Evocation #17 Blue - Last Year

We spent last year quietly celebrating
a year of change and novelty.
Family fireworks lit the sky,
brightening our living room
for a few moments,
Like pills,
giving temporary colour
to postpone coming darkness.
Nighttime was our friend then - sun the enemy...
Side effects meant stay inside or cover up.
New fashion statements
of flaps and scarves,
Six-packs of sunscreen,
plantations of fresh aloe,
homemade conconctions
 of turmeric, sea vegetables, cherry and honey...
a veritable rainbow of hope blitzed
into topical applications of goodness and relief.
Organic life continuously arrived, bursting boxes,
tamed into pieces by generous friendship,
cold-pressed into service, satisfying thirst.
Creation still shares fruits...
 at least for a time,
But for how long?
We planned a cruise.

Festival delights welcomed our new year,
funny, creative, poignant, touching... a poet, a cabaret,
a choir of young - proud - women - celebrating their Land...
Walking and riding, commitment to move,
Remembering to eat, despite loss of appetite.
Words lost and communications gathered by “punkywayshone”.
Conversations became guessing competitions.
My middle name became thesaurus.
We travelled to the apple isle - friends accessible
while you could still negotiate stairs.

You started to withdraw from others,
preferring online
where your singlehanded typing was befriended
by predictive text.
I booked long leave.

Confusion, lostness, disorientation.
“Do I know this place? These people?”
I made a list of haven-cafes, at shops and work,
and gave baristas my card.
I kissed you and left you almond flat whites,
“Wear your Ironman button.
Your superhuman power is to summon me!”

When sentence-searching scared us,
I read your book to you, continuing the edits
of cherished companions.
Vignettes unfolded and we needed to research...

Symptoms declare no further treatment.
Old music confronts us once again.
Preparing for ending freezes time.
But pause for a moment or a month...
Compassionate request and gift
allows a window to open.
No more side effects - take off your hat!
Enjoy the light a little longer.
We gain extra memories...and oh, what delights!

“1950

“Tyalgum was a backwater village in a backwater region of northern NSW. The lush countryside ideally suited the many dairy farms scattered throughout the Tweed Valley. Much of the sub-tropical rainforest had been cleared fifty years ago, but there were still lush pockets, especially around Mt. Warning. The recent, steady, frequent downpours made many of the rough, country roads a challenge to even the best drivers. (C) Terry Butler, 2019

The opening words of your therapy
drives us to circle the ancient volcano,
her beauty and story solidifying love like cooling lava.
Those weeks made us strong
and and ministered to us from rainforest and running river.
The earth cared for us, fed us,
gave us an anniversary we could never have expected.
Art Deco images wove together memories
of Barcelona and Murwillumbah.

Visits to friends and relatives gentled the soul,
Reminding us of values and reasons to celebrate life.
Generous donors provided a house at Hawks Nest...
A week of editing and visiting grandchildren.
Romantic dining in a French restaurant
reminded us of pilgrimage past.
A few days remained to explore wonder...
painted glory and ancient scrolls
were seen from wheelchair throne -
Thank you Canberra,
haven of art and knowledge!

Home saw caring visits by supporters, friends and relatives,
freeing me to work and respite in Mexico and Cuba,
in fine company.
We both saw how deep friendship composes herself
in undramatic encouragements.

Two and a half weeks can be so short and so long,
for how do we measure time?
How long does it take to learn a new word
or lose a vocabulary?
How many hugs and caresses does it take
to know security?
Too short - too long.

You still came regularly to campus with me,
But shorter visits... to observe rather than engage.
“I’m ready to go home now”...
But whose home?
Were you beginning to redefine the definition?
Home for you used to be with me.
Home for me used to be with you.

Determination and optimism -
An awe-inspiring combination.
You made a date to have lunch -
reunion with beloved colleagues.
A taxi voucher one way,
your insisted train ride to return.
Your distress call, our response...
Drama, screams, desperation, drugs...

Seven hospital visits and seven catheters, in as many weeks.
In between, moments of achievement and delight.
Take that, Fear, your last name should be “Not”...
An angel told me so!

The new normal became so much more personal...
Your last vignette was all about “Alf”:

“Alf’s father was a barber, back-in-the-day. His dad, now in his late-eighties, would occasionally come into the shop in Murwillumbah Street, just to check up on him. Alf had tried a few other things, but he was drawn to being a barber. It seemed now as if he had been a barber since forever. The interactions and the treasuring of people’s secrets was, for him, a kind of sacred trust. He looked after people. He didn’t stop with tending faces and heads. He also looked after their stories. It was easy to chat to Alf.”

 (C) Terry Butler, 2019

You instructed me carefully
how your father taught you to shave.
I became a full service barber!
Sometimes at the vanity,
sometimes (when you had no energy to look)
beneath the shower head.
Down, up and across... Long strokes.
with stories of army life and sergeant orders.

Bamboo sheets dry quicker...
an important learning when changes are required
 every few hours
Skin changes, sleep increases,
board games become the welcome relief
to distress at not being able to converse.
I begin to time the periods of conversation.
How long have we got?

You poured out wisdom about life and marriage
intended for moments of advocacy still
as you raged at exclusion and vilification
- Always the defender and ally.
You scorned public discourse and complained
you no longer had the words
to confront people
with simple love.

Houseguest friends and family
come closer, come familiar, come more often.
Practicalities take over...
So many forms - so many bills -
So many packets - so much equipment.
So much to fill my mind and drive out anxiety.
I made boxes for meds and catheter supplies.
The pharmacist rang me for updates.

In Ward 5c you held court...
Patients, Carers, families, doctors, nurses, orderlies...
you held hands, prayed for others...
You told me who was in a bad way.
“There are lots of people worse off than me” you claimed.
I was angry with you.
In your obsession with the wellbeing of others,
you left your own concern to me.
Like the bird with no concern for tomorrow,
 you lived each moment to the full...
So I died a little every day.

With hopes of maybe six more weeks,
we cancelled the planned cruise.
It was a possibility.
Dining and fitness packages were refunded
but the investment of dreaming remained spent.
Only later would the ovation escaped become evident.
Had we gone, your final days would have been
ministering to others
in the witnessing of violent death
and horror at nature’s anger...
We prayed for our would have been fellow passengers
and victims of White Island.

“I’m ready to go home!”
Home...
So where were you ready to go?
Eleven days were a lifetime at home.
Providence of angels inhabiting
every nook and cranny,
busy with loving.
I spoke to a friend while under the shower... the only solo time I had.
Who would have thought dying would be so busy?
Like a progressive dinner,
 a cycle of love
 seemed to revolve around us.

I understand the Synoptics better now:
summary stories give way to moment by moment details.
So much engraved into my soul...
what about yours?
How much were you aware of?
The Christmas dinner?
The delirium?
The dismantling of our bed to make way for a wondrous appliance!
A force of assistance quietly moved in and rearranged the furniture,
bringing homemade cookies and soup.
Other hands massaged your feet and held your hand.

Ready?
Ready or not!
You tricked us all
with death rattles leading into
regained composure and mouthed verses of Hark the Herald!
“No one does that” the nurse said.

You decided to offer one last gift of hospitality...
You let St Peter go get a coffee,
while you gentled people through the gates...
Only a smoko turned into a three day weekend.
The Rock thought he was out of a job...
So much for ready!

Ready to go home?
I am learning to become deeply jealous of the inhabitants of Heaven.
They have stolen my homeland and will not let me in.
How did you get a ticket when I cannot get an entry permit?
I am become a refugee - homeless among clutter.

So commences a new year...
A year to become a stranger.
A year to remember lasts and commence firsts.
A year to be reminded to breathe.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019