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

Evocation #16 breathe

Did you hold me or did I hold you?
The breath pauses and gasps again.
I hold the fluttering of your heart,
 my hand firm as listening intensifies.
Will I hear your spirit escape this realm for another?
Make a home for us there, I whisper.
There are many rooms - paint one of them blue.

One lung - or one and a bit...
Breath that once shouted at players and refs.
Two laps for that. Walk away.
Pass the ball.
Breath used for forming teams and communities.
Moments and eternities pass between breaths.
Snooze and you lose!
Sleepy train rides merging postcard views with wonder and dreams.
Breathing in time to flamenco guitar.
Friends cherishing and easing your breaths,
Turning you, massaging, touch of love and healing.
Not the kind of healing that pulls you back,
rather, the gifts of going...
pieces to place in your backpack
until you float as a feather on the breath of God.

What is God’s breath like?
Does it appear as the wind from the south?
Don’t they call that the widow maker?
Does it fan flames and leave destruction?
Does it make the sky turn black and the sun to blush to vermillion...
 like the fire trucks it watches with indifference?

Breathe
The triple breath and pause. Repeat.
Is almost instructional in its rhythm.
This is how you do it.
You make an instructional video,
 burning it into my memory, so,
 when sobs and gasps violently shove me into that pattern -
I remember.
Just.
Breathe.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019

Evocation #15 Blue (part 3)

Charisma deceives,
Tricking into assumptions of simplicity of presentation.
Force of presence obliterates multilayered complexities.
peeling your history - a pass-the-parcel,
with every layer delivering an unexpected prize.
Vignettes surfacing on holidays
or around trivia tables.
My constant request...
“Darling, how do I do this?”
You had a tool for everything,
 knowing its name and history of development.
Limits of formal education,
never holding back a well formed opinion,
based on breadth of reading and discourse.
You held your own with politicians and religious leaders,
 trade unionists, sport stars, media personalities,
 professors, homeless, and children....
Elements of Peter Pan and Pied Piper,
a magnet!
People buzzed around you,
like bees seeking the nectar of vitality
for you were unstinting in sharing life.
I sit here surprised that all life didn’t just stop that day,
But here we are, noting your absence.
True - the sun is red these days
and we are beginning to forget
what a blue sky looks like.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019


Terry Butler work history...
(Let me know if I have missed something)

First job as a banker.
Journo in Bourke at The Western Herald.
Roustabout, cotton-farmhand at Jack Buster’s Darling Farms
Called up for National Servie, trained as an officer at Scheyville,
Graduated as a 2nd Lieutenant
Travelled the coastline as a surfie
Triple certificate nurse - general, psych and midwife,
Working at royal north shore, Gladesville and back to north shore
Retail included menswear and managing a hardware store
Worked as a builder’s labourer for his brother-in-law, Rod,
before going into business with Russell as a trade painter.
Together they worked up special finishes.
An acquired allergy to paint led to taxi driving and hire cars.
Then, studies at UNSW in Theatre and Film,
completing three years of a five-year BA/BEd
And volunteer teaching drama at Chatswood High school.
Beginning to write...
Church Administrator at Chatswood-Willoughby Uniting Church
(Secretary to Ian Robinson, Fee Morrison, Dong Gyu Lee)
A cardiac arrest saw retraining at NatureCare College with Diplomas in Remedial Therapies and Remedial Massage.
Massage Therapist at Beverley Hills Chiropractic (with Bruce Stevenson and Michelle Henderson)
Novelist

Evocation #14 Blue (part 2)

Child’s art adorns the wall,
just beyond where you laid your head.
The standup hair a splash of colour,
reminding me of tongues of fire
Dancing always in you...
The breath of life
exuding from your interactions.

The daily trek to coffee shop
was more than liquid currency -
Regularity led to familiarity,
Familiarity led to friendship,
Friendship led to love -
the trek was oftentimes the path
of flowers, dogs and neighbourly chats.
For a time, the cafe was merely
a rest and recovery Stop,
more for the sake of your stick!
How many times did you coach yourself?
Your code name was determination.

Your only complaint was
the need to look down
to check both feet were behaving.
Disappointment turned to discovery
as you came to adopt cracks, crevices,
plants squeezing through the path.
Pups, newborns and old folk
learnt to expect
the kind word of encouragement -
 a blessing for their day or week.
Post office, pharmacy and bank staff
would vie to companion you in business.
Shopping, I learnt to bask in your glory!

The blue served as an invitation:
Welcome. I am a relief from your brown-grey world.
Most effective in waiting rooms,
the non-anxious presence...
you settled staff, family, carers,
asking questions loudly enough
so everyone in the room could
eavesdrop the answers
they longed to receive.
Sometimes, if another squinted,
you’d ask for repeat,
no one missed out with you holding court.

You would start by saying ‘nice nails’ or ‘nice handbag’,
Causing the victim to thank and look at you,
trying to find something reciprocal to approve...
You bought the comments about your coiff
by praying on courtesy.
It worked.
“I do it for Beyond Blue...”
Four or five times in a day
I could listen to you comfort people
in the distress of loss or grief.
You worked at mending so many broken or bruised hearts.

And you broke mine.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019

Evocation #13 Blue (part 1)

So mentally tough for so long!
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.”

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019

Evocation #12 the Llama and the Rabbit

They lie together, taking up a corner of the bed,
Witnesses to life and death and everything in between.
The Llama is the bearer of patience and patients.
It drew together a community of life’s players,
diverse, particular, distant, together in the ether.
They imagine worlds into being
and simulate possibilities.
Llama’s team has character and values...
 their own version of the ten commandments!

Little fluffy llamas perch above the bed,
overlooking our restful scene.
Larger cousins now live further north,
present with not-so-little boys.

The one staring at me displays the blue and red earrings,
 signifying premiership wins and proud coaching achievements.
It was birthed in prayer and it’s middle names are comfort and love.
It has a button arsehole!
(See - you can laugh through the tears!)

It’s companion comes from a much older line -

The Velveteen Rabbit has been a constant nursing aide.
Radox baths, physio-tape strapping, arthroscopies, tonsils, chicken pox,
 aches and pains, shingles, pneumonia,
lung cancer, brain cancer, gall stones, kidney stones, bladder cancer...
What does it take to make a rabbit real?
How much loving and how much loss of stuffing?

The rabbit has travelled lightly,
hopping into carryons, backpacks
and stuffing itself into pockets of suitcases.
Lately, it always seemed to have one foot
in a packing cube that doubled as a Go bag...
Better than one foot in the dirt!

When the body wears out, and love remains,
Reality hits...
 I’m glad the rabbit and the llama have each other.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019

Evocation #11 Collage

Hours invested in collaging images into some form of aide mémoire...
Every day - a little more loss -
Touch, smell, the sound of your voice...
Words reach out to guide through the characters you created.
The daily rant is missing.
Who now will critique the ills of the world and offer the logical alternatives?

I hold the master craftsman certificate in signs and symbols:
it hangs on my wall, positioned as a snuggle
between your Life Membership and your Accreditation -
Remedial Massage - healing through touch.
The terrible touch of a safety mask -
the kind that entraps and permits utter stillness.
As I stifle the desire to scream at it, I remember
your distraction - your story -
characters to comfort and instruct,
ongoing presence to guide and remind.
I am grateful for the gift,
somewhat daunted you thought ahead.

I try to decide which images to share
and which to hold private and close,
which do we keep to ourselves?
We didn’t just love each other,
we loved life together!
I look at the world today,
much still to do and care about.
The difference is not here, for it goes on,
so they say.
I now see the world
through my jealousy of heaven.

(C) A A Koh-Butler, 2019