Six years

A friend wrote an email to us yesterday, knowing that the 8th of December was only a couple of days away.

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.

From Meaghan's Private Collection

This is from Meaghan’s Private Collection and it echoes what the blog is about really—memories and reminders and reminiscing.

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.

And from Cathy. (Please let us know if it’s not okay to post this-we couldn’t
find your address to ask your permission. Apologies.)

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.

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.

Thank-you for continuing to share your stories. Maybe Ben and my Chris are even partying together

Wouldn't that be lovely?
Cathy

Twenty three short years.

Six long years on the 8th.

A cheering email

We received the following email last week and the sender was pleased to have it put on the blog.

It is no small comfort that Ben still lives on in people’s minds. And very thoughtful that people tell us so!

Dear Chris and Lindy,

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'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 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 hope you and the boys are well, and send you all my warmest wishes.

Carrying a lantern

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.

I heard about Rare Cancers Australia Ltd (RCA) a couple of weeks ago, investigating the less common types of cancers, but I can’t see T/NK cell lymphoma mentioned on their website.

Lindy

No, never

We missed seeing Ben’s lively laughing birthday crowd this year.

When a friend asked me if we’d ‘moved on’ and if that was why we didn’t have a big celebration, I wanted to stand on the top of a tall building and shout to everyone ‘No! Never!’

But friends with commitments and us returning to our small house meant we didn’t organise a big day, only a small family-ish group.

We are hoping that for Ben’s 30th next year, his birthday will be unrivaled in people’s social calendars and we will have a big gathering.

Time moves on Ben, but we won’t leave you behind, like a sepia on the wall.

Lindy

Happy 29th birthday Ben

We had a laugh with you today, in your absence but with a sense of your presence too. Hope you're giving them heaps up there.

Floating

I see myself with elongated arms, like a stretchy Gumby doll, thinner and thinner, trying to reach back to the past to when I could feel Ben with us.

Sometimes it all seems a dream and it’s not six years since we were with him last.

Not that I don’t miss him now. I do, every day; some days worse than others.

The feeling of a dream makes it bleaker and sadder in some ways—every day a reminder that while we move in one life-propelled direction, he doesn’t really move with us.

He floats somewhere out of reach, out of sight, out of earshot, a memory, which loses its sharp focus, with the passing time.

The final slide

This photo of Ben stares out at me across the loungeroom and into the kitchen. I wonder what he would be saying and I found this quote today and thought he might agree with it.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but to slide in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow . . . What a ride!’
(Bereaved Parents USA, Summer 2014)

A Memory of Ben from Gumpa

Whilst memories of Ben remain very much part of our daily lives, (Wilga and I offer a little prayer each morning and night), last week a special time with him came flooding back.

The occasion was Easter Monday, Wilga and I joined some members of the Mulherin and Briggs families on Colin and Jill’s farm at Rutherglen. We had gathered to help with cutting firewood for Brigg’s winter fires and a bbq to follow. Matt was practicing his driving skills in Colin’s ute, which was moved as the need arose, to be close to the chain-sawing action. For me the face in the vehicle was Ben’s, as clear as if it was yesterday.

Matt in the ute took me back to many years ago. We were on our farm at Gundowring. Gumpa, and the grandsons had driven out into the paddocks to dig out Patterson Curse plants. As we worked we had moved quite a distance from the “tuk”—Ben’s first efforts at pronunciation of truck. The old Landcruiser got “tuk”, and I got “Gumpa”. I asked Ben, perhaps aged 12, if he thought that he could bring the vehicle to where we were.

The eyes lit up and in a quiet, but very proud voice announced to the brothers, “Gumpa wants me to drive the truck”. In response to his “yes”, my question was, “what is the first thing you need to know?” My answer to his blank expression was, “know how to stop it, before you start it”. Ben loved a challenge, the bigger the better. Here was a challenge, not only of driving a motor vehicle for the first time; it was to happen in front of those younger brothers.

Managing a heavy old ute, manual gear box, no power steering and a clutch that had “issues”, provided a test of skill for experienced drivers, daunting for a first-timer. Ben was not going to let that get in the way of this opportunity, so off he went. To sounds of a roaring motor, and some grating of gears, the occasional stall, Ben and the truck “hopped” their way over the paddock to us. To say that, it was a very proud Ben who got out of the vehicle, would be the understatement of all time.

Ben was the first to give that old Toyota a workout and over the years Tim, Andy and Pete all spent hours learning some basics of managing the tuk. Yesterday when I was looking into Colin’s ute, Matt was driving but my mind, was dwelling on a precious “grandfather” moment many years ago. Just one of many treasured experiences with a much loved grandson—memories that are becoming ever more precious as years tick by.

Gumpa

Passing this way but once

A year or so ago, I spent a day with a woman, who I will call Sue, whose daughter had recently died from a brain tumour.

Yesterday, in the mail, I received a copy of a beautiful book from Sue. It is a one year devotional; a bound, illustrated coffee-table size book which also includes a CD of inspirational songs.

Sue wrote and produced this book, in remembrance of her 15 year old daughter. She also oversees a Christian charity, inspired by, and named after, her daughter. It continues to raise thousands of dollars for a worthy cause.

And I think with sadness that no book has been written about Ben, to inspire people’s faith, and no excellent charity has his name blazoned on it.

And like I have so often, I think about him being forgotten and how to appropriately continue honouring and remembering him.

And again, like I have so often, I get to hoping and praying that the impact of his life and the way he died, will be remembered in and through the way we continue to live our lives without him.

‘I shall pass this way but once; any good that I can do or any kindness I can show to any human being; let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.’ Etienne de Grellet (1773-1855) Quaker Missionary.

Lindy

More from the private files of Meaghan

Ben was good at working with spaces.

One of the awkward spaces at our Rathdowne Street flat almost beat Ben. There was a hole in the kitchen to fit a dishwasher. Ben found a dishwasher on hard rubbish that would fit the cavity and brought it over. I remember watching in silent awe as Ben solely dragged the dishwasher up the stairs on a trolley. The stair well was an awkward space. Too narrow and with too low ceilings to service moving in and out of the apartments well. The scars in the paintwork were evidence of the challenge. The dishwasher was big and cumbersome, and required a combination of careful maneuvering and endurance lifting. It was truly impressive to see it ascend the three stories without adding to the chipped décor.

Ben had measured the cavity and so the dishwasher would slide into place. Except it did not. There was a u-bend pipe sticking out from next to the sink. Ben was sweating and puffing from lugging it up the stairwell. I waited for the frustration to surface. Ben leaned on the dishwasher and looked at the floor tiles while he caught his breath. ‘Ok,’ he said and started the slow and heavy descent down the stairwell with the dishwasher.

Imagining...all the boys at the wedding

We knew he should have been there so we Photoshopped him in.

More wedding bells

So we had another beautiful wedding in our family. This time Pete married charming Chermaine.

It was a lovely day of celebration, love and laughter.

Ben would have contributed had he been there physically but he contributed from behind the scenes as best he could; remembered in speeches and also in our collective memories.

Moving house, moving on and going back

Leaving Finlayson Street, Doncaster means leaving our last memories of Ben as a 23-year-old.

But returning to Box Hill South is returning to memories of Ben as an active, curious young boy-always with something new to do.