns and Rockhampton, to Toowoomba and beyond to far flung Wollongong; have unravelled, as old age and death claimed the matriarchs, aunties and godmothers in my life.

I drift through the days and nights, float through sleepless weeks, unweighted. The lightness both disturbs and comforts me, as I put into place life lessons learned from years of conversations and hands-on experience. I have to trust that I know enough. I need to believe that I can do this living, without her voice on the end of the phone.

Without aunty laughs and arms surrounding me with joy. Without female approval or judgement.

It has be enough.

Twitter:

She actually said: i love you, i love you, the naughty one. Sigh. X

Glad i am here, although i DID say no more death bed scenes. Still, who are we to write the script?

All a part of life & living, this dying business. Sitting cross legged in hall with a cuppa trying 2 get internet

Chatting to nurse Wendy. 'What was your husband like?' to mum. He was a beautiful man, she says. I cried, hearing that.

Mum glances to her right. 'Who's that?' she asks, nodding to the corner of the room. I nudge Carolyn. 'Is it a man or a woman mum?' I ask

She can't tell me. She looks around her room. 'There's 1,2,3 of them' she says. I stare and smile at nothing but curtains and the sink.

Carolyn suggests it might be mums angels, but mum isn't convinced. Yet she still counts them loud. One. Two. Three.

Mum is snoring. So sweet x

Sitting in the hallway playing solitaire, missing my pillow. Glad i am here though. Might make a nest in mums big chair. Goodnight x

Gawd i am freezing! Thin white hospital blanket, brrr. Mum still snoring.

Good morning Groovers. Sis and i at hospital with mum, starving for Maccas breakfast, lol. Long night. Long day ahead. the morphine is making her confused.

Think she "saw" 3 people in the room last night. Kept asking the time since 4am, witching hr

We will go soon, once witching hour has passed, come back later and do it all again.

Sending warm thoughts to you today..."thanks, i will wrap them around my shoulders like an old friend x

"I'm just a patient, who doesn't know: what's it all about?" says mum.

Remember family, says mum, then drifts off with a smile on her face. I wonder what that memory was?

It’s a restless wind in Rocky tonight, yachts jerk, trembling on their anchors, trees shake their manes with impatience, doors rattle.

It's a restless night tonight, the wind slaps the blinds and spanks unseeing windows.

Be able to celebrate life joy and happiness for these are what lives are for.

I am at home, listening to the wind shiver around the house. Sisters at hospital. Tired, bedtime xx

Back to sleep 4 me, mums candle went out, big wind here, think she is gone, dunno

RIP my darling mother with the laughing blue eyes, I shall always be grateful to you.

she was always a lady with a wicked sense of intelligence & humour. At peace now. Bless.

I am an ophan, the person who supported me & believed in me, listened to me, is gone. So non-judgmental & loving...

With life, comes death. My mother is teaching me gently, still.

she was our matriarch, much loved we won the jackpot with our parents. Marvellous lives x

I think what I'll miss most is her unconditional support, always interested in whatever funeral I'd film, supportive x

Mum's funeral notice in paper, looks good.

Magpies & crows having animated conversations #Rocky

Such a perfect circle.

Thanks Twitter buddies, give me strength to read the Eulogy (my part) & send her off with dignity.

We want happy funeral, she had a great life. Warby-time is over. Bless

So it is done. We orphans gave mum a dignified, memorable, creative Service. Yoh Wah mum. *goodbye #funerals

Celebration

She leans into his shoulder and closes her eyes against the evening sea breeze. Curls her painted toes around smooth pebbles. Dreams of paradise.  And lowering his gaze to her windswept face and tousled hair, he holds her, pushes hair away, kisses her lightly. Urgently. Softly. Choosing one rose, he places it in the water. Not thrown; placed. The photographer bends on one knee,captures the falling wave splashing against the red petals, adjusts his shutter to the fading light, clicks again. Remembered.

They are in New Zealand to recreate their wedding day from 30 years ago, but already it’s too late. His cancer has returned with the strength of a thousand men and his body is weak and frail with yellow.

~

The images are now on my computer, and from my kitchen I watch them walk their last walk together, as I create his funeral DVD. Their love was strong, obvious, deeply felt, ever-lasting.

~

So now she sits before me in a restaurant, eyes lowered. She cannot look into anyone’s eyes, not even her own.  The hurt is so raw, her grief so huge, it will need a decade of nights to smooth over.

She’s bought flowers for me, roses. My thank you for filming and recording the funeral. For archiving forever, the way she held her head back, staring at the chapel ceiling. Trying not to film too closely, the way she knelt in front of her Nana; the way she placed her head on the old woman’s lap, and allowed her hair to be stroked.

Roses of every colour, to say thank you and celebrate the worst day of her life, the hardest goodbye. Reluctantly, gratefully, I take them from her shaking hands, and gently hug her frailty.

There is no smile, only the haunted look of a woman in love with a husband who will never age.
~

Brisbane Funeral Photographer & Videos

When tomorrow comes…

Tomorrow I am going to help my old school friend bury her husband.

After decades of pain and depression, he finally ended it all with a brand new white rope.

She found him.

She has asked me to bring my video camera to record the Service, as she explains: “Patty, I always remember you saying, that you might not want to view the images now, or even next week, but one day you will come to a place in your life where it might be good to view the funeral, and the DVD will be there, quietly waiting for you.”

So, tomorrow, I will help my old school friend bury her husband, who loved her, but depression and constant chronic pain won out.

Rest in Peace.

~~~

Today I am going to help my old school friend bury her husband. I’ll be the oldest friendship there to support her, and although her nursing friends and old bridesmaids will be there, although her small family consisting of her only brother and his wife and kids will be there, I will be the one with the oldest memories of her; memories of a single girl, a carefree, happy redheaded blue-eyed school girl, in the school hallway bent over laughing at my jokes.

We both travelled to Cooktown together in our senior year, keeping a watchful eye on the young boys as we were plunged into a series of small train tunnels, pitch black and groping hands, to emerge in the blinking daylight, slightly dishevelled with smug teenagers sitting opposite us, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouth. It was a game and we played along, much fun.

Over the years we kept in loose touch. If I was staying in the Hunter Valley helping my old wine-maker friend Jim Roberts pick his grapes, I would stay with her and her husband.

Her husband was a soft, gentle man, a large man, a lumbering giant heaving an unworkable broken body around the best he could. In those days he drove a taxi, and could get around a little bit, but the passing years were unkind to him, and gradually depression began to taint his world and the shutters closed in.
~~~
Today my husband was showering early, and I heard him yelp from where I was in the kitchen. I called out: Are you alright? Darl? Are you ok? And with his silence my footsteps quickened to reach him.
He stood there, water droplets from the shower covering the paddocks of his back and shoulders. On Sunday he had spent most of the day changing over 45 fluorescent light tubes at his work, and one of the tubes had cut his finger deeply. It was this sore finger that had banged against the towel rail, and it had silenced him with sudden pain.

I gently took the white towel and slowly, tenderly, wiped his back, his legs, his chest. “There you go, the rest is up to you” I said, and left him to finish the job.

Some days marriage is like that, you have to be there and step forward.
~~~
“When you first told me what you did, I couldn’t understand it, I thought ‘A funeral photographer? What the hell?’ but now I totally get it.” We speak softly, the phone nuzzles into my neck, and I close my eyes and imagine we are once again sitting in the spa we shared only weeks ago. “I want you to photograph him, and film the funeral, in fact I want to take the DVD over to Ireland and share it with his old friend. She can’t make it over for the funeral. I’ll take it to her.”

Already in her mind, she is moving forward, seeing a fresh day, a new start, a different tomorrow.

A fortnight ago we stayed at O’Reilly’s in the Gold Coast hinterland, the four of us women coming together in solidarity of having some time to ourselves. I spoke to her about everything but her husband. She needed the break, and I made it clear that the topic was always there if she needed to, wanted to speak about him; I was all ears and arms; to wrap around her. We watched an opera DVD, Cecilia Botoli. Eventually, she leaps to her feet, and begins to move to the music.

This is the first time I ever lined-danced to opera she says. I try to keep up with her steps, but it’s not for me, the set routine and boredom of repeating movements. I lash out and wobble my bits in joy, dancing for a moment in the rainforest. We laugh and giggle, like the old schoolgirls we still are.

Neither of us then imagined that we would be arranging his funeral. My friend is my old schoolgirl mate, childless, now widowed. She’ll rise above this, and move forward, and I’ll be there to help if I am needed.