No matter how different we all may be, there is one thing that keeps every individual connected, that is death. Death may signify the end of the road for one, but for those left behind it can be the beginning of a whole new outlook and appreciation for living. At least, I can only hope we all come to see it this way.
I flew in late a couple Thursdays past, back to Melbourne to celebrate the life of an adventurer; a motorbike riding bad ass who was not bad ass at all, but the kindest of men with nothing but love for his family and friends. A true gentleman in every sense of the word. Friday morning I hauled ass out of bed early to flip through mum's photo albums, let me tell you, my mum has a giant tub on wheels exploding with albums, some so old they may crumble in your hands. They had a certain smell that I can't get enough of, like a library. I took a big whiff, a whiff of history and endless memories. Nothing quite tells a story and memory like a photograph, and one photograph can tell a hundred stories depending on personal recollection. Trust me there's been several lets say 'discussions' in my family as to when and where events have occurred. In particular when it comes to my nan and pop, they sure had some fierce discussions in their time, both too stubborn to admit defeat; and why would they, they were right.
Going through the old photos I found my favourite, one I remembered from so many years past I couldn't tell you when, but I knew it existed. That sure is one of the beautiful things about our brains, the ability to store memories, some so old we simply don't remember - but something is triggered. Scent, touch, deja vu, and a simple knowing, our senses are incredible. The photo wasn't quite how I remembered, I was younger than I thought, 10.5 months opposed to 3 years, and it wasn't just us. But that's all I saw, just me sitting on pop's knee, smiling, as he gave me my first sip of beer. Cheeky bugger. Sadly on closer inspection the beer was Fosters, which just may explain my fear and distaste for beer for all those years… I'd like to add I've wised up since and have quite the appreciation for a brew (or two) nowadays.
After gathering a collection of photos, young and old, we were summoned to Nan's for a quick cuddle. The word quick used loosely. A couple hours later, many coffees poured, food prepped my bro and I slipped back home. This 'quick' visit left little time to get ready for the funeral, thankfully Azz (brother) placed all the photos together on my makeshift photo board, boom, teamwork got us there. I tacked the photos down whilst shoving a few spring rolls in my face, a cheeky mimosa to wash it down and we were out the door. The service was lovely, as perfect as it can be. A little Sinatra, a lot of passionate emotions, endless love and support, and of course no shortage of Kleenex. Coffee, tea, cake, then came the wake. A true celebration of the life of a gentleman, a family man. Cold brews, champagne popping - Pop had always asked what's the celebration, today it was all about him.
Back at nan's I took a moment to slip away. I sat on the lone splintered bench on the front porch, lit a cigar and sipped on champagne. I had been blank all week, angry at myself for not finding the words to speak at the funeral, or just say anything at all. Every thought flooded me as I sat alone, inhale, sip, my brain ticked. I sat smiling, looking at the clouds fluffy cushions in the blue sky. I'm not religious in the slightest, I can appreciate why people may need to believe, it's just not for me. But in that moment I liked the idea of heaven; Pops sitting at a bar with his best friends - both of which are no longer with us - they'd be smoking real cigars, drinking from steins, planning the next big trip. Smiling down at us suckers, still slugging away and working for the man, yep, working hard for the good life.
I stubbed the cigar against the bench and headed inside for a top up, after all it was a brilliant day to get full on food, booze and a whole lot of love. We will never stop missing our pop, but he sure as hell wouldn't miss the left overs… Mamma Mia that's a lot of hooch, but it sure tastes alright.
&.the.bohemian.girl.xx.
Postscript: Cancer is a cunt, one that will touch every one of us in one way or another. It can come on unexpected, and be utterly ruthless. There may not be much we can do to fight it, but if you're in a position to you may wish to donate towards research, if not please just look after yourselves, get yourself examined every once in a while… And most importantly, keep on living the good fucking life.
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