Category: Diary Page 36 of 47

It’s the day of my friend’s funeral.

I’ve been thinking of his ten-year-old son, the same age as my own Elderbeast. I’ve been thinking about his ex-wife, and of her having to explain to her son what happened. (I’ve had some daunting conversations with my kinderbeasts in recent months, but nothing on this scale.) I think of his parents, attending their child’s funeral; something no parent should ever have to do.

I reflect that, thankfully, I haven’t been to many funerals. The last one, two decades ago, was for my own mother. The day passed in a blur, even though I remember almost every detail. Back then, I held it together until they carried the coffin in. I wonder if I’ll hold it together or not today. It’s not my own grief that typically gets me; it’s witnessing the grieving of others.

And, once again, I think of my friend’s family.

The service is well attended. There are a handful of people from work. I see my friend’s son and his mother; we hug and say hello briefly. I’m not able to say much more. There are many people I don’t know. I’m glad that so many people have come to remember him, but sad that he perhaps forgot how loved he was in life. Or maybe we forgot.

The service is perfect. It reminds us to celebrate his life, not to regret that we couldn’t prevent his passing. I take a lot of comfort from everything that’s said. I’m surprised when my tears come at the end, but in the end they’re tears that mourn the friend I had the joy of knowing.

I’ll leave you with a poem that was read during the service, which says everything that could possibly be said.

Safe Harbour
by Jennifer Hickok

The storm has been raging for so long now
Pouring rain, crashing thunder, howling wind
Beating down on this lonely ship
Searching for a place to call home

There was a time; it seems so long ago
The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky
Looking up from the bow into forever
A gentle breeze, cotton candy clouds

But the storm slowly moved in
A few scattered showers and thunderstorms
Days of downpour, flashes of lightning
With shelter so hard to find

Rainbows still shone, beacons of hope
In the unlikeliest places
Vibrant against a backdrop of gray
A glimpse at the best of times

As the years passed by
The storms changed, getting worse
Getting better, and fading away
But they’d left their mark

A vessel is forever changed
When touched that way
And although you can rebuild
The damage has been done

Horrible storms had been forecast
For the not so distant future
But they wouldn’t hit this ship
Not again, no more damage would be done

The ship will be protected now
Lost no more, tossed about no longer
Safe in a harbor to forever call home

I manage to get up for a second day running (or was it a third? Who’s really counting anyway?) and do another 700 words on the second draft of my story. Pretty pleased with that.

I get to work and immediately have to plunge into two meetings before I can even go and get coffee; which doesn’t happen until nearly 11am, which is an entirely unacceptable way to exist.

I get a surprise in my inbox. Last night I emailed a copy of the draft consent orders to my superannuation provider: they have to agree to be bound by the orders as the settlement between me and Rachel includes a small share of my super. The small print says I need to give them at least 28 days notice to review the order before I can file it with the court. Instead they come through in less than 24 hours. This means that the next step is filing the papers with the Family Court.

Back home and I use the rest of the slow cooked lamb to make a shepherd’s pie. I keep telling people I’m making cottage pie for dinner, and get corrected. (For the heathens among you, cottage pie is made with beef … because of the obvious link between beef and cottages). Either way it’s very tasty.

I then spend the rest of the evening immersed in trepidation over my friend’s funeral tomorrow.

It’s Fucken Monday. I don’t quite get up at 6:20 to write, but it’s close enough. I get 700 words of editing done, which is a pretty good effort.

Since I didn’t end up roasting the lamb yesterday, I’ve decided to stick it in the slow cooker today. The last thing I want to be doing on a Monday morning is preparing dinner, but I know I’ll be glad I did it in the end. However, it takes up way too much of my morning. I’m late dropping the kinderbesten off. I’ve naively and optimistically arranged to see my lawyer at 9am (I only need to see him to get his signature on a piece of paper, which he has offered to do at no charge) but it’s already 8:50. I phone up and they’re fine with me getting there at 9:30 instead. Of course, the traffic is slow on the freeway, and of course I get into the city and take a wrong turn and end up back on the freeway, going the wrong way. This does nothing for my Monday Mood. I get to where I’m going at last and park, and then the parking meter keeps declining my card. I’m about to give up on the whole day. Luckily the next meter works just fine.

It’s all worth it in the end: the lawyer even runs me through the rest of the impending process (for free). On my way out I attempt a brief hunt for coffee, but there’s excellent coffee to be had at work and I decide I’m well ready to see the back of the city this Monday morning. But, the city still manages to have the last laugh, and sends me to the wrong exit onto the freeway, going the exact opposite direction to where I want to be going. I manage to get myself going to the right way, and I feel the tension sloughing off the further I get from the city.

At work I go straight into a meeting before I have a chance to get coffee. Then my afternoon is four solid hours of meetings. I realise now I should have stayed in the city.

When I get home the slow cooked lamb is as delicious as expected: even the kinderbesten enjoy it. I decide to move around some more furniture, trying to get the ‘secondary TV area’ a bit more organised. I engage the kinderbesten to help, and they do manage to help a little bit, in between making the job even harder and more painful than it should be. I’m not convinced by the end result, but I decide to leave it and see if it grows on me. After that I do something I’ve been putting off for weeks: I phone up my car insurer about my renewal quote. This year’s price is more expensive than last year’s. Also, I’ve managed to find a better quote by visiting their website as a new customer, which leaves me even less impressed. However, they prove to be awesome and give me $60 off my renewal quote, plus the Roadside Assist service that I’d included in my website quote. I’m put the phone down very happy with the world at large.

As it’s Monday I want to settle on the sofa and catch up with some TV. It’s already pretty late and I want to be in bed soon, but I figure one episode of something, at about 45 minutes, should be fine. Wrong. Turns out the first episode of American Gods is 60 minutes. Season 3 of Fargo starts with a 65 minute-long episode. The Handmaid’s Tale bows in at 57 minutes. Westworld debuts at 70 minutes. I consider Wayward Pines, which is short enough and has been high on my watch list for a long time now, but I’m already over the  idea of watching TV. I decide to drink tea, eat ice cream, and catch up on my diaries instead.

Which, of course, was the right choice all along.

For Sunday I’m taking the Elderbeast to see Wonder Woman. But first: writing.

I’ve vowed to get up every morning this week to write, and the writing week starts on Sunday. It’s true that I intend to get up every day (except for Saturday: Designated Lie In Day) of every week for writing, but I’ve been finding it harder and harder to get up when the alarm goes off, so this week is all about making sure I start early enough to get some quality writing time in.

Writing happens, then it’s time to get ready. The film starts at 11:15am, but we need to drop the Kinderbeast off with his grandparents first, following which I’ve decided it would be a great idea to have time for waffles before the film starts. Also, I have a headache, so everything’s taking longer. Or at least it feels like it. We end up getting to the cinema an hour before the film starts, and because it’s Sunday nothing’s open in the shopping centre yet. I buy waffles but the Elderbeast decides he doesn’t want any, so I have to eat the lot. It’s a terrible sacrifice, but one I’m prepared to make. Then, even though I’ve already bought drinks and snacks, he still talks about getting post-mix Coke. This does not ease my headache.

Finally it’s time to go and get our tickets. The film is a fair bit longer than I expected; this, coupled with the later than usual start time (I was originally planning for 10:30am), means I’m probably not going to be able to drop in and see my friends afterwards as expected. It’s yet another in a series of scheduling fails from me. However, the film is great. I was expecting it to be good, based on word of mouth, but it was probably better than that–mostly because it largely avoids being a superhero movie in favour of being a commentary on war, innocence and heroism. Consequently the CGI battle at the end comes as a disappointment, something that has been a universal opinion as far as I can tell. It’s funny: the one misstep in the film is the one thing that everyone normally expects from a superhero movie.

After the film we head back to collect the Kinderbeast from his grandparents’ house and get invited to stay for lunch. Roast lamb is on the menu, which is, coincidentally, exactly what I was going to cook for myself. However, it would be the height of insanity to pass up the offer of a home cooked roast dinner. So we stay. And it is absolutely delicious.

Back home and it’s already bed time for the Kinderbeast, and Doctor Who time for the Elderbeast and I. It’s a pretty good one this week (The Eaters Of Light) but, like much of this season, fails to truly excite me–with the exception of Peter Capaldi and Pearl Mackie, who consistently make every moment worth watching.

It’s Designated Lie-In Day, but I’m still up by 8am. I’m keen to continue the habit of bringing the kinderbesten along for the weekly food shopping trip on Saturday mornings, and we finally make it to the shops for 9:30am, which isn’t too bad: it’s still relatively serene in the aisles.

By popular demand (i.e. the Elderbeast’s idea) the day is to be spent playing Broforce on the PlayStation. Before this happens, I engage the services of the Elderbeast to help me clean the gutters, which proves frustrating for all concerned. In the end I abandon the task due to a lack of suitable tools. And patience.

We then go and play Broforce for a bit, until the Elderbeast decides to switch to The Binding Of Isaac. After this its time for Saturday Morning Film Club. I suggest Spider-Man 2, since the Kinderbeast has expressed interest in Spider-Man recently. However, I get voted down in favour of Despicable Me, which is still pretty awesome. While the kinderbesten watch, I adjourn to put clean sheets on my bed … mainly because I can’t remember when I last put clean sheets on(!) I enter into battle and finally leave the bedroom both victorious and very excited about Clean Sheets Night.

I then nip back to the supermarket, having forgotten earlier to get drinks and snacks for a cinema trip tomorrow. See, I refuse to pay the insane prices for post-mix coke  and popcorn that the cinema charges. And yet I leave the supermarket with $25 worth of drinks and snacks, which mostly undoes the budget logic. Never mind! The victory is still mine as a major corporation once again fails to fleece the little guy by selling overpriced crap.

Wait ….

Anyway, I’ve promised the kinderbesten KFC for dinner, so we drive to our new KFC restaurant that has recently appeared down the road (which actually makes it sound far more mysterious and interesting than it really is). Along the way we listen to songs from Moana, and the Kinderbeast sings along: he knows every word–which isn’t surprising since he goes to sleep listening to the soundtrack every night. Meanwhile, having had many discussions with the Elderbeast about the fact that we really don’t need to buy the largest variety bucket available to humanity, given that there’s only two and a half of us eating, I finally get him to relent. We leave with a very modest quantity of food which, even then, he doesn’t manage to eat all of. But it is very delicious. Our new local KFC is definitely bringing its A Game. For now.

I’ve got nothing planned for the evening, which means the Elderbeast and I get to have some quality time together and watch an Awesome Movie. For this occasion the Elderbeast has requested Predator, which naturally I’m up for. It’s a great movie that’s not necessarily a good one. Bizarrely, the mastering of the bluray makes it look like everyone’s caked in make-up for the most part, but it’s not too distracting. All the classic lines still land, but the whole thing’s still only a few corny lines (and several million dollars) away from being a legitimately bad movie. The Elderbeast, of course, has a great time with it.

I’ve decided to wrap the work week up by taking in a vast quantity of homemade brownies for morning tea. It’s meant to be part of a thank you for everyone’s patience with me, as I dealt with the collapse of my marriage, as well as a celebration of the fact that our team has been together for a year now. However, I say none of these things in favour of simply letting everyone tuck into the brownies for the sake of enjoying some brownies.

My friend Seb is unable to make Fridate, so it’s just me and the kinderbesten. I let them chill out with their iPads while I make full use of my new IKEA shelves and unpack my CDs. It’s the first time they’ve been properly out of the box for about a decade. I worry that I’ll run out of space, but in the end there’s still several shelves empty.

Solution: buy more CDs.

Inevitably, several discs catch my eye as I rack them up, so I put them on. I end up spending the evening relaxing on the sofa and listening to music. Again, something I’ve not done for a looooong time. It’s glorious.

For bedtime reading I decide I want to read a graphic novel: Friday night always feels to me like it should be comic book night (but it rarely ever is). Many months ago I picked up a copy of Wicked + Divine in a Humble Bundle. I start reading this and am instantly hooked. Beautiful art. Brilliant script. Totally out there story. Brilliant.

I take the morning off work to go and get some of the settlement papers signed (Application For Consent Orders, if you want to be precise about it). As I’m no longer retaining my lawyer, I need to go and get the papers signed and witnessed. Luckily there’s a resident Justice Of The Peace at a nearby shopping centre. I know this because Rachel went to the same place to do her part of the signing (and witnessing).

I drop the Elderbeast off at his PEAC class and head to Garden City, wishing that the headache I’d woken up with would buggar off. I’m tired and meh, so my first stop is the grab some coffee and eggs at my favourite breakfast place in the centre. I’m expecting a call at 9:30–I’ve signed the Elderbeast up for a Mindfulness course, and the tutor wants to chat to me about him first–but the call never comes. I wonder around outside the Civic Centre, where the Justice Of The Peace operates, generally looking suspicious, and finally head in at 9:55am when they put the sign outside announcing that the JP is available. It only takes a couple of minutes but I’m glad I was first in as there are six people waiting outside when I leave.

I have some time to kill before I need to collect the Elderbeast, and then remember that Rachel’s mother works in the centre so I drop in to say hello. In almost no time I have to go and pick up the Elderbeast. We stop by the supermarket along the way, where I pick up a heavily discounted yoghurt and an equally heavily discounted chicken sandwich for my lunch. Win!

At the end of the day I decide I need some wine, even though it’s not yet Friday. I’m sharing with Beryl, who doesn’t drink Merlot, but fortunately there’s a bottle of Shiraz that’s been languishing on the shelf. It turns out to be a good one, and there’s barely a glass left in the bottle by the time we’re done.

I finally catch up with my friend at work. We chat about the mutual friend we’ve lost. It doesn’t seem that long ago that we would end the work week chatting over a beer on a Friday afternoon. We share the same sense of shock over the news, but are equally unsurprised that it ended this way.

It’s a sombre Tuesday. I wake up having dreamt about the Kinderbesten going missing while I’m on holiday. A nightmare in all senses of the word. I’m relieved when I wake up and, for once, real life is emphatically better than the dream.

Nevertheless, much of the morning is spent pondering the death of my friend. I message a work colleague who, I’m ashamed to realise, I’ve not caught up with for a couple of months. The news reminds me that we should catch up and chat, especially as I suspect he will also be mourning. However, he’s off on a school excursion for the day.

The hardest part is having to tell Rachel. I spend some time trying to figure out the best way to break such terrible news, but quickly decide that simply getting on and doing it is for the best. I message her as I walk back to the office with my coffee, and then forward the same email I received.

The rest of my day is filled with meetings, and the arrival of a new work PC … which sits on my desk and leaves me vaguely intimidated for the afternoon.

Today I find out that a friend of mine has died over the weekend. They say he “passed away”, but given a long history of severe depression you don’t need many pieces to put together what really happened.

I hadn’t talked to him in a couple of years, and only sporadically in the few years prior to that. But go back a few more years and I have a friend that I used to work with, that I used to see almost every weekend, and that I was close enough to that our families spent a couple of Christmas Days together. My heart is torn apart thinking about the loss of that friend, but he was taken long before this weekend.

I watched as mental illness took away his competence, then his joy. I watched as it tore him away from his family. I watched the empty space where my friend used to be.

When something like this happens, the typical question we ask ourselves is: could I have done more? Absolutely, yes. When there’s death involved there’s always something else we could have done. When there’s no alternative, no opportunity to turn back the clock, we obsess over the things we might have done differently. There’s always something.

Ask me if I was shocked about this news, and the answer is yes. Ask me if I was surprised, and you’ll get a different answer. I could have done more, but I suspect the only difference I would have made would have been to assuage my guilt a little more. My friend, at least what remained of him, spent years getting the best care he could probably have gotten. But it wasn’t enough.

I don’t know what his last day was like, and I doubt I ever will. But I like to think that the end came not after a moment of desperation and despair, but after a moment of peace. I like to think that there was a moment where he simply decided enough was enough, and made a choice.

We’re supposed to end pieces like this by reminding everyone that help and counselling are available. They are. But all I want say is this: if you think someone you know is having a bad time, let them know you’re there. Just say ‘hello, I’m here’. You never know, just reminding someone at the right moment that they’re not alone in the world might be the thing that makes all the difference.