On new medication that promised hope, he was determined to improve. That involved his going to the gym regularly, which he did
Though we know that dying is as natural as being born, the reactions to each are polar opposites.
My friend’s husband James had a life-threatening condition.
It was inevitable, therefore, that his disease would progress, as it did. Not that he ever let it get in the way of his living.
James loved life…
…loved going out for lunch, having a laugh, listening to fine music, the theatre, and ballet.
We continued to participate in a lot of socializing with him and his family, and there was never a dull moment.
More importantly he was the finest example of humanity that I can think of. When, at a friend’s funeral many years ago, the son of the deceased expressed his dislike for his father, so drank all his father’s Grange Hermitage, James didn’t say a word.
The wine belonged to James, and not to the son’s father.
But Father Time marches on…
By the time James died, he was using a walking frame, and his speech was a little slurred.
But still, he continued to play cricket in the back yard of their holiday home, and when he got a little too frail for his boisterous grandchildren, he took on the role of a no-nonsense umpire.
The children didn’t often complain, because they learned very quickly that, though Grandad could no longer bowl and catch, he missed nothing of their game and their playing tactics.
Besides, he was super-fair…
Girls had to play by the rules too. No time for soppiness in the barren backyard of the holiday home.
So you fell over, skinned your knee, you’ll be right. Up you get!
His you’ll be right attitude saw them all develop an admirable resilience that ensured everyone had fun.
He loved them!
He loved life.
Then Hope shed a light…
Some months previously, at one of his specialist appointments, he was offered a new treatment. Cutting-edge medication that would help his mobility.
Though the picture painted sounded too good to be true, he jumped at the opportunity. And why not?
And gradually things did improve…
…enough to allow him to visit his gym once more, to be more mobile, and hopeful for the future.
He even speculated on driving his beloved sports car again.
And though the family knew that in particular wouldn’t happen, the change in him was incredibly comforting, so they went along with his positive plans.
And Father Time continues to march on…
One night, he was left alone so my friend could pick her daughter up from the airport. They’d already eaten together. James had his book on his lap, the remote if he wanted to watch TV, and all was seemingly well.
She promised to call him from the airport so he could gauge her arrival home, which she did.
He didn’t answer her call, so her daughter, a doctor, called the ambulance.
He was pronounced dead.
No goodbyes.
No last words.
That semblance of hope that he could pick up the threads, and maybe do some of the things he loved most, was crushed in the moment.
One can only speculate on the huge loss that the family felt. He was their everything, yes even in his frailty.
One can take comfort in knowing that he always lived life to the fullest…
When he was with you, he was there, for you, engaged in anything you wanted to say.
Looking back, he was also the consummate entertainer.
Some years ago, we were at a dinner party none of us was looking forward to. We’d formed this post-study food group that had its origins in Sydney University. The idea was to emulate the fabulous, affordable eateries around the campus.
So we (most of us) quickly learned to cook, and to appreciate finer wines. More than that, we tried to be the best chefs, which meant we were always finding impressive menus from a variety of cultures.
But this particular hostess was not a cook. She always had impressive ways of explaining her dishes, but everything was bland and unappetising.
The blandness was something we could bet our bottom dollar on! It was almost an art form!
And on that night she didn’t disappoint.
The theme was Indian, so should have been tasty. But most of us sat there, taking the food for walks around our plates, bringing our best table manners to the situation.
At one point, James leaned over to his wife and asked, “What are we eating Love?”
There was a momentary thunderclap of silence around the room, after which she said with a deliberate air of frustration, “Oh I don’t know, James!” she said in mock exasperation. “Surely you can tell? It’s the beef curry we had at The Asian Hut last week…REMEMBER?” as she kicked his shin, to which he replied:
“Of course! That’s exactly what it tastes like. Love it!” and our hostess smiled in delight, while the rest of us breathed out, releasing enough built-up tension to slice a knife.
And a dark horse sings…
James had a fabulous tenor voice, that we, surprisingly, weren’t really aware of. On one other occasion, when we were having an Italian night, he got up impromptu and sang the Neapolitan song, Funiculì, Funiculà, just beautifully.
Right-hand across chest, shoulders raised, he was the quintessential opera singer.
Can you imagine our thunderous applause?
It was the start of many fun nights together…
Many of us were into music at the time.
Between that and his telling of jokes, he will forever be remembered. I don’t think he ever got to the punchlines, and yet, we would all be in tears of laughter, just at his antics in the telling.
James’ pride and joy, apart from his family, was his tennis court. We spent many Saturdays at his place. He was by far the best player…there are no prizes being offered to guess who was the worst!
And the tennis court? It was always beautifully and meticulously manicured by James himself.
So much more I could say about him…
…but though he will always be greatly missed, I am personally relieved that he didn’t live on, gradually losing his independence, dependent on people to wash and bathe him, to dress and undress him, and to tend to his every need.
He would have hated that.
Moreover he would have fought to the bitter end to be in charge.
We who knew him can all take comfort in knowing that his end came quickly, and if his suffering was momentary, which is what we are led to believe, going quickly was a blessing.
It’s probably how we’d all like to leave this earth…
…to die quickly, amidst hope for a few more years of life, even when the odds are not in our favour.
But my friend will never die. He can’t.
He has created so many fond memories in the hearts and minds of those who loved him. Those can never be erased.
And when I personally hear the delightful strains of Luciano Pavarotti, I will once again be in the presence of this hugely empathetic human being who loved life to the nth degree (he WAS a statistician!).
Vale, James.
Pavarotti – Funiculì Funiculà
James had his Grange forgiving moment – so have others…
Please read The Ultimate Example Of Forgiveness. To err is human, but to forgive, allows us to be free and enjoy our lives.
