Sad times

It’s a big thing to lose a parent. My Dad died three weeks ago today and I am just emerging from the first onslaught of grief.
My father was such an amazingly zany personality it is hard to come to terms with him not being around anymore. Gavin Buchanan was the kind of person who could make any gathering totally come to life just with his presence. There was definitely some magic about my Dad, which meant my childhood was absolutely fantastic. My father was fun-loving and funny (although sometimes sad), a teaser, a joker, an opportunist, a dreamer, a talker of ‘big ideas’. He was handsome, dashing, creative, poetic, artistic, clever, unconventional, offbeat, unusual, dashing and smart but also naive...


Grief is a perplexing bundle of thoughts and feelings and I think each loss we have brings with it a different mix of emotions. There has been lots of ‘poor me’ stuff and some resentments to work through following my father’s death. For a little while my spiritual beliefs - particularly about the karmic accountability of our actions – also got a bit of a shake-up but I’ve come though all that. More recently I’ve been dwelling on the importance of family, on the progression of the generations (the song of long time flowing), and on my own mortality. I kind of like the notion of ‘going home’ one day to join all my family who have gone before me.


Interestingly I saw in the first week after Dad’s death an absolutely fascinating ABC ‘Australian Story ‘ episode about a harp player, Peter Roberts, who describes himself as a thanologist, one who plays music in hospitals to relax people at the end of their lives to allow them to let go and ‘go home’. Roberts is such a beautiful human being it made me cry (again) to listen to him talk about his own spirituality and the work he does to help the dying.


I have had been so lucky to have had lots of conversations and communications with friends and extended family in the past few weeks – including some friend I haven’t spoken to in many years. The lovely things that have been said about my Dad, and my Mum, and our family have validated how lucky I have been, and am, to have such a wonderful family and memories. Thank you to everyone who has been so kind to me.


Here’s one of the last pictures I took off my Dad in recent months - frail, sick and knowing he was dying but the spark of his personality is still very much there.

Goodbye dear Daddio!  I love you to bits. xxx

Regrets

My husband was in a total pickle this morning. The Australian dollar has taken a dive against the Euro. On Tuesday one Australian dollar was worth 72 Euros but this morning one Aussie dollar is only worth 65 cents. He meant to buy some Euros the other day for our overseas holiday but was too busy and now he is beating himself up with regret that he didn’t do it. Nothing I said seemed to make him feel better. He was in total angst.

Last week I went to visit my father in the Blue Mountains. He is very ill and frail and very unhappy. I contemplated his state of mind and wondered if some of it might have to do with regrets. After my mother died and he remarried we became a fractured family. I don’t think he meant it to be this way but it’s just how it ended up. He didn’t keep up the friendships or connections from his life with Mum and us either – but started a totally new life with his second wife. They have moved so much they don’t really have any friends close by. I think he’s lonely now. I suspect he has a lot of regrets. It breaks my heart to contemplate this.

When I get older (I know I’m old now but I guess I mean the usual average end-of-life type old) and reflect back on my life I don’t want to have a huge bundle of regrets. My vision for old age is one where hopefully there might be a certain satisfaction in looking back and thinking you’ve given it your best shot and learnt a bit of wisdom along the way. There will be joys and sorrows to contemplate and puzzle - and I know we can’t avoid having some regrets but I hope I won’t have too many. I also want to still be having robust relationships with my lovely family and the very many important friends I’ve made over the years.

My friend Peter said to me on the phone last night that watching his father die, taught him a thing or two about how to die. When my mother died I felt the same way – she kept on living right up until near the end and died with a lot of dignity. Peter’s father told him he was glad he had time to tie up loose ends and make amends for some of his wrongs he wanted righted. He was glad his exit wasn’t a heart attack or sudden dropping off the twig.

I’d like to imagine dying as being a time for some meaningful philosophical and spiritual contemplation and a time for some really satisfying conversations. A time for tears but for laughter too. I hope I’m not being too naive.

- And sorry this isn't my usual light and fluffy stuff... (and the photo is of a beautiful house in the Blue Mountains)