Extreme sports

It's nearly three years since Ben left us here, yet it seems like
yesterday that we were writing that it was two years since he left.
On the other hand it seems forever since we saw his cheeky grin and
heard his cheery gravelly voice.

"We only miss you when we're breathing," as the song says.

We are having an open house on Thursday to remember him. We'll eat a
meal together and some of us will try to win the fiercely competitive
Allen's snake tying race—an extreme sport Ben was expert at. Maybe
someone will set a new record. Is there a world record? Maybe it's
time to begin one.

Speaking of competitions, on Melbourne Cup Day this year the
Australian Armwrestling Championships were held down the road in
Doncaster East. Watching the promo video you can't help but be
impressed at the size of the forearms doing the wrestling. But the
smiles and laughing and "jolly good time" vibe captured on the video
make me wonder whether we mightn't add a new item to the December 8th
evening agenda. Given the size of Ben's biceps, his reputation as a
mean arm-wrestler and his irrepressible sense of fun, it could be
fitting to inaugurate an annual CSB Arm-wrestling Competition. We'll
let you know how it goes.

Random thoughts

It still amazes me to remember Ben's attitude to his life and to what
was happening to him and to what would very likely be the outcome for
him. Where did he get that inner strength from? I was reading Richard
Condie's sermon for the funeral the other day. At one point he says:

Right at the start of his illness, I 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. Ben looked at me
as though I had asked a silly question, and said, "Why would I? – It's
none of my business."

Very occasionally (I wish it was more often) I get a sort of
connection moment with Ben and last night looking at the stars, I had
a sense of him as part of the unchanging rolling-on of eternity. I
"felt" that he was truly alive and truly well; free, happy way beyond
our understanding of that concept here.  And it reminded me of things
he had said before he died. Again from Richard's sermon in December
2008:

Just over a week ago now I was standing in the ICU next to Ben, and I
asked if he was afraid of dying. He thought for a bit and then clearly
said "No". Then he said, "I'll be fine – its just crap for everyone
else."

Indeed Ben. Indeed. CSB.

Lindy

You're too big for me to have to count to 3

 

Don't make me a plaque on the wall

Our church of St. Jude's has a few brass plaques adorning its walls. Over the last year we have been thinking about having one done for Ben. But last week during church I was looking at them and reading them. I reflected on what the plaques make me think about; oldness, sadness, loss. And about stillness and silence.

It was then that I thought that Ben would not want people to feel or think that way about him. He probably couldn't care less about any of it where he is now, but if I think about who he was here, he would want to be remembered as strong and energetic; he didn't want his friends to see him as he grew sicker and sicker.

And as the months and years go by he is still 23 (forever 23-isn't that what everyone wants?) And sometimes on those mornings when the sky is deep blue and the smell of summer is in the air and we have to head off to school and work, we can't hold him back from the beach: He's taken a car and he's off for the day, surf sand and sun.

Or on those mornings when the sun is pale and the air is snap freezing we know he's already off to the snow challenging the dizzying slopes of Mendoza with skis or snowboard.

And my thoughts return to the church walls and "Edith. Aged 74. Loved by her family. Rest in peace." and I wonder whether it's too tame to put him in brass next to Edith who is probably enjoying resting in peace when Ben is surely not doing any such thing but rather journeying to the sun and exploring the universe.

The vase

There once lived a family who felt they had been especially blessed, as they were all healthy and felt very secure in God's love for them and their love for each other.

On the mantelpiece above the fireplace in their living room, stood a vase. It was a strong, sturdy vase, attractive but not extravagant and had been a wedding gift years before.

It was a symbol of their family and had withstood the bumps of moving and toddlers' antics, just as the family had withstood the bumps and ordeals of life. Scars and chips could be detected, but only on very close scrutiny.

The day the oldest son in the family died, the vase was found on the mantelpiece, shattered into many pieces. Noone had the strength or desire to bother gathering up the pieces and it was left for a long, long time in its broken condition.

Eventually thought was given to putting the vase back together again. Little enthusiasm could be generated but eventually the task was begun.

The family worked together, each adding a piece or suggesting how to proceed. Each of the family members got discouraged and more than once, one or other of them was heard to say "It can't be done."

Finally after many months of working on it, the vase was back in its normal place. To the casual observer, it looked strong and sturdy and noone would have guessed it was less than perfect. However, on closer examination, it obviously had been shattered then put back together and on turning it around, it could be seen that one large piece was permanently missing.

This piece was never found and so the vase continued to symbolize the reality of the family; although their hearts might appear mended, their lives would never be the same again.

By Jeanette Isley. From the Newsletter of the Bereaved Parents USA

Marathon memories

Three years ago, on Sunday October 10, 2008 at around midday the humble but furiously enthusiastic Mulherin Marathon Support Crew could be seen at the front of a crowd of other furiously enthusiastic support crews, about 1km from the MCG and the finish of the Melbourne Marathon. We were waiting for Chris, Andy and I think Stu and Dan (two friends).

As we waited, watched and cheered the runners on, Ben was sending periodic texts of inquiry from his hospital bed like this one:

“Well done guys, solid effort. Hope you’re all happy.”

He was sick and had begun the last couple of months of roller-coasting predictions about his prognosis and increasingly nightmarish experiences with chemotherapy and surgery and had texted prior to the race;

“Haven’t slept…blood is a hassle…canula for IV has to be changed every 48.”

If memory serves me correctly, he had been planning to run that 2008 Melbourne Marathon with Chris and Andy and his friends before he got sick in the June.

Traralgon 2004

He had run two marathons previously - one with Chris and one with Andy who was running the 10km alongside them both. Ben was 18 when he did the Traralgon marathon.

Today Matt, Tim and I formed the cheer squad for Chris who ran the 42km with an unlikely yellow helium balloon bobbing up and down behind him on a tall thin stick, advertising that he was a “pacer” for people wanting to finish in 4 hours 30 minutes. This year Andy opted to don a fluoro vest, ear piece and walkie talkie in order to be a bike-riding official for the half-marathon leaders.

My thoughts today returned often to the marathon of three years ago and I found myself in that same surreal head space I find myself in so often; “Surely it can’t be true. Surely it didn’t happen. Surely he got better...” And on it goes.

"No one wants to know what you ate for lunch"

'Lunch' on our Patagonia trip in 2005.

This week in Manningham library a book beside the photocopier caught my eye. It was about blogging and it proclaimed loudly (in red) on its front cover:

No one wants to know 
what you ate for lunch.

So I ask myself: How can Ben’s blog continue meaningfully without degenerating into something akin to stories about what Ben had for lunch?

Until I die, I will of course (as his mother) reflect gladly on all the lunches he ate; what he ate, how he ate them, what he said when he was eating them and who was with him at those meals.

But I also realise that the publicly interesting/funny stories about Ben are running out and that perhaps you don’t really want to know what he ate for lunch! More to the point, if this blog continues, I wonder if it shouldn’t be about more than just funny stories about Ben.

Do we stop? Do we have a shift of emphasis? If so, to what? What would Ben say from his side of the grave?

Old friends and arm wrestling-from Lindy

Ben’s birthday has become a time to meet up with old friends who we don’t see much anymore.

This was said to me on more than one occasion a month ago when we celebrated his birthday.

It was a time of good friends and lots of laughter, good wine, plenty of food and a chance at winning the third annual Ben Mulherin-inspired, hands-free, Allen’s snake- tying competition (I think we will have to award prizes next year as some people are becoming quite serious about it!)

I am also wondering if his birthday formalities might extend to an arm wrestling competition. I’ll include this old memory from Dave to explain why:

I remember in the arm wrestle competitions at Theos he’d always win, so last year (January 2008) he retired and decided not to compete because it looked bad that a team member would win every year...  haha!

Pizza memories at Gino's

“Our grief journeys are not about closure, they are about adjustment and staying connected.”

When I look back on memories people have written about Ben, they are often about food, fun, friends and faith.

Jonty writes:

Ben was one of the pioneers of the after church, Sunday night, expedition down Lygon Street to our favourite pizzeria Papa Gino’s.  It’s difficult to summarise his eating preferences other than to say he seemed to favour quantity over quality. 

Whether it was chicken parmagiana the size of a pizza or a pizza the size of a chicken hutch, Ben would eat it all. He even took an interest in other people’s dishes, once commenting that a friend’s pizza of preference (No. 21 Ortolana with hot salami) was a “pretty pizza”.   

This photo was taken in May 2008, just before Ben was diagnosed with cancer. He didn’t want to stop and smile as he was too hungry. It looks like he was waiting to attack a large No. 17 Bolognese.

The phrase that Jonty quotes of a “pretty pizza” is so Ben that I can hear his voice in my head.

The after church Sunday night sojourns to Papa Gino’s with number 21s, and 17s, continue.

Is there pizza in heaven?

Ecclesiastes 3:11

"He has set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end."  (NIV)



Happy Birthday Ben.

When I think of Ben... from Claire

When I think of Ben, I think of:

• Tim Tams
• Multi-coloured speedos from Argentina
• My protective ‘Big Brother’ that never let me talk to any boys
• Diet Coke
• Picking me up and swinging me around
• My ‘on call’ moral compass when unsure
• Our Sydney Trip together: I was trying to make him choc chip cookies but only remembered to double some of the ingredients - it was the biggest cooking disaster of my cooking history and he never let me forget it.
• Great work ethic
• Backstreet boys and Savage Garden- when he first told me that was his favourite music i thought it was a joke...
• the way Ben waddled when he walked
• Ben's quiet but strong walk with God - without being pushy or intrusive, Ben followed his own convictions and encouraged and mentored me through many stages.

My life has been so greatly benefited by his.

Every tear is a waterfall

"Every tear is a waterfall" by Cold Play is out and is similar enough to "Viva la Vida" for me to connect it with Ben and to assume that Ben would have liked it.

Ben's music taste was unique to put it obliquely. He was however, particular. I remember a characteristic and constant lean to the left he seemed to adopt as the driver of any car; shoulder down, head not quite straight to the windscreen, as he pushed the radio station buttons looking for something good to listen to.

I feel confident that some of the latest Mylie, Katie, Rhianna style songs would have lent a certain kind of frenzied permanence to his driving lean and the punching of the radio buttons in between gear changes.

"Every tear is a waterfall" ... I think he would have paused to let it finish - they're not playing it much :-(

Pop-culture and the naive missionary kid

Josh remembers a camping trip a few years ago:

The first time I really spent getting to know Ben was on a camping trip several of us went on… setting up in the middle of nowhere. Though I think Ben was initially uncertain of what to make of such an odd assortment of characters, to his credit he immersed himself in our camping activities-we knew his strength to be particularly impressive when he assumed the task of uprooting large sections of forest.

In those days, fresh from Argentina, Ben’s lack of pop-cultural knowledge was a frequent subject of laughter for him and us (mainly us) but with those threatening arms of his, we were sure never to push it too far. 

Midnight on the slopes

In 2005 a group of Ben and Tim's friends visited us in Tucumán to help with some building / cleaning up / repairing of the IXTUS student centre. They were a group of 7 who worked hard, laughed a lot and tried and experienced many new and sometimes challenging things. They finished their few weeks in Argentina with a couple of days at a ski resort close to Mendoza south of Buenos Aires. The snow was plentiful, the lifts empty and the weather perfect.

Laura writes:

On our last night we had some fireworks to let off. We went outside where everything was covered in snow. There was a flat space and then a steep icy hill up to another flat space. We all stumbled up to the higher bit and let off the fireworks and laughed and had good times.

When it came to going back inside…Steve was very nice to go and get me a toboggan to go down (I didn't want to go down the ice on my feet). It was so much fun on the toboggan and then everyone wanted a turn.

Tim and Ben ended up making a mound of snow as a jump and whizzing down the hill to take off on the jump and see how many of us they could leap over. Good times to watch and participate in! In this photo Ben is jumping over three of the group while three of us look on.

From Meaghan: Turtle power

When a group of us went to Blairgowrie it seemed that Ben was either full of
energy, dominating the kitchen to single-handedly cook carbonara for
10, organising a dusk expedition over the dunes and leading us through
the bush when we got lost, or a complete sloth, retiring to the futon
and refusing to move for a board game, movie or even to animate his
conversation.

His energy levels were no reflection on his mood, it just seemed that
Ben's aim for a beach holiday fluctuated between activity and
condensed relaxation.

This evening Ben was in sloth mode, and I pulled up a cushion to join
him. We lazily struck up a conversation, which morphed into a Q & A
session and then into playing 'clinkers'. We didn't actually have any
'clinkers' available, so we contented ourselves with taking a bite
from an imaginary chocolate, rolling our eyes as we savoured the
imaginary flavour and waiting to hear if our prediction of the colour
matched what the other had imagined.

Wrong guesses required answers to questions such as what makes a church a good church…and what our favourite graffiti in the Bailleau [Melbourne Uni library] was.

Ben's was "Turtle Power" on carrel 25 [below] in the basement.
[Click on the photo and zoom in for turtle details.]



carrel |ˈkar(ə)l| noun
a small cubicle with a desk for the use of a reader or student in a library.

Mallacoota Theos

Mallacoota in far eastern Victoria was one of Ben's special places because of the years he spent on the Theos outreach team each summer. This video is a promo for Theos made after Ben died, but he features in a number of the scenes along with many lovely friends.

Snippets

When we emailed Jess about using the story below for the blog, we
asked if she had any other tales about Ben. She said:

I'll have to search my mind for any other good anecdotes that haven't
already been told. Mostly my memories of Ben are little snippets...
Like the way he could charm any cat into cuddling him for hours, but
didn't care much for dogs (too eager to please I think). Or how he was
such a wild feral jungle kid when he had dreads, but as soon as they
were gone he became Mr Stylish and was immaculately presented, all the
time.

Soccer anyone?

Ben and Jess directed Mallacoota Theos youth outreach together. Jess remembers...

This is a memory of Ben from Theos 2005/06. It was the year of the rustic Ben - very tanned, blonde dreads...spent most of his time in boardies and a blue wife beater :)

We were out on the oval one afternoon playing soccer when I rolled my ankle. Stubbornly I kept playing, even though the most pace I could get up was a pretty pathetic hobble. Finally someone (in desperation?) passed the ball to me, but when I looked up there was Ben pelting toward me like a steam train, moving in for the tackle.

I think a squeak of terror was all I managed to get out before we collided... but imagine my surprise when instead of flying through the air for an awkward landing, I was gracefully slung up over one shoulder as he neatly collected the ball and kept running.

He ran all the way down the field, and either scored a goal or came pretty close to, with me held up by one arm! I retired after that... but it certainly made my day :)

2008

This photo was taken just before Ben’s ‘lump’ became something sinister. We asked Matt if he could remember when the photo was taken. He said:

“I didn't want Dad to take a picture and Ben said ‘Yeh. Come on. Let's take a picture.’ Then we both looked at each other and had the same idea.”

Setting the record straight

Just to set the record straight:

Ben was not cross in the photo below!

Now that's not to say that Ben wasn't ever cross and that he may well
have looked like this when he was cross.

But if memory serves correctly, he was pulling what he called a
"funny" face and the sound effects that went with this particular
"funny" face were something like a dying donkey.

Further evidence: if you look at how calm and cherub-like Tim is in
the picture, it confirms that he was not expecting to be bopped at any
moment.

1989

A Ben-ish story from Lance

One of my favorite Ben Mulherin stories happened on the Concrete Lawn at the University of Melbourne during Ben’s first year. Our Student Life group was gathered on some benches to eat, chat and play four-square during our weekly lunch meeting. And nearby, another group started to congregate in large numbers.

They were the Socialist Alternative guys, and they were unhappy about a lot of things. They were upset with the USA, George W. Bush, and Israel, amongst other topics. Soon after they commenced ranting and raving over a loudspeaker, the Liberal Party group came to “peaceably” protest by waving Liberal banners and Israeli flags.

Things started to get kind of violent then. People were shouting at each other, and the Socialists were grabbing Israeli flags and tearing them in two, while one of their leaders was screaming into the loudspeaker. As you can imagine, this protest rally sort of overshadowed our low-key gathering and ultimately caused us to shut down our ultra-competitive game of four-square. And so, we all just stood watching the chaos unfold.

The shouting continued louder and louder, especially through the loudspeaker. And then, it all stopped suddenly. The microphone went dead, and the Socialists started scrambling through the maze of people to find the power point to which the public address system
was connected.

About this time, Ben arrived from class. He had a little impish grin on his face. “Did they figure out what happened?” he asked in regard to the confusion infront of us.

“No,” I replied. “I guess they’ve lost their power or something.”

“Or someone just unplugged it,” he said grinning, as he threw down his backpack.

[Editor's note: For those who recall a similar episode, yes Ben loved Strictly Ballroom. If you haven't seen it you must.]

Preacher man

Ben only preached once. Here's a three minute video of the practice run...

Knitting the miles away

Mattias wrote a comment on the Day 18 blog post asking "Do you remember what you were knitting?"

Knowing that Ben made a couple of references to my knitting in the Patagonia trip diary I went back and checked. It seems Ben was fascinated with my knitting...

Day 1:  Ben writes: "Andy's reading over my shoulder with all critical powers turned on. Pete…is leaning as far away from Matt as he can and looking out the front. Mum's knitting something. Dad's driving. Tim's not doing anything…"

Tim continues, "Pete throws some rubbish on the floor which was 'vexatious to all spirits' (said Ben.)"

Ben again two pages on but still Day 1: "Dad's still driving, Mum's still knitting. Tim's not doing anything."

Another Day 1 entry from Ben a page further on: "Dad's still driving. Mum's still knitting the Jessica Simpson shawl. Andy is sitting in the front middle seat. Tim is still sitting in the corner (doing nothing. Oh no, he's scratching his forehead.)…Matt's looking for a ladybird."

Day 8 and a passing reference from Tim: "Mum shows me the start of her crochet beanie she's knitting. Looks like a hat for the Paine [Torres del Paine National Park]. "

Day 17: From Ben: "We find ourselves in the car again. Pete's in the front… Dad's driving, Mum's knitting, Matt's listening to 'Prince Caspian', Tim's sleeping in his corner and Andy's craning his neck to see out the front."

And later that day: " 'tis 6 in the afternoon now, still on the dirt road. Dad's enjoying getting unstuck slightly on the corners. Mum's in the front, yes, knitting, Matt's drawing, Tim's in the corner and Andy's singing 'Find a girl'."

Day 18. Ben writes: Mum's finished her shawl and is reading Lonely Planet. [And a little further on...] Mum's started knitting something new. It's fluffy and purple and pink. Matt's next to her, drawing or something."

It was this 'fluffy purple and pink' thing that Mattias asked about and I can't imagine what it would have been! I can remember the huge Jessica Simpson (so-called) shawl I knitted and I can remember a beanie-but it was blue. Maybe I knitted myself a pink beanie too?

Day 19 and Ben writes: "Mum's in the front and she's not knitting. Must have lost the needles."

Patagonia tripping... will it ever end?

More excerpts from the laptop diary on our trip to southern Argentina 5 years ago.

Tim writes:

As Pete got out [of the van] he trod on Ben's foot so 'unco' was the only word for it.

[Later...]

"Do you guys ever have a civil conversation?" Ben asks Andy and Pete.
"What do you mean?" Pete says.
"You know. Talk like normal people," Ben says.
"I sometimes try to be civil," Andy pipes up.
"So," says Ben [to Pete], "you should try it."
"How?" says Pete.
"You know. When Andy asks for the water bottle, just say, sure."

[Later...]

Ben's crying about all the junk in the car. He says: "Jocks! Matt I think these jocks belong on your white little bottom."

Ben writes:

Andy's blending 'Fall to Pieces' by Avril into 'Rock DJ' by Robbie, at Mum's request…Australia is in the Germany 2006 World Cup after beating Uruguay in penalties in Sydney. Tim still driving. Just stopped at a roadworks thing and the guy stopping us had a Col Briggs smile. [Lindy's sister's husband.] The wind is intense, blew you around when we were running. I slept in the car LAST NIGHT, AND THE CAR WAS BUFFETTING AROUND THE ENTIRE NIGHT. TOO MANY NIGHTS I THINK. Damn it, I hit the caps locks button. Phil Collins is on. "Can I have a medialuna [croissant]?" asks Pete. "Yes. But you can't have ten," answers Mum. Fair enough answer, really.

Day 18 on the road and the trippers are going stir-crazy

Ben writes:

Matt and Mum seem to be boring of the car…"Slow down Tim," comes from Dad.

We've been talking about cars for awhile and Andy's been telling everyone which cars are the best bargain on carsales.com.au and which ones everyone should get. He's fairly set on a "fantastic fun bus put out by vokswage [sic] with all the fun filled extras." Dad seems set on going back to his Combi days too. "It's got two beds in the back and table and chairs and it's only 17 thousand."

Dad's just asked for a pillow and Andy has said that sitting in the front seat and going to sleep is a waste of a seat. "You could swap with me. I'm very responsible. I could tell Tim when to down-change or when to put lead on the foot."

Mum is reading Lonely Planet which says that in El Bolson where we will be stopping they all drive Combies and sell cheap hand-made jewelry. Fun times.

Andy's stretching his leg out next to me and is flexing his quads and saying that he would fit in in an Olympic village, to which Pete says "That's called skinny, retard." "No. That's muscle. Its massive! Its huge!" He now bends his leg up to show me the calf muscle and works through the same procedure with Pete…

"That was a Mitsubishi RvR!" exclaims Andy enthusiastically to Pete who's swallowing the Amazon again [reading "Swallows and Amazons" by Arthur Ransome] "WOULD YOU SHUT UP! I DON'T CARE!" says Pete beside himself, "TELL BEN! DON'T TELL ME!" He's smiling though, so it's all good.

Mum's started knitting something new. It's fluffy and purple and pink. Matt's next to her, drawing or something.

You had to be there...

More from our trip to Patagonia, now writing in the far south of Argentina. The miles go by and snippets of inane and at times Pooh-bearish type conversations dominate the diary.

Ben writes:

The wind is intense… I’m looking up a street in Comodoro Rivadavia. There are four big three-pronged wind turbines up on the hill. Each blade would be ten metres in length or something. Quite impressive... except they’re not facing the wind, hence stationary… 

Mum says:  “Andy. I’m a bit cross with you about the esky. We have about a thousand wet plastic bags in it.”

“It's not my fault” says Andy.

“Well you cleaned up the car.” 

End of the argument…

Tim writes:

Ben was at the wheel as we left lunch and Andy was at the glove box…

200kms to drive to get to El Calafate (pronounced cala-fartie) near the glacier…

Ben found somewhere to do some chin-ups, what a relief!.. 10pm…did some push-ups…(Another relief).

Ben didn’t sleep well that night… in the Coleman tent…drizzling rain…leaking tent… Pete was having a bit of a sleep walk parade too… Then later in the night, Pete was sleeping at the door in a puddle. The conversation [which sounds like it could have been lifted from "The Adventures of Pooh"] went something like this:

Ben: “Pete get up, you’re sleeping in a puddle.”

Pete: ”Oh. I was lost.”

Ben: “OK. Just come over here and go to sleep.”

Pete: “Are you sure that’s the right way?”

Ben: “Yeah.”

Pete: “OK. Thanks.”

And they went back to sleep. [Tiddly pom.]

Summer 1991

A friend was going through some old mail and came across a letter from Lindy written just 20 years ago. It says in part:

Well in the Mulherin household we are counting down the days until Bennie begins school. We have purchased a few uniform bits and pieces and he's 'testing' them today - my how old I feel! I can still remember bits of 'prep' myself, which makes me feel a curious mixture of 'ancient' and 'young and silly'.

Quite apart from that is of course, the 'my baby's going to school' syndrome. It's all funny I guess but very real at this time. It's like suddenly seeing life through another window and knowing and realising that it is terribly, terribly short, the whole thing.