... and death

It's just on 21 years since we said goodbye to my father (Barry Dare "Steelo" Bransdon), who died of bowel cancer on August 23, 1990.


I remember it was a very upsetting time for me - and of course Steelo - but at least we knew his death was pending and we had many opportunities to talk in the six months from when he received his doctor's prognosis.
In contrast, there was a woman I worked with at Rockhampton's Morning Bulletin at the time whose daughter was killed in a car accident.
"At least you had time to talk to your father," she said to me. "There are so many things I will never be able to say to my daughter."
Those words have been etched in my memory since they were said.
Twelve months later (August 28, 1991) my grandfather, George Dare Teddus Daniels Bransdon, died at age 77.
I saw him just two weeks before he "shed his mortal coil". He was a little feeble and had difficulty talking, so I refused to believe he did have long for this world, despite him telling me otherwise.
I'll never forget the last time I saw him, waving to me from his chair in his little cottage in Hervey Bay.
That same kind of wave was given by my ex-wife's father on the last occasion we saw him. He (Barry Midgley) was already heart-broken after his beloved wife discarded him for a childhood lover, but he was trapped in a horrible marriage; his second wife would beat him and torture him mentally, but he was too much of a gentle-man to take action in return. She had even pushed him though a plate glass window, which smashed and cut through his cheek from his ear to the side of his mouth.
We tried to get him away, but he was too trapped. The last image I have of Barry is of him waving, with a forlorn look on his face, from his doorstep.
He died alone some weeks later. He was found face down in a pool of blood after an artery in his neck "exploded" while he was on the toilet. Such a humiliating way to die. 
No doubt death was a blessed relief for him.
Many years later, in late 2006, I returned to Rockhampton to find that my brother-in-law (Glen Genocchio) was dying, also of bowel cancer.
He was a brave bugger. In one of those awkward moments where you get lost for words, he broke the ice by telling me he wasn't afraid to die and that it was okay for us to talk about it.
It was then I gained a whole new respect for Glen.
Today (September 29, 2011) I said goodbye to a once close friend - Joel Adrian Ritchie.
Joel was just 28.
Sadly, we drifted apart after he moved from the Kiama Independent in 2008 to work at the Illawarra Mercury. Sadder still was that I stopped communicating with Joel after he committed a drunken indiscretion with a close (female) friend, and with whom he was in a very serious relationship.
Joel was described as unique at his funeral.
And he was.
Now I find myself agonising about whether I should have ignored Joel as I did. After all, at one time we were very close buddies.
One night while staying at my unit in Kiama, he crept up behind me and kissed the top of my head; how could you not love one who was able to show such a poignant display of affection?
But then, how could you not be angry with a father who refused to go to the doctor when he knew his health was at risk?
How could you not be touched by a grandfather who knew it was his time to go?
How could you not be frustrated by a father-in-law who would not leave a violent relationship?
And how could you not respect a brother-in-law who looked death in the eye and bravely said, "I am ready to meet my maker"?
Most importantly, how could you not forgive them for their "sins"?
In witnessing death, there are lessons for the living, not the least of which is that we should forgive those we love for their shortcomings.
My father was my hero; my grandfather was the most honest man I have ever known; my first father-in-law was a gentle-man in every sense; my brother-in-law was braver than I ever imagined; and my friend, Joel, was an extremely intelligent, humorous, diligent, loving, angry, insecure young man who deserved better.
Hopefully they are all in a better place; certainly the world is a better place for those who knew them.