As each challenge presented itself,
you plumbed wells of deeper knowing.
You always led the way with surprises.
Your long locks and ponytail
were a feature of our courting.
It was a lovely mane,
tamed in its gathered state,
liberated on special occasions.
My fortieth birthday present
was those locks
presented in a paperbag.
You shaved and oiled that solar panel,
letting it gleam,
necessitating millinery purchases.
Those were days of your more distinguished presentation.
Suits and silk shirts worn on adult dates.
We seemed to dance at countless weddings,
celebrating the lives of others in our own bliss.
Your ink was detailed -
two sessions of dragon delight.
Feasting and fasting,
we explored and played with place and time.
The collection of football tributes
grew with every trip (to that store in Bangkok...)
wearable statement of loyal fan and ranting critic.
Details pool in a muddy mess
of cannulas and waiting rooms...
The Mohawk arrived with the scans,
but salt and pepper was unacceptable
in a world of sky and ocean delight.
Blue highlighted your tender eyes,
Glancing and gazing, encouraging
truth in companionship,
staring fear down.
Blue.
You knew. I knew.
This would be our shared duet,
not to be embarked on solo.
In our blueness, we adopted the cause.
We never fought cancer.
We fought anxiety and depression.
Beyond Blue was logical, helpful,
a way of communicating a life value.
Blue.
The heavens declare the glory of God.
The tides come and go at divine bidding.
There are no heights nor depths beyond
the encompassing life force we call God.
Blue hair entwined itself in your identity,
So, of course, it would become mine.
We belonged and people knew.
So many people - strangers - would stop and offer
words of encouragement and appreciation.
It was like a cheer squad of angels
from nowhere and everywhere.
Passing children would walk
into poles, unable to look away.
“Mummy, mummy, he’s got blue hair!”
You learnt to turn those blue targets and respond,
“You could have blue hair too!”
Ever the evangelist!
Blue earrings proclaimed premiership victories
and told the world of mentoring and coaching,
valued by recipients
and woven into your very being.
So many young women saw you as a father figure.
Not the stereotype... ever!
But true and loving,
standing as the one who respected womanhood,
Even when you toppled....
Falling from your bike was the sign of change.
Two weeks and your shoulder and hand and leg
were gone - not gone - not working...
your steady decline into paraplegia,
not urgent but too late...
Second and third opinions defining a fate of fast farewell.
But godly play intervened.
Let’s tell a different story
and wonder at different possibilities?
The anxiety of humming machines
was as nothing
as you glared at my approach
with nail clippers.
Ok then... a manicure?
The world of Vietnamese shopfronts
in Australian shopping centres
opened their embrace to you.
Mani-pedi, in blue please!
And so we reframed expectations.
Rehab, proposed by fresh faced graduates,
set goals of accessing wet areas. Low score.
We sat in a car, both weeping,
Decided to create our own program.
Walking
Cold pressed juices
IV nutrients
More walking
Music therapy
Electronic games
Art therapy
Colouring in
More walking
Coffee everyday
Writing
Team digital gaming
The Trike
Travel
Pilgrimage
Adventures
Advocacy
Public discourse
Mentoring
More walking
Feeding doves
Hosting chats
Digital presence (when physical was too tough)
There were stumbles,
cross words, arguments born of frustration...
Such frustration!
We would go out
and I would learn ministry as I observed
and you taught me how to participate.
Blue.
Bold and public,
a bell on your wheelchair...
“Here I am. I don’t have time to wait for you,
For there is so much living yet to do.”
How many lifetimes did you pack in?
How many Tshirts told stories?
How many boys call you Coach still?
How many times did you voice “I love you.”
Your long locks and ponytail
were a feature of our courting.
It was a lovely mane,
tamed in its gathered state,
liberated on special occasions.
My fortieth birthday present
was those locks
presented in a paperbag.
You shaved and oiled that solar panel,
letting it gleam,
necessitating millinery purchases.
Those were days of your more distinguished presentation.
Suits and silk shirts worn on adult dates.
We seemed to dance at countless weddings,
celebrating the lives of others in our own bliss.
Your ink was detailed -
two sessions of dragon delight.
Feasting and fasting,
we explored and played with place and time.
The collection of football tributes
grew with every trip (to that store in Bangkok...)
wearable statement of loyal fan and ranting critic.
Details pool in a muddy mess
of cannulas and waiting rooms...
The Mohawk arrived with the scans,
but salt and pepper was unacceptable
in a world of sky and ocean delight.
Blue highlighted your tender eyes,
Glancing and gazing, encouraging
truth in companionship,
staring fear down.
Blue.
You knew. I knew.
This would be our shared duet,
not to be embarked on solo.
In our blueness, we adopted the cause.
We never fought cancer.
We fought anxiety and depression.
Beyond Blue was logical, helpful,
a way of communicating a life value.
Blue.
The heavens declare the glory of God.
The tides come and go at divine bidding.
There are no heights nor depths beyond
the encompassing life force we call God.
Blue hair entwined itself in your identity,
So, of course, it would become mine.
We belonged and people knew.
So many people - strangers - would stop and offer
words of encouragement and appreciation.
It was like a cheer squad of angels
from nowhere and everywhere.
Passing children would walk
into poles, unable to look away.
“Mummy, mummy, he’s got blue hair!”
You learnt to turn those blue targets and respond,
“You could have blue hair too!”
Ever the evangelist!
Blue earrings proclaimed premiership victories
and told the world of mentoring and coaching,
valued by recipients
and woven into your very being.
So many young women saw you as a father figure.
Not the stereotype... ever!
But true and loving,
standing as the one who respected womanhood,
Even when you toppled....
Falling from your bike was the sign of change.
Two weeks and your shoulder and hand and leg
were gone - not gone - not working...
your steady decline into paraplegia,
not urgent but too late...
Second and third opinions defining a fate of fast farewell.
But godly play intervened.
Let’s tell a different story
and wonder at different possibilities?
The anxiety of humming machines
was as nothing
as you glared at my approach
with nail clippers.
Ok then... a manicure?
The world of Vietnamese shopfronts
in Australian shopping centres
opened their embrace to you.
Mani-pedi, in blue please!
And so we reframed expectations.
Rehab, proposed by fresh faced graduates,
set goals of accessing wet areas. Low score.
We sat in a car, both weeping,
Decided to create our own program.
Walking
Cold pressed juices
IV nutrients
More walking
Music therapy
Electronic games
Art therapy
Colouring in
More walking
Coffee everyday
Writing
Team digital gaming
The Trike
Travel
Pilgrimage
Adventures
Advocacy
Public discourse
Mentoring
More walking
Feeding doves
Hosting chats
Digital presence (when physical was too tough)
There were stumbles,
cross words, arguments born of frustration...
Such frustration!
We would go out
and I would learn ministry as I observed
and you taught me how to participate.
Blue.
Bold and public,
a bell on your wheelchair...
“Here I am. I don’t have time to wait for you,
For there is so much living yet to do.”
How many lifetimes did you pack in?
How many Tshirts told stories?
How many boys call you Coach still?
How many times did you voice “I love you.”
(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019
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