calliemm

Whispers  

There was never going to be enough time to remind my husband of all the wonderful memories we shared in our 22 years together, on the day he left us. And I know he didn’t need reminding, but there was so much more remembering to do. 

So here are some of the memories we didn’t get time to share in whispers in his final hours. I hope you can hear them now, babe, from my heart to yours. 

Bren …  

You were so bloody funny. No one has ever made me laugh like you, and we have a comedian in the family. So that’s a big call. I don’t think I ever told you how funny you are. So, there it is; I love how you made me laugh.  

What about our first breakfast together? Coco pops on mum and dad’s veranda at Crowdy. Looking at the ocean on a beautiful sunny morning. And all the Friday night pancake dinners, with cream, ice cream, and caramel sauce in our first flat. We loved eating delicious food together. 

Our first flat, so many memories. Buying new furniture, some of which we still have today. Hearing the nearby church bells ring as we shared a long, lazy bath. Brushing our teeth together in that small vanity mirror above the bathroom sink, your arm around my waist as you pulled me close to you.  

Should I mention the night Deb and Tam stayed at our place after a night out? You and I had just started living together. We were home hours before that pair. They snuck in at some ungodly hour and banged madly on our bedroom door. Scaring the shit out of us. You screamed and fell out of bed. We heard Deb and Tam drop to the floor in fits of laughter on the other side of the door, and we joined in when we realised what was happening. I nearly wet my pants laughing.  

Speaking of screaming, how about when we heard screeching brakes and a flash of lights in the middle of the night at our little house on Smith St, and thought a car was coming through our bedroom window? You screamed, again, ran, and were out of that room before I knew what was happening.  

“You didn’t even wait for me,” I said when we realised, we were out of danger.  

“I didn’t have time,” you laughed. “I know you can look after yourself.”  

What about when we visited Deb and Andy in Sydney? We were driving around looking for somewhere to eat, and you and Andy went joke for joke for about 20 minutes, all of us in fits of laughter. We forgot we were looking for somewhere to eat as Deb and I enjoyed a mobile comedy show.  

Babysitting Sue and Mike’s girls when they were little, our practice babies. You would let them do your hair in ponytails and put make-up on you. They thought that was so funny.  

How about bringing our babies home to their bright yellow nursery, with two gorgeous white wooden cots waiting for them, even though they shared one for the first month? Our good mate Muddy called in just after we had painted the nursery, ready for the impending arrivals, and asked what colour we would paint over the yellow. He was serious. That made us laugh so hard. 

How often did you work on your old Volkswagen beetle in front of our little Smith St house. You always had toddler twins crawling in between, around, and over you. Bades can change a tyre with ease now. And I’m sure Tyz could, too, and if she forgets how, Bades will teach her the way you taught him when he was still little.  

What about the kids’ first day of school? As we approached the school gate, I got the perfect photo of the three of you walking together. They were so little, and you looked so proud. Do you remember Mr Green giving us a year 4 Maths lesson so we could help the kids with their homework? It sounds funny, but their math was very different to how we learnt. He told us Tyz and Bades were great kids, and we should have more. Miss Smithurst told us the same. 

The night we danced with Tyz and Bades at their Year 6 farewell. So many happy tears. 

Crowdy Head, didn’t we love spending time there with my mum and dad? Sometimes, it would just be us, and then us, Tyz, and Bades when they came along. Crowdy was our special place, especially when the entire Maddalena, Saunders, Pitman, Maloney crew were all together. Or any combination of the aforementioned. 

How about the summers we spent our Sundays on Shelly’s Beach, at Pacific Palms, clothing optional before the kids came along! Those were the days. We went beach walking, rock climbing, and swam, naked. It took me a while to get my gear off, but you were always able to encourage me out of my comfort zone.  

Dancing from the night we met; at weddings, 18ths, 21sts, 30ths, and Christmas Parties, we were always amongst the first on the dance floor. And date nights Salsa dancing (not very well, but we had fun trying) at home when the kids were tucked in bed. We loved dancing, even if it was you being silly in the kitchen while I was cooking dinner.  

Do you remember the day we were lying on the beach at Saltwater? We heard a loud rumbling sound and wondered what the f@ck it was. It got louder and louder, and we could feel the ground vibrating. It felt like an earthquake. Before we knew it, three low-flying Blackhawk helicopters flew over, buzzing us. We looked at each other, eyes wide, and both shouted, ‘Holy Shit!’ at the top of our voices. The wind from the helicopter blades blew sand around us as we sat up, waving to the soldiers whose faces we could see because they were flying so low.  

Then there was the day we had to drive into town to see Dr. Chris in my little, old white VW golf, the front electric window winders stuck with the windows down? The trip started out OK, but halfway there, it poured rain, and we both got soaking wet as we drove along. You cried, and I looked at you and said, “It could be worse, you know.” You asked how, and I said, “I don’t know.” We both burst out laughing. I remember looking at you as you got out of the car, with one leg & crutches, navigating the wet ground. I thought you looked gorgeous with your damp shirt sticking to your chest. But I didn’t say so. I wish I had. I wish I had told you more how gorgeous I thought you were. I know you didn’t feel it a lot of the time as cancer ravaged you. But to me, you were always the best-looking man in the room everywhere we went.  

How about the day you trained with Commando Steve and kept up with everyone, even with cancer and one leg. Hanging out with Steve for a bit afterwards, and picking his trainer brain was a bonus.

What about the day we picked up our rescue pup from the kennels and brought him home to surprise the kids? They couldn’t believe their eyes when little Oti jumped through a hole in the fence and ran up to them, dressed in the perfect red bow. And him being your little shadow everywhere you went. Oti slept when you slept and wanted to play all day when you were awake. We would take him on long walks on the beach, him choosing to walk in the gap left by your missing leg.  

And then there were all the times I could hear you playing your guitar from wherever I was in the house. You were so much better than you thought, and I loved listening to you. Another thing I don’t think I ever really told you, I just expected you knew. I hope you did. 

But of all the memories of us, my favourites are the ones where we were doing simple things, the four of us together, with Oti, having fun, living life, and making memories.  

I could fill a book with my memories of you, Bren, but mostly, I want you to know how loved you made me feel. You clearly showed me how much you loved me, how important I was to you, and you made sure I knew how lucky you felt that I was the mother of your children. I hope, more than anything else, I made you feel the same. This is why on the last day we spent together when your words could no longer be found, I told you I loved you over and over again. Because I knew of everything we did together, and the things we had said, it was my love that you would take with you, and that of Tyz, Bades and Otis. And yours that would stay with us. Everything else was just icing on the most delicious slice of life anyone could have shared.  

*** 

On Thursday, September 7th, hundreds of our friends, neighbours, and community, #teambrendanm, joined our family to celebrate Bren. His last farewell was a beautiful celebration of an incredible life, and I think he would have loved it.  

Since Bren’s passing, the kids, my sisters, and many of our friends have received little messages of validation and some big ones, too, letting us know he is OK and reminding us he isn’t far away. I know he watches over us every day.