tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68388353374236203862024-03-14T21:36:33.765+11:00Ben Had Cancer"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain for the old order of things has passed away."Ben's Got Cancerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09978497037724339244noreply@blogger.comBlogger278125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-83791159763166232542019-07-15T12:06:00.000+10:002019-07-15T15:55:10.898+10:00Eleven years, and signing off<br />
Here we are ... 11 years since I (Chris) was in the USA and Ben told me lightheartedly in an email that the little lump on his leg might be cancer. And here, in this blog, the rest of that history is told.<br />
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As Lindy said in an earlier post, we think that it is time to close the blog. However, it remains as testimony to Ben and also to the many people who have walked this road with us in lesser or greater ways. We thank you so much for your care.<br />
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Below are Ben's nephews. The older ones talk about Ben ... Recently Henry has recounted dreams of Ben. In one of Henry's dreams, Ben did 10 somersaults and God was laughing. We look forward to the day when the pain and sorrows fade away and we can all laugh along together.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small; text-align: start;">Ben's four nephews: Ben and Will, Henry and Liam</span></td></tr>
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Of course, signing off on this blog is not about "moving on"; it is not about forgetting Ben; it is not saying things are all better, or even that "time has healed us". Things will never be the same, in so many ways; and we have been changed. Such is life really; sooner or later and in greater or lesser degrees, it throws us curved balls.</div>
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So, to use the old (Scottish) phrase, "we'll meet you in the morning Ben".</div>
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Until then, we send our deep gratitude to all who have shared the journey so far with us. We send our wishes that somehow this blog will have enriched your life.</div>
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Chris and Lindy<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boys at Los Cocos, Argentina, Jan. 2000. Ben with Matt, Tim, Andy, Pete.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-21224115177718220052019-04-03T13:42:00.000+11:002019-04-12T12:09:07.830+10:00In Memory of Edward (Ned) Isham 19/05/2012-29/03/2019<div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">From 6/10/2014: The Leukaemia Foundation’s Light the Night events happen in states around Australia every year. Shine a gold lantern to remember a loved one, a white lantern to reflect on your life with blood cancer, or a blue lantern to show support. Emily has a white lantern for her small son Ned, who is undergoing treatment for leukaemia and Tim carries a gold lantern to remember Ben. </span><br />
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Dear little boy who had a terribly tough journey, and still managed to make the world all the sweeter by being in it.<br />
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We know our times are in your hands Lord, but sometimes we find it all very hard to understand and bear.<br />
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And with a more typical Mulherin tone – we hope you're giving them plenty of trouble up there Ned. Have you bumped into Ben? <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-63799832924029309512019-03-22T08:21:00.001+11:002019-03-22T13:40:14.404+11:0010-year memories of Ben-Jill's speech at Ben's anniversary party<br />
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Memories of Ben, Beno—so many…<br />
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Visiting the Mercy Maternity Hospital 24th August 1985.<br />
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Ben the small baby at Bible study each week, often fractious and unsettled.<br />
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Ben in Tasmania for our engagement picnic at Risdon Brook Dam.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifaqKHsVkcDC4kydXvGOJWd8KYbfrmzvq88So1UDHGXGR7WI35IuacrYsdim8T1ieDc2DospQYYyUqJv0hYM7LWUouDsmoKP0n_N3OrHqRjG0tG0HPh_S9ZglU-OZWBqTEbGbDJrtlkg_w/s1600/1987-01-01+Ben+Tim+Adelaide+house+cute+copy+for+2019-03-03+blog+.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifaqKHsVkcDC4kydXvGOJWd8KYbfrmzvq88So1UDHGXGR7WI35IuacrYsdim8T1ieDc2DospQYYyUqJv0hYM7LWUouDsmoKP0n_N3OrHqRjG0tG0HPh_S9ZglU-OZWBqTEbGbDJrtlkg_w/s200/1987-01-01+Ben+Tim+Adelaide+house+cute+copy+for+2019-03-03+blog+.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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Colin and I getting married and Ben running down the aisle of Xavier Chapel, in the middle of the ceremony—yelling out something to Colin.</div>
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And then it was Ben and Tim … in Adelaide; Ben running off the front verandah and doing a bomb in the 15-centimetre-high inflatable pool and saturating a giggling Tim.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bCIy7Zj8UlDC3SW1kahQIaUAu-yZoIEQWtzSCSM2BnWBNaWhh5hJrFqQaxcqnV4NLp7c8zlMK1-hVLfxkRdRYXDRZm_Lr9v-kKdX2voX-bi_zXY1OzVLm4nN-LTY9CSRVh0We0PTBGQF/s1600/1986-01-01+Ben+on+Adelaide+beach+2+copy+use+for+2019-03-03+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1030" data-original-width="1600" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bCIy7Zj8UlDC3SW1kahQIaUAu-yZoIEQWtzSCSM2BnWBNaWhh5hJrFqQaxcqnV4NLp7c8zlMK1-hVLfxkRdRYXDRZm_Lr9v-kKdX2voX-bi_zXY1OzVLm4nN-LTY9CSRVh0We0PTBGQF/s320/1986-01-01+Ben+on+Adelaide+beach+2+copy+use+for+2019-03-03+blog.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Ben at Glenelg beach in Adelaide and baggy pants. </div>
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A slightly older Ben on the 4-wheel motorbike at grandparents’ farm – including up the hill with Chris with a pink stack hat on. </div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Then four Mulherin boys (with Lindy and Chris and 23 suitcases lined up at Tullamarine airport) were off to Argentina.</span><br />
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Our trip to Argentina to visit them; memories of Ben with a shaved head and a rat’s tail, who liked his Dad driving the Kombi through the flood waters, bravely directing Chris as we tried to get out of a landslide, and waving farewell to us from the observation deck at Tucuman airport.<br />
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Rollerblading in Mont Albert Primary School grounds, driving the Kombi as crazily as he always wanted his Dad to—always with energy and a c’mon! attitude.<br />
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But there was also the fella that was caring: listening, thoughtful, engaged and connected. The young boy trying to teach Tom to crawl, the fella in the middle seat in the back of our SAAB singing along to Savage Garden. <br />
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Ben the cat whisperer: (Zipper, our one and only cat, was rescued from our front garden by Ben), and Ben who swam across the Murray and coached a group of friends to go with him. Ben who spent a harvest with us – helping Colin, and almost finishing painting the outside of our house; in jeans with no arse, and eating four steaks off our BBQ at one meal; and who served himself such an enormous sized dessert at a restaurant in Albury, that he had to undo the button on his jeans in the middle of eating of it, much to the amusement of Tom and James.<br />
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And we remember the cancer too well –looking at magazines full of ski boats, with plans to buy one; the Big M milk and Krispy Kreme donuts, the pain management, the hair loss and shaved head. And videos in intensive care with brothers, friends and relatives visiting him and Ben watching the clock…his courage and caring throughout those short months.</div>
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Still miss you Ben.<br />
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Finally … I remember Ben and Tim joining us for a picnic down a dirt track on the banks of the Murray River. When it came time to leave, Ben was confident that he could find his way back to the highway and home. Now any of you who have spent time on the Murray River know about the labyrinthine-like tangle of tracks along the river – getting to the correct spot required balloons and ribbons tied on particular trees, and getting out was just as tricky. <br />
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But on that day the car roared off, as the journey south began – Colin, Tom, James and me – we stayed at the river as the white Holden drove away in a (big) cloud of dust; only to see it re-emerge a couple of minutes later; the driver (Ben) unable to make sense of the tangle of tracks. He laughed and then they headed off again – ‘First turn left Ben and you’re out!’<br />
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I figure you have sorted most of the tracks now Ben – looking forward to you showing us around.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-43277939020727960652019-02-07T11:49:00.003+11:002019-02-07T11:50:46.796+11:00<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ben ... day 1.</span></td></tr>
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It seems like it’s almost time to wrap up Ben’s blog … as long as people know that it doesn’t mean we’re ‘wrapping up’ Ben and consigning him to ever increasingly distant memories. We at least will always take him with us on our journeys. Always present. Always missed.<br />
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Before we finish though, we thought we’d post a couple of the speeches that were given at Ben’s 10-year CSB party at our place, on the December 8th 2018.<br />
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Here is Tim’s speech:<br />
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<i>I remember two moments with Ben that made me want to disappear and pretend I didn’t know him. I’m sure there are countless I can’t remember. <br /><br />The first one was when we were back in Australia in 2001, I was in year 9 and he was in year 10 and we caught the train to school with a whole bunch of others from school. One day we were all standing on the station, about halfway down the platform waiting for the train. As it approached, just before it passed us, Einstein decided it would be a good idea to land a big green spit on the windscreen of the train, right in front of the driver’s face. The timing was faultless. We got in the train but it didn’t go anywhere and after a couple of minutes the driver came into the carriage where we all were and said “Right, who spat?” We all stood there not daring to speak and holding back laughter, luckily the driver realised it was too hard to work out which of the uniformed teenager had done it, so he left and we got going again. <br /><br />The second incident was a few months later. We were now back in Argentina and Ben and I had gone into town to buy something at a shop that sold everything. The shop had a few steep steps at the front door. As we left, a guy in his thirties was leaving with his partner. She was carrying a few broomsticks under her arm but as she walked down the steps they started falling down around her waist and her husband went to grab them and pulled them out. Once again, the Professor forgot to engage his reasonably solid brain. He thought the situation unfolding in front of us was funny for some reason so in English he said: “Go mate, you pull those brooms out of her ar …” The chance of him speaking English proficiently enough to understand Ben’s bogan retort was very low. Alas he turned around and said “Thanks, I will.”<br /><br />Apart from criticism about what he was wearing on his feet, Ben wasn’t scared of much. So he was the person you wanted on your side or team. Surprisingly, he didn’t get into many fights, but he was always up for a bit of argy bargy. He famously chased after someone at Mallacoota who had smashed a window. Everyone else had let the guy go but Ben bolted after him yelling to those behind him “Come on, he’s not that big.” Probably a fair statement from the person who ended up banned from entering the New Year’s Eve arm wrestle comp because he always won. <br /><br />Despite his fiery nature and the fact that he acted first and thought about the repercussions later, Ben was loyal to those he cared about. I’m sure many of you remember times when you were feeling lousy and Ben noticed and was there to comfort you, often with a firm arm around the shoulder rather than a lot of words. I know Liv remembers a time when she was on camp and visibly upset about her great aunt dying and Ben went over to her, away from the group and just sat with her to comfort her. <br /><br />Another thing I admired about Ben was the fact that he didn’t really care what other people thought: his favourite bands were Savage Garden and the Backstreet boys for heaven’s sake! <br /><br />We are sad that Ben isn’t around to be a feisty but protective uncle to our boys.</i><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-75258160614649932582018-12-19T10:20:00.000+11:002018-12-19T10:20:16.325+11:00<div style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<i>At Ben's 10th anniversary get together this month, Lindy asked Ben's good friend Jonty to jot down some thoughts of 10 years ago. Jonty writes:</i></div>
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2008 is a very distinct year in my mind for a number of reasons: I turned 21; it was my final year of university; it was my first time staying in hospital (appendicitis); and, most memorably, it was a time of uncertainty and grief as we witnessed Ben's body deteriorate and eventually succumb to cancer.</div>
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Not too long after Ben's diagnosis, we began planning the annual Unichurch September Conference. Pete Young II was given the responsibility of organising the music and the musicians. There was Pete, Penny Jackson, Pete Young I, Stu Lenthall, me and Ben on the drums.</div>
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We introduced a few songs at that conference including "Made to Worship" and "<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v%3Dvh_8rTBpvRU&source=gmail&ust=1545198999052000&usg=AFQjCNH7I230Mfmgr_mFZRFYQ34bCl1Dpw" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vh_8rTBpvRU" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">How Can I Keep From Singing</a>", the latter of which brings to mind strong memories of Ben. It is a song that expresses the unbreakable joy that comes from knowing the love of Jesus, even in the storms of life and its darkest nights.</div>
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Ben was known for his enthusiastic and heavy drumming style. But his arduous treatment had seen his energy and strength deteriorate. I have a distinct memory of Ben lying flat on the floor of the St Jude's building, eyes closed, listening to the rest of the band rehearse.</div>
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Over the following weeks, Ben's condition worsened to the point that he was forced to pull out of the conference, which was held in Creswick near Ballarat. Somehow, Ben got himself up to travel the two-hour journey to be with his church family for the final day of the conference. </div>
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That day, Sunday, 14 September 2008, Ben took his place behind the drum kit and picked up the sticks for what I understand was the very last time. And we sung "How Can I Keep From Singing". I remember looking across the platform from my position and watching a bald and battered Ben whacking the snare with every bit of energy he had left to give. It was only a momentary glimpse, but is now a memory that I'll never forget.</div>
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***</div>
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Three months later, almost to the day, hundreds of Ben's family, friends and others gathered at St Jude's, where we sung "How Can I Keep From Singing". It was a mighty rendition sung with the same passion that Ben brought to the drumkit and in the faith that Ben carried till his last breath.</div>
<div class="m_-895697686934440712gmail-UH8R2" style="caret-color: rgb(34, 34, 34); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-top: 13px;">
<div class="m_-895697686934440712gmail-Kvw2ac" style="margin: 0px 16px;">
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<div style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<i>There is an endless song<br />Echoes in my soul<br />I hear the music ring</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<i>And though the storms may come<br />I am holding on<br />To the rock I cling</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<i>How can I keep from singing Your praise<br />How can I ever say enough<br />How amazing is Your love<br />How can I keep from shouting Your name<br />I know I am loved by the King<br />And it makes my heart want to sing</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<i>I will lift my eyes<br />In the darkest night<br />For I know my Saviour lives</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 12px;">
<i>And I will walk with You<br />Knowing You'll see me through<br />And sing the songs You give</i></div>
</div>
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<div class="m_-895697686934440712gmail-iw7h9e" style="line-height: 1.24; margin-bottom: 0px;">
<i>I can sing in the troubled times<br />Sing when I win<br />I can sing when I lose my step<br />And fall down again<br />I can sing 'cause You pick me up<br />Sing 'cause You're there<br />I can sing 'cause You hear me, Lord<br />When I call to You in prayer<br />I can sing with my last breath<br />Sing for I know<br />That I'll sing with the angels<br />And the saints around the throne</i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-26740862605036862512018-08-27T14:14:00.001+10:002018-08-27T14:14:45.650+10:00A random blog because it's nearly 10 years and just because these are smile-worthy<br />
I was thinking of Ben last night at home group actually, about how he sewed a button on my duffle coat for me before I went overseas in 2008, on the same day he told me about the cancer ...<br />
<div>
<b>Erin Turnbull</b><br />
<br />
I also want to tell you that as soon as I heard Savage Garden playing at the T&O event of the year I 'saw' Ben in my rear vision mirror of the SAAB – on your first trip home from Argentina he came and visited us and when we drove anywhere it had to be Savage Garden with Ben, James and Tom grooving in the backseat – his grin as I caught him in the mirror – occasionally grinning down at the boys …</div>
<div>
<b>Jill Briggs</b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-39932886445576435992018-08-24T00:00:00.000+10:002018-08-24T07:50:15.386+10:00Happy birthday ... again<br />
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<br />
You’re 33 Ben and we remember you running, jumping, riding, leaping, skiing, skating, surfing, swimming, laughing. As always, we remember the good times and we miss you as much now as ever.<br />
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Happy Birthday Ben.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-4127689683473052872017-12-08T00:30:00.000+11:002017-12-08T08:49:11.251+11:00Dear Ben ...<br />
Hi Ben,<br />
<br />
It's nine years today, so I'm just checking in—I feel like it’s been awhile since we last saw you. Funny about that.<br />
<br />
Dad sent a text to your phone on Sunday but you didn’t reply. Funny about that too.<br />
<br />
So it’s nine years and I am hoping that you’re doing okay ‘up there’—or wherever you are—up there, over there, behind a veil. Hope it’s a ball. Hope it’s a real ball.<br />
<br />
But hey, I just wanted to let you know that after nine years, life here is still—offensive and impossible as it seems to me—going on without you!<br />
<br />
And it has to be said, you have missed a whole lot. But do you know that already? Do you get our news up there? Or has this life become a misty memory like a dream? Have you forgotten us?<br />
<br />
Because we haven’t forgotten you (as if). <br />
<br />
You are, as I think you would expect, still very much alive to us. Your brothers and now also your nephews remind us of you often and in many different ways: your smile, your laughing voice, your broad shoulders (literally and figuratively), your listening ear and quietly confident advice, your unshakeable faith, your mix of cynicism and optimism, your interest in everything, your love of music, dancing, ice hockey, surfing (you name it, everything and more).<br />
<br />
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We have not forgotten the way you seemed to run at life head on, like a bull-at-a-gate when you were young and like it (life that is) was something to conquer when you were older.<br />
<br />
We remember your fierce independence and how you held onto your dignity and autonomy even in your last sad weeks when struggling for breath was too much for you. We will always be amazed at your courage, fearlessness and your sense of humour, even unto death (as they say).<br />
<br />
We know there were those who loved you quite passionately, and we also know there were those who had reasons not to care for you, but their reasons were not part of your ‘best self’, and I don’t think they have to be mentioned.<br />
<br />
I know, I know, this is not the sort of letter you will be interested in; you possibly think me self-indulgent for writing it. But even though you might not be interested in how you are (or aren’t) remembered, it is very important to me because how we talk about you, especially with our grandchildren, will to some extent determine how you journey on with us; whether you remain a participating member of the Mulherin clan or become increasingly an out-of-date photo on our wall. As I have said before, the last thing we want you to become is a rather frightening bloke in sepia on our walls.<br />
<br />
On a lighter note, I think you would be pleased to know that the ‘Mulherin-Middle’ is firmly entrenched in the family culture. Did it start as a family tradition on those uni mornings as you strode away from the car to catch a train? Brothers in the car on the way to school, me two toots on the horn and you one prolonged Mulherin-Middle salute held high above your head. Made all of us smile then, every morning, still makes me smile as I write.<br />
<br />
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And so even if it is just me with the ‘same old, same old’, I will repeat that you still inspire us to try and live our lives well, even if we run at a slightly less relentless pace than you did. And well, let’s be brutally honest, it’s just as well you went full-speed because your days were cruelly cut short. But for the rest of us, well, we seem to be here for the long haul, so we kind of take it a bit easier. <br />
<br />
Oh and before I end my rave, I couldn’t possibly forget to say that we do miss your fun dreadfully, however we seem to manage some pretty good attempts at it even without you here.<br />
<br />
CSB Ben. <br />
<br />
Love MumUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-55443085701225210592017-08-18T15:21:00.001+10:002017-08-18T17:03:12.518+10:00August 24 2017 ... Happy 32nd birthday<br />
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</style><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjREW02JxXUkfgJvtgMhFXTIZelc-c20zWJEPkXIDmdlGiaQL_IpQJDqmbbnOaFGlR5S90h5owrqfNYPcIa08IcQuP6gWwB77zjqpdo53k7LUisRK2bw7CvOg85IcysESuQcG0sWNBxEN2S/s1600/August+blog+Ben+and+parrot+%2528Jane+Lober+photo%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjREW02JxXUkfgJvtgMhFXTIZelc-c20zWJEPkXIDmdlGiaQL_IpQJDqmbbnOaFGlR5S90h5owrqfNYPcIa08IcQuP6gWwB77zjqpdo53k7LUisRK2bw7CvOg85IcysESuQcG0sWNBxEN2S/s400/August+blog+Ben+and+parrot+%2528Jane+Lober+photo%2529.jpg" width="263" /></a> Looking through photos (again) in order to compile a photo wall at home, I was reminded of Ben’s affinity with animals of all sizes—from sitting on bulls at his grandparents’ farm, staring quietly at a kangaroo at a zoo, persuading a parrot to sit on his arm, talking to a horse or taking time out of his busy 3-year old schedule to ponder the meanderings of a snail, he was always quietly curious and respectful.<br />
If you read back through the blog you will see that he was somewhat of a
cat whisperer, was fond of big dogs and managed to tolerate small dogs,
and was kind and proactive about various dying street animals in
Tucuman. His care and concern for animals never changed and our last two
cats were part of his dying months.<br />
I don’t think Ben swam with
whales but I can imagine him doing it, and he would surely have been
curious, respectful and fearless.<br />
Lindy<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-60910508757593427642017-08-18T13:40:00.004+10:002017-08-18T13:40:48.453+10:00Nearly 32From Jill ...<br />
<br />
Nearly 32 Ben. I so wish that I could have the conversations that are
going around in my head with you face-to-face. I am just going to have
to wait.<br />
<br />
But I particularly want to say how deeply I felt you while I
was in the South Pacific last week. I thought of your willingness to
take on a challenge and to be fearless as I slid into the ocean to swim
with a humpback whale and her young calf.<br />
<br />And again just after the
calf swam past within 30 metres of my outstretched hand, the calf's eyes
wide open watching me (her mother in hot pursuit) I thought about your
fearlessness but your care of those around you.<br />
<br />
Thanks Ben you continue
to be in our lives and we miss you desperately.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-74553612976227523952016-12-02T11:38:00.002+11:002016-12-02T11:38:17.087+11:00December the 8th: another year rolls by<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBlmFMB4dD4HFRxwRTZKMlbGgf6Hs90jymK3tJ3oa5UpwBPUkEjxWZYMxn7ONH22HDNwIISrumk8S3Y-0pD-kWt0AABpDhD1dYq_UX3k90L_hd1frRRQP8VsR6y7SDn4e8OQiu6J01ZiQ1/s1600/Ben+Theos+Dec+2007+red+sunglasses+big+smile-+354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBlmFMB4dD4HFRxwRTZKMlbGgf6Hs90jymK3tJ3oa5UpwBPUkEjxWZYMxn7ONH22HDNwIISrumk8S3Y-0pD-kWt0AABpDhD1dYq_UX3k90L_hd1frRRQP8VsR6y7SDn4e8OQiu6J01ZiQ1/s320/Ben+Theos+Dec+2007+red+sunglasses+big+smile-+354.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You and your fun,<br />
laughter, energy,<br />
continue with us<br />
in so many ways.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Eight years is ridiculous.</div>
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Never ever forgotten, <br />
always missed.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-25363815587685442332016-08-24T09:43:00.000+10:002019-04-15T09:45:22.132+10:00I remember ...<ul>
<li>a dark eyed boy who looked straight at you</li>
<li>a toddler who never stopped and then slept when his head hit the pillow</li>
<li>random acts of toddler aggression</li>
<li>his independence</li>
<li>his energy</li>
<li>not always understanding him, but loving him beyond myself, beyond my need to control</li>
<li>worrying, being unsure, praying for wisdom and being grateful that Chris could stand his ground</li>
<li>noticing parents with ‘easy’ children, and their watchful (and sometimes critical) gaze on our ‘not easy’ child</li>
<li>sometimes guiltily wishing we had an ‘easy’ child but never wanting to swap despite the challenges</li>
<li>his connection with animals and lively games with cats and a dog in the backyard</li>
<li>(his energy)</li>
<li>a cheeky laugh</li>
<li>an inquiring mind</li>
<li>the way he gathered people together and made things happen</li>
<li>that there was never a moment to waste</li>
<li>(his energy)</li>
<li>his interest in so many things, and his impatience to learn</li>
<li>how he was good at many sports, </li>
<li>that fear never stopped him doing anything, just made him more determined</li>
<li>moral courage</li>
<li>that being corrected was not his cup of tea; he liked to be right</li>
<li>that people told him their fears and worries because he could cope; ‘his broad shoulders’ were literal and metaphorical</li>
<li>how he inspired loyalty and was dauntless in leadership</li>
<li>sarcasm, and harsh judgements at times, but quick to forgive, quick to apologise</li>
<li>(his energy) </li>
<li>that he didn’t suffer fools, but was also a rescuer </li>
<li>his deep and unshakeable faith which saw him leave his earthly life as comfortably as anyone is able to</li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">from Lindy</span><o:p></o:p><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-52104577907250242632015-12-08T01:35:00.000+11:002015-12-08T15:05:24.114+11:00Gone 7 years today—A reflection on the cancer journey<style>
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A brief re-glimpse of the cancer months. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Sometime in early May 2008, a small lump appeared on Ben’s leg. The small lump grew until it was the size of a tennis ball, red, swollen, but painless. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifutYhRHfPtR_1FW659OiINkVey_2GI4e_2wWrRr2alB4mH_5JD6OO_nrCVwzSkDoRdMvq2Zvx-IqVYP453bAN6ZDExPUrlsckt4Dhb-Ox8eZh4Vo8L61zi4EE4ViI7GJ2Vjec_usosadK/s1600/Ben+with+sun+at+Fitzroy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifutYhRHfPtR_1FW659OiINkVey_2GI4e_2wWrRr2alB4mH_5JD6OO_nrCVwzSkDoRdMvq2Zvx-IqVYP453bAN6ZDExPUrlsckt4Dhb-Ox8eZh4Vo8L61zi4EE4ViI7GJ2Vjec_usosadK/s640/Ben+with+sun+at+Fitzroy.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>
<br />
After weeks of different doctors with different opinions—“That’s a cyst. I can cut it out right now if you like” or “I don’t know what that is.”—the lump was diagnosed as NK cell lymphoma. We’d never heard of it. Nor had most medical people. <br />
<br />
The diagnosis catapulted Ben into six months of aggressive and relentless cancer treatment with increasing time in hospital. Radiotherapy reduced the lump but the cancer had already spread. <br />
<br />
After weeks of chemotherapy, Ben had surgery. His spleen was removed—much bigger than its normal size—along with his gall bladder which was rotten with malignant cells. <br />
<br />
A new, tougher chemo regime followed, which included a miracle drug. He responded badly and needed increasingly large doses of morphine to manage his pain. His suffering was intense and we were amazed at his bravery and lack of complaint. He was moved to ICU sometime in October, due to failing pulmonary function. <br />
<br />
By November his lung function was so bad he was placed in an induced coma, intubated and on a respirator. We stood watch over an oblivious Ben, swathed in intravenous lines and cables. We listened to the rhythmic hiss and swoosh of the respirator and the beeping of monitors. We asked questions. We saw his chest X-rays were increasingly bad. <br />
<br />
We rejoiced when he was extubated and woken up eight days later. We tried to believe the best, but he was already dying. <br />
<br />
In his last three days alive, he watched videos from his bed with his brothers, all squashed into his ICU cubicle. He saw friends and family and said his goodbyes—just in case. <br />
<br />
We asked him about dying. He encouraged us. <br />
<br />
His blood oxygen levels continued to drop. His body systems were giving up. He was exhausted. He said “I just want to come home and sit in the sun.” And on another occasion, “I’ve had enough.” <br />
<br />
We were going to lose him. <br />
<br />
Three days after being brought out of the coma, the medical team said he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He said, “If I have to go, being in an induced coma is okay. I know what happens. It’s just going to sleep.” So we said goodbye as though it might be the last; all the while believing that it wouldn’t be. <br />
<br />
December 8, 2008. 3.30 pm.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-50837586704248616012015-11-24T18:45:00.003+11:002015-11-24T18:46:42.544+11:0020 years the difference and unchanged taste<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhNBkYOEiKenXny4AJJibONNxrO8wkIf8XCUyUdmczlI-vZgKjFSd2BGL9ucGj7qguE-c0bwmUtpNvl13Jgz2_wilmrwjXQ9_KhrPpiUDkB1W9PjagOIahr-gVV5a6OtW7JIb-FNL2Yet/s1600/Baby+Ben+with+red+sunglasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhNBkYOEiKenXny4AJJibONNxrO8wkIf8XCUyUdmczlI-vZgKjFSd2BGL9ucGj7qguE-c0bwmUtpNvl13Jgz2_wilmrwjXQ9_KhrPpiUDkB1W9PjagOIahr-gVV5a6OtW7JIb-FNL2Yet/s400/Baby+Ben+with+red+sunglasses.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-3731042983526260812015-10-07T19:48:00.000+11:002015-10-07T20:52:44.362+11:00Facebooked memories from Elisa<br />
"Today I was remembering with my Mum what you were like Ben.<br />
<br />
You were always such a sticky-beak (‘chusma’), wanting to know everything about everyone. Ha Ha! <br />
<br />
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With me it was about, who was the best in our ping-pong competitions, and who could run faster. Or who was the strongest, and even who could spit further! :-)<br />
<br />
I’m sure there were lots of other things, but I can’t remember them now. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder how it would have been if you were still alive. <br />
<br />
Would we still be in touch? Would you have a family? Would you still do crazy things? <br />
<br />
I would like to know. <br />
<br />
But God wanted to have you with him. He had other ideas and we don’t understand, but we accept it. <br />
<br />
At times it seems really wrong. But I don’t cry because I can handle it! And I don’t want you to think you beat me. -:) <br />
<br />
I hope that on the day when we see each other you will give me one of your big hugs. You learned how to give Argentine hugs really well while you lived here in Tucumán. <br />
<br />
I’ll see you in heaven Ben Mulherin."<br />
<br />
<i>Ely Garcia—Facebook</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-39552922326148670062015-08-24T00:30:00.000+10:002015-08-31T20:59:35.396+10:00Happy Birthday!<br />
You left us wishing you’d hung around for a while longer. <br />
<br />
Thanks for it all—the good times, the laughs, the pain<br />
and the tears.<br />
<br />
And in these ‘after’ years, your story reminds us to make<br />
our lives count because they are short.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, we remember your hope for heaven and your confidence<br />
that the best was yet to come. <br />
<br />
Thanks Ben.<br />
<br />
And happy 30th birthday.<br />
<br />
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Thanks Alice for the photo.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-30663819657497842512015-07-31T22:01:00.001+10:002015-08-24T09:04:48.064+10:00Waking up in an 'after'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Ben was the oldest of five boys.<br />
<br />
He was often with one, two, three or even four of his brothers.<br />
<br />
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<br />
These five brothers, growing up together fought, shared, competed, respected, and sometimes, tired of each other.<br />
<br />
They had their ups and downs, but they shared lived experiences which united them and gave them an understanding of each other.<br />
<br />
Ben was the oldest of five boys and always will be.<br />
<br />
"You don’t even realise you’re living in a before until you wake up one day and find yourself in an after." (Robin Wasserman, <i>The Book of Blood and Shadow</i>)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-78587407392120359762015-05-24T17:20:00.002+10:002015-05-30T19:44:08.585+10:00One small life ...‘One small life’ is a phrase that runs through my mind as I look through photos of Ben, wishing and hoping, that I will miraculously find a new one that I haven’t seen before.<br />
<br />
I know I am actually wishing that I could add on to his life, or rewind it somehow.<br />
<br />
His dates 24/8/1985–8/12/2008 confirm how brief and little is an earthly life but the quote<span id="goog_1641991340"></span><span id="goog_1641991341"></span> from Revelation reminds me that there is no ending date in heaven.<br />
<br />
Lindy <br />
<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-84530324261832739292015-04-27T20:39:00.002+10:002015-04-27T20:46:25.003+10:00Loving life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxmKsFYAheFcpOH6YcYM9SiLeXKzQ6fcwv5aaPW2JYxFiws0pGArPnWDn9QN4coQGXN6PEJzohzppVHfEy3roN2-HA154qzgWfRcEaLw9rf6CD7GUHxq7nLXZAnBJSLMk03cO5YbWJGh8/s1600/Rating+1+-+148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxmKsFYAheFcpOH6YcYM9SiLeXKzQ6fcwv5aaPW2JYxFiws0pGArPnWDn9QN4coQGXN6PEJzohzppVHfEy3roN2-HA154qzgWfRcEaLw9rf6CD7GUHxq7nLXZAnBJSLMk03cO5YbWJGh8/s1600/Rating+1+-+148.jpg" height="363" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Loving life to the full is how we remember you mostly.<br />
[Click the picture to catch the smile.] <br />
<br />
Still missing you, still waiting with hope…Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-87381069009909215602015-03-05T09:15:00.002+11:002015-03-05T18:36:54.661+11:00Authenticity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_P9NEXvxYyd5TM005aIjXjqwFAx9zVgg1fIlwPKLKpq7Uhvp1_7M2PeBgqM1TKZ3CXlsfEPse7tuac6-YsO85sGscrHgeYC4FW5FwO6IVzNZG4_Oo25hRTyZZZN-zkfSaBDqsumloe4Qy/s1600/DCP_6921.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_P9NEXvxYyd5TM005aIjXjqwFAx9zVgg1fIlwPKLKpq7Uhvp1_7M2PeBgqM1TKZ3CXlsfEPse7tuac6-YsO85sGscrHgeYC4FW5FwO6IVzNZG4_Oo25hRTyZZZN-zkfSaBDqsumloe4Qy/s1600/DCP_6921.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
The following thoughts were inspired by this photo of Ben and Matt, which Pete put on the last page of a book he compiled for us for Christmas.<br />
<br />
Since December 2008, many people have said that Ben lived an authentic life.<br />
<br />
In looking up authentic I read that it can mean emotionally appropriate, significant, purposeful, responsible, reliable and genuine.<br />
<br />
I remember that—<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Ben was opinionated and competitive, yet kind and compassionate. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
He drove his youth leaders and teachers mad with his energy and occasional disregard for authority, but would then surprise them by his ready apology when he believed he had behaved badly. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
He could be rough and impatient with his brothers and yet they all knew he would be there for them. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A young bloke who disliked Ben’s arrogant manner, changed his opinion when Ben asked him conversationally one day, ‘You don’t like me much do you?’ </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A middle-aged man who Ben had had disagreements with, fell into serious depression. This man was amazed and encouraged when Ben visited him in hospital. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
More than one friend with a troubling problem, sought Ben out, knowing he would listen, be unfazed by anything they might say, and would offer advice only if wanted. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Throughout his short, imperfect, adventurous, challenging life I remember he was quick to speak (and sometimes offend) but equally quick to ask forgiveness and to forgive.</blockquote>
An authentic life? Yes, I think so.<br />
<br />
Lindy
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A friend sent us these thoughts in 2014: <br />
<br />
<i>I want to try to explain what ‘moving on’ means for me. I don’t see life as a straight-line progression, moving from our past, through the present to the future, and at each point leaving behind what is in the past. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>If anything, life is more like a spiral staircase that we’re on. CS Lewis used a phrase in his book "The Last Battle", which was something like higher up and further in. That also gives me a picture of our life becoming richer as we journey on with God. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As life moves on, all of our past life is gathered up and brought with us, and can enrich our lives in the present. As I revisit past experiences, I value them as being part of my life, but each time I revisit, I feel as though I’m higher up the spiral staircase. So I may do things differently this anniversary, not because I’ve left behind something special, but because I’m on a higher rung on the staircase. I’ve moved on, but not moved away. I’m higher up and further in to life. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So ‘moving on’ for me doesn’t mean leaving anything behind! I realise that if I try to leave things behind, they just get hidden in the shadows of my life, and will cause me inexplicable pain and confusion. It’s much better to keep my eyes open to as much as I can of all of my life, and realise that all the experiences of my life are part of me, and can be used by God.</i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>In relation to Ben, I know full well that you can never leave him behind, even if you tried! There’s no reason for you to try though. I believe that Ben’s life will always enrich and deepen your life in many and different ways, and that one day in the future, you’ll be fully present to each other. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Ben’s life also enriches the lives of all who knew him. His life and death have challenged me more than you probably realise. When he was diagnosed with cancer, I was really shaken, which then led to questioning deeply what I really believe, which is now an ongoing process for me. Ben’s life and death have led me to take God very seriously, and to be more authentically the person He made me to be. </i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-65241815870627940902015-01-12T23:01:00.002+11:002015-01-13T09:12:39.631+11:00Nine Tips for a Happy Life <style>
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We have just returned from another Theos beach mission in Mallacoota, run by Scripture Union Victoria. <br />
<br />
Chris does nine talks to the team during the two weeks of the mission, and this year they were titled "Nine tips for a happy life". In one of the sessions he included Ben and his story. <br />
<br />
He showed this brief, funny video clip from Ben’s last year as director of the team in 2007/2008, and talked about when he was a fun-loving, fit, healthy, dynamic and ambitious young man—and then the sudden and tragic changes that he was faced with a few months after the Theos mission.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Chris then read out this conversation between Ben’s church pastor and Ben:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
Right at the start of his illness, I [Richard] asked Ben if he was angry with God, that he should get this cancer. It seemed like an obvious reaction to me, after all that’s what I was thinking. <br />
<br />
Ben looked at me as though I had asked a silly question, and said – “why would I? – It’s none of my business”. </blockquote>
<br />
I think what he was trying to say was that he trusted God with whatever outcome for his life that God had in mind. <br />
<br />
We are continually grateful that Ben’s story goes on having an impact. <br />
<br />
We are constantly glad that he is not forgotten. <br />
<br />
Lindy<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-19447651158049956342014-12-08T07:03:00.002+11:002015-01-21T21:51:45.876+11:00Six years<br />
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A friend wrote an email to us yesterday, knowing that the 8th of December was only a couple of days away.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Yesterday, I 'saw' Ben as a vibrant, healthy young man (i.e. no cancer causing in his body) and felt surprised that he wasn't around, wasn't getting on with his life amongst us. It was as if I forgot momentarily that he had those 6 months or so with cancer in his body. Then I remembered and suddenly felt a surge of anger at what happened 6 years ago. It seems so incomprehensible, so senseless that Ben died at 23. Everything in me wants to scream out that it's wrong, it shouldn't have been that way.</i></blockquote>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-43781129691550679942014-12-04T07:12:00.000+11:002014-12-20T22:56:39.687+11:00From Meaghan's Private CollectionThis is from Meaghan’s Private Collection and it echoes what the blog is about really—memories and reminders and reminiscing.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Carlton is a pocket of memories about Ben. Being in certain places is indistinguishable from remembering. It's good to be able to be in a place and feel that a memory is tangible. It's hard to give a memory shape so that someone else can hold it. But if you can, what a joy to share it! To hand it over and let someone else turn it over in their hands, then pop it into their pocket until they want to enjoy it again.</i></blockquote>
And from Cathy. (Please let us know if it’s not okay to post this-we couldn’t<br />
find your address to ask your permission. Apologies.)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I first read this blog back in 2010, drawn to it by the saddest of reasons. I had lost my eldest son Chris at the age of 24 and connected deeply to the journey of Ben's family.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We too worry that our memories of Chris will become less sharp as the years go by. We try to mark the milestones like his 30th birthday and find joy as his friends marry and have children. Even though it is five long years since Chris died, the ‘constant presence of his absence’ remains.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Thank-you for continuing to share your stories. Maybe Ben and my Chris are even partying together</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Wouldn't that be lovely?</i><br />
<i>Cathy </i></blockquote>
Twenty three short years.<br />
<br />
Six long years on the 8th.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838835337423620386.post-31473644539367142352014-11-03T21:23:00.000+11:002014-12-20T22:53:44.588+11:00A cheering email<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
We received the following email last week and the sender was pleased to have it put on the blog.<br />
<br />
It is no small comfort that Ben still lives on in people’s minds. And very thoughtful that people tell us so!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
<i>Dear Chris and Lindy,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It has been several years now and it is very possible that you will not recall, but I was the registrar who took care of Ben at Box Hill Hospital (for almost the entire 4 months of my Haematology rotation).</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I'm not sure what has compelled me to write today, but I think of Ben and your family not infrequently (even now), and always remember the grace with which you all handled a very difficult time.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I do apologise if this email has brought up unpleasant memories, but I wanted you to know how Ben remains ever present, even among those you may not have expected. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I hope you and the boys are well, and send you all my warmest wishes.</i></blockquote>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0