Pa and the Pacific

A year ago we were having Thanksgiving together - our version, with lamb instead of turkey and Australian flora, Eucalyptus, Gumnuts and something red that I don’t know the name of, that I “borrowed” from the park behind your house.

I get those, “A year ago today” notifications on my phone, and todays one caught my breath. There you were, fast asleep in your perfectly worn armchair, with Ma fast asleep in her matching chair next to you. It was one of your afternoon naps that always brought a stillness over the house, except for the Lorikeets and Rosellas doing their thing outside.

A year ago today, wow. That saying rings true - It feels like yesterday, yet forever ago. Everything has changed and sometimes nothing at all, it’s weird grieving from the other side of the world. Sometimes I worry that I haven’t grieved your properly. Like I want to do you justice with my sadness, but I know that’s silly. You would tell me to get on with it. I think I only saw you shed a tear once. At least, I think it was a tear. I like to think it was. That was the last time we saw each other.

Mum travelled to Canada with your hair which I think is both beautiful and comical. It’s just SO her, isn’t it?! The family didn’t want to split your ashes and I get that, but having a little something of you here to visit felt important.

So the day Stu was leaving back to Australia, we visited my favourite beach as a family with the intention to let your hair wash away in the ocean. It’s called Wickanninnish, you would have loved it - it’s sweeping and wide, seemingly stretching on forever, kind of like Rainbow Beach near you. We went in the morning and it was the most beautiful morning. The sun was reflecting the sky in the wet sand, so everything shone bright, warm blue.

When we arrived, I couldn’t believe it, we were greeted by a Blue Heron. I have never seen a Blue Heron here before and I visit this spot often. What is so special about this, is that my dear friends Mum, Kate, is the Blue Heron. She passed a few years ago. I never met her, but I have a relationship with her through the Heron. Anytime I’m visited by the Blue Heron I send a photo or video to Andi, so that she knows her Mum is still here. It was like Kate was there to send you off as well.

The ocean is always different in this spot, the tide revealing or hiding the rocks. When the tide is low there are starfish and anemone everywhere - the rocks are alive. Stu and I even saw a bear here while he visited, I have never seen that before either. When the tide is high, the seals pop their heads up over the waves, watching curiously from afar. I love to sing to them.

This day, the tide was low and the waves gentle. Mum gave each of us a piece of your hair and we walked into the ocean to let you go with the tide. I couldn’t think of anything more fitting for a fisherman. I love knowing that the ocean here, is the same ocean that laps your boat ramp in Laurieton.

I love knowing that every time I go to my favourite spot with Scouty, you are there with me now. I know that you are with me without the physicality, that your hair will be long gone - maybe it’s back in Australia by now, but there is something comforting about the ritual, about letting something of you go physically.

I’m so glad I went home to Australia when I did. We knew the time was getting close, we just didn’t know how close. We all miss you so much. Ma signed a birthday card with just her name recently, and that was really hard. It’s like we forget you’re not here, yet the fact is very clear. I would give anything to be sitting around your dining table this Thanksgiving. I would give anything to watch you carve a leg of lamb with the knives you made, like you always did. I’m so thankful for that time with you.

I know my love of the ocean comes from you. It comes from Mum, which comes from you. At your funeral, it was said that Nature is your cathedral and I don’t know if I have resonated with anything more. I still haven’t learnt how to fish here, but don’t worry I will. It’s so important to me to pass on your love and legacy.