Like many, we lost a family member during lockdown, meaning we didn't get to say goodbye, and we had the memorial this week, months after his passing, on what would have been my Uncle John's 77th birthday. He was Mum's second oldest brother. She was one of six kids, the offspring of Fred and Betty, who immigrated Yorkshire, England, after the second world war. Australia was the land of opportunity. My grandfather was a bricklayer and was well sought after for his excellent brick work. Uncle John is pictured below with my grandparents, and one of the daughters. They're by the famous dog on the Tuckerbox at Gundagai, about a mythical dog who sat on his owner's tuckerbox whilst he was out working. But that's another story.

I hadn't seen Uncle John in years. He hadn't bothered to come to the last two family reunions. Men can be unsentimental like that, or forget that it's not about them, it's about everyone else. But we did see him a bit as kids and I have nice memories about going to see them, and was always close to his eldest daughter Alison, who's about seven months older than me.

I love the photo below of Grandma, now passed, with her two oldest boys. When John passed, Mum tried to get in touch with Peter. Peter was always an odd ball and Mum never liked him - there's stories about him that make me feel a little queasy, and I don't want to go into them here. He was in a home in NSW with dementia and I'm not sure he entirely understood his brother was gone, although he did know who Mum was. That's it for that part of the story - Mum did her duty. That part of the family tree is very much estranged from us.

The memorial was at a community centre and they'd brought in a guy to do a smoking ceremony, which puzzled me because no one there was indigenous, but I guess that ritual had it's place as we do live on this land and to mark it this way was lovely. The elder lit acacia, manna gum and another plant I forgot the name of, telling us their medicinal qualities. We then all walked through the smoke to clear any negative energy. The smoke was there also to guide him on his way.

Then it was just eats and drinks, and looking at the photo boards, remembering John some more and having a laugh.

Mum and Dad actually met via Dad's friendship with John. They'd known each other since school. Dad's on the right, mock punching John for putting his arm around him. They're 17.

Dad was never a big drinker and we always loved this photo of them being larrikins in a photo booth. John was - he enjoyed a bit of beer right up until he passed, where he could barely stomach a thing. JOhn is on the left with the smoke, Dad's in the middle, and the other bloke at the bottom is Jim, who was Dad's business partner for years.

The other photo that broguht everyone great delight was this one - Dad with John, Peter and Jim at a strip club in Sydney when they went up to see Peter. "I never looked up" said Dad. IT sounded funny, but it was likely true. Dad's always been quite the gentleman and it would have made him embarrassed. Dad's on the left. It's funny to think that JOhn, Dad and Jim will all become draftsman. I forgot that John was a draftsman too. In those days they went straight from school into an apprentice or trade. It was a career that would span their entire lives.

This one, with Mum's older sister Kathy, and Uncle John, is also a favourite - he's on a motorbike and they're looking very teenagery rebels without cause. It's my cousin Alison's favourite of her Dad.

Then we move on a few years. The below photo is my Granddad, John and Dad at the family home on the coast where we'd move in the 80's from the Western Suburbs. John and his family would move over to the east coast of Melbourne to Rye, but they'd come to visit once in a while. John was a big, big talker - he could talk for England and was known for it.

He married Mum's best friend from high school and had two kids, my cousins Alison and Michael. He did split up from his wife and ended up with Pat, pictured on the right, with Mum on the left. Pat's an artist, and a lovely woman. Her extended family were also at the funeral, as well as Aunty Monica, his ex. You don't fail to mourn a man just because you separated. It was lovely to see her, and my cousin and her beautiful boys as well.

In this last photo is John's sisters, asked to come up and light the birthday cake, where we all sung happy birthday. Mum was in tears, of course. They couldnt' manage a few words - in fact, no one did - it was a bit of an informal do, which was both nice and wierd. I think I'd need people to speak when Dad goes. Stories are important. Pictured are John's wife Pat, his first wife's sister Jenny, my Aunty Diane (who raises and races greyhounds), Aunty Kathy (who was pictured in the motorbike photo), Mum, and his first wife.

When my sister asked our Aunts what their best memory of John was, they went straight to the moments from childhood where he was a typical older brother. Diane never got over the time he tied a string around her tooth and to the door and threatened to slam it - it really scarred her. Kathy remembered being burnt with a teaspoon and being hurled through the air and landing hard. 'But he always was there for us', Mum offered. 'He loved us'. Mum got to speak on the phone with him before he went, which was nice - he told her he loved her which was sweet. IT was his decision to go off the chemo and die at home, not wanting to go through the trauma of a very difficult therapy. There's bravery in that. He went on his own terms indeed.

Although we don't see the family much, scattered as we are, I always feel deep affection for these people as I only have warm memories from childhood about the times we'd get together. We joke that the only time we catch up is at funerals - that's just the way of things I guess. Still, it's always lovely - funerals or memorials are fabulous in that way. Less of a mourning, and more of a celebration.

With Love,

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