Letter to Students 12th August 2007Dear Reader I am sitting in bed, propped up by white fluffy pillows, and reflecting on another full on, but very happy weekend. It began on Friday night when we entertained our dear friends who had returned from a year in Amsterdam, and we had invited another old Dutch friend to join us in the reunion of our close friends. Our former Dutch student had returned with her family for the week, and she had rung to see if she could spend the weekend with us as well, so it was a real reunion of Dutch spirit which gathered round our big table. What a fabulous evening it was as we ate and drank the night away. Early Saturday morning, I awoke at 4:30 as has been my habit over the past year, and made a cup of tea for Han and me. My initial plan on waking was to go down to the cherry tree which we had planted in my father’s memory last year, and this thought had led me to thinking about buying plants to put around the tree. Tuesday marks the first anniversary of my father’s death, and because Dad chose to give his body to medical science, and also chose at the eleventh hour not to have a funeral, we have all been left with our own ways to deal with his passing. Funerals have taken on a real meaning since Dad died as I realise how important they are for the living, not the dead. They are the public way in which we not only grieve, but also gain support from each other at this difficult time. To decide that a funeral is a waste of money, or will cause friction within families, are not adequate reasons for not having a funeral. I now believe it is a vital part of our grieving process which enables us to move on. What do you do when people die in your culture? Talk of death reaffirms my belief that we must live each day as if it were our last. If this were your last day on earth, what would you do? If you ate your last meal, what would it be, and where would you eat it? Do you ever have thoughts like this? There is no need, as we have no idea of knowing when our number is up, but it is an interesting topic, don’t you think? Our Dutch friends stayed the night, and after breakfast and watching Jan’s football game with my “Dutch daughter,” and doing the shopping for my mother, we returned home to have lunch before heading off to Nicky and Colin’s house warming party. I did some gardening before we left, and although I had had only four hours sleep, I found the gardening invigorating. We arrived at the housewarming party late afternoon, and there were a lot of people standing outside around the barbecue. However, we could see the Nor’wester brewing, and soon the skies opened and the rain fell heavily. We watched the harbour toss its waves angrily, and I love watching the power of nature. Han and I sheltered under some pine trees as we ate our late lunch, and later headed into town so that our adopted daughter and Jan could go to the film, Harry Potter. Annelle said that she would treat him to the film as he said that he had no interest in reading the books which Annelle had so loved. Although she is only sixteen years old, she has read all the Harry Potter books in English. What is your favourite book? Have you read any books in English? My Dutch daughter, Annelle, is two years younger than her peers in school and is obviously very bright. When she stayed with us, we knew that she had enjoyed her time, but hadn’t realized how much it had impacted on her life. At that age we are very impressionable, and it is important that our experiences are positive. While Jan and Annelle went to Harry Potter, Han and I took in an Irish movie called Once. It was a modern “musical” although to call it that is to somehow minimize it. The music was amazing, and the simple story was very powerfully constructed. Han and I really enjoyed it, and after the movie we watched the Otago Highlanders lose to the Canterbury Crusaders in an Irish bar until the Harry Potter film finished. It was too cold to go to Carisbrook, and it is such a shame that so many people think the same as we do, and do not support their local team as we used to do. Today we awoke to a glorious day, and again I had been up from four o’clock in the morning. I had pottered around the house, and then returned to bed to have my usual vivid dreams before awakening. Waking early reminds me that when Han and I talked in the small hours yesterday, Han said that he had already bought and planted flowers around Dad’s tree. He is so amazingly sensitive, and I love my husband very much. Tonight, he would say that I don’t love him enough, and that I take him for granted at times. I don’t think I do, but I do know that I often act impulsively and say things I shouldn’t say on the spur of the moment. I so often just act on my feelings, but this can lead people to being very upset with the lack of predictability! Today Han and I went to look at two properties near our house which are for sale. They are both on the waterfront and have amazing views of the harbour and PuddingIsland. I have always loved them both, and it was wonderful to be able to see them at the Open Home which was on today. The real estate agent used to be a close friend of Han’s and she has gone from being a house wife, to the owner of the most successful real estate agency in the country. Her black Mercedes was parked noticeably out front, testimony to her success. How come I don’t have one? The answer is simple: I don’t sell real estate!! If I had lots of money, I would buy these houses as an investment, but I am perfectly happy in my own slice of paradise. What would you do if you had lots of money? This week, being the anniversary of Dad’s passing, I am feeling nostalgic. I will enclose a letter I wrote this time last year, but which I never finished. 13th August, 2006 I am sitting at my father’s bed, having read stories, sung songs and reminisced over the very many happy times my father and I have shared. The sun shone for us in the early morning, but it is now raining. Maori believe that rain is a sign that the gods are crying, and maybe that is so. Dad has been such a warrior as he has battled to stay alive, and even now his will refuses to give in to his wasted body. I admire his strength, his integrity and honesty, and the desire to always show “a clean pair of heals.” The staff at the rest home see him as a friend and the gentleman who always kept his sense of humour, even when the pain was intense. It is funny to be sitting here writing to you as I recall the nights that Dad sat in our lounge when I was a child, and did all his paperwork as he watched television. He was such a hard worker, and I take after him in so many ways. On Friday night, my sister called me late at night, and I came in to be with Dad as she thought his laboured breathing was a sign that the final hour was near. However, as soon as I arrived, he insisted that I take him to the toilet, and it was only at two o’clock in the morning that he was resting peacefully again. I crawled in to bed, knowing that I only had a few hours sleep before I went to work on Saturday morning. Work went well. The rest of my weekend was spent at Dad’s bedside as I took shifts with my sister looking over him. On Monday morning, I went straight to the rest home, and had the feeling that this would be the last day spent with my father. My sister and I reminisced over our childhood, and happy times spent with Dad. We thanked Dad for all he had given us, and for giving us that day together. My sister and I are very different in many ways and have taken very different paths in life. However, This is the last poem I wrote to Dad, and I remember he cried when he read it. He died at the rest home in which he felt so comfortable, but the hospice was where he gained a lot of strength, and from where we saw these trees. Dad, You saw The trees laid bare Along the stream And despaired at the passing of time You saw the tiny shoots Appear to clothe those bare branches And rejoiced at the renewal of life You saw The Rugby World Cup, the Olympics And felt proud at celebrating that milestone You saw Your seventy fifth birthday And felt contented as your two daughters celebrated with you at Dansey’s Pass I see The father who played cricket and squash with me, And feel the luckiest daughter in the world I see The holidays we spent, such as in Geraldine, And feel the flow of happy memories like the river behind our motel I see The drummer who played with honour And feel the admiration of your St Kilda band mates I see The manager who swept the floor and had the best sales And feel the respect of your colleagues at Guthrie Bowron I see The sportsman who lives for the next game of television And feel the passion for each game I see The traveler who loves meeting people of all walks of life And feel empathy for those same people I see The confidant who ends advice with, ‘I am not trying to tell you anything but,” And feel humbled by your practical wisdom I see The friendly, good looking man who loves to share his experiences And feel glad you touch so many I see The gentleman who still walks so straight, with such dignity And feel so lucky that I was born your daughter We see The father, grandfather, father in law, and friend And feel blessed to be part of your life I have just had a phone call from a band member from the St Kilda brass band. I had left a message with him as Han and I would love for some of the members of the band to play for Dad at the hospice, if it is at all possible. Dad was in the band for many years and it was a really special time in his life. Cross fingers that this can happen. After that phone call, the St Kilda band played for Father’s Day last year, and we cried as we thought that Dad would not be with us for much longer. Since that time, he lived to see his great grand daughter’s birth and travelled with us twice to see her in Wanaka. He toasted Indi’s birth with a glass of wine, the first wine he had ever tried, and celebrated my fiftieth birthday with fifty other friends. It was such a special evening, and that night we talked about other milestones for him. However, as much as we talked of celebrating his next birthday in October, I didn’t push it as I knew he had done so well. He was so happy, and I felt so happy that I had seen such pride and happiness on Dad’s face. It is time to go to bed as I feel in need of an early night. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow and hearing of your news. When I was looking for the poem I wrote to Dad, I came across these words which were written on the back of a Hubbard’s cereal box: The six most important words are I admit I made a mistake The five most important words are You do a good job The four most important words are What is your opinion?. The three most important words are If you please The two most important words are Thank you The most important word is We The least important word is I Without others we are alone May we never feel alone. It has been a long five years since my father was given five days to live at this time last year. However, it gave me time to be with my father, and build bridges with my only sister. On the day my father passed away, my sister and I were together and we both gave thanks to my father for bringing us together. I now believe that my father’s positive energy is within me, and I feel I woe it to my father to make the most of each day. May you also make the most of each day. It is now time to close this letter, feeling positive, but very sentimental. Love all those who are close to you, and enjoy each precious day. Love SharronBack to Letter Archive Page Within New Zealand call (03) 471 7257 - International call +64 3 471 7257. |
