Roger

As I was undergoing my CoVID-19 test around midday last Saturday my mate and former work colleague, Roger, was taking his last breath in Clare Holland House, Canberra's hospice.

Roger was a quiet bloke with a keen mind. A lover of a good red or a beer. He had a sense of humour that fitted well with mine. A fan of Monty Python, Red Dwarf, Terry Pratchett and Steeleye Span. He was a long time divorcé with no family in Australia. 

He was within a few weeks of his 70th birthday. He came to Australia over 40 years ago. I met him while we both worked the Therapeutic Goods Administration (TGA). Roger was the operations manager of the Australian Register of Therapeutic Goods (ARTG) the huge complex set of computer databases used to store information on therapeutic goods imported for sale in, made and sold in, or exported from Australia. 

While Roger was a private guy, he made many friends through work and over the years we were friends I gleaned a few facts: he'd played cricket for the Kent 2nd XI (that always impressed me because at that time Kent were one of the best First Class cricket teams in England); he'd been a BBC sound engineer and had worked on many radio and TV programs I listened to or watched when I lived in Engkand.

He was a Chelsea supporter and football was what brought us together as part of a football community at work.

I didn't work with Roger but occasionally our jobs intersected and there were always the social get-togethers.

During the time I was convalescing after my last major surgery over 15 years ago Roger kindly recorded English Premier league games, dumped them on to a DVD and brought it round to my place. Something he ended doing on a weekly basis for months. He made friends with my family.

He retired not long after his 60th birthday, sold his local house and relocated to the warmer region around Newcastle in NSW. We caught up a couple of times a year for lunch with other mutual friends when Roger travelled south to the Canberra region often going into Victoria to keep his widespread friends network up to date.

About three years ago he made his first trip back to his homeland, catching up with family he had not seen in decades. His brother and sister-in-law came out soon after Roger returned and during their visit Roger suffered a fall. Follow up testing revealed advanced prostate cancer.

Living alone likely contributed to the over-late diagnosis about 18 months ago. At the time of diagnosis the cancer had already metastasised and was in his bones. The prognosis was "could be there months or three years".

Roger made the difficult but also easy decision to return to Canberra where he had a support network already in place and easier access to medical specialists. Some friends brought his goods and chattels down from Newcastle and another close friend generously gave Roger a place to live in her house.

My only contribution to helping Roger was to recommend one of my General Practioners. Fortunately Roger was accepted by the GP and even better they established a friendly bond. 

So for the last few months until the serious lockdown started one of our shared friends, Aaron, once a week would pick me up from my place and we'd drive to where Roger was living and for a couple of hours we would watch and discuss football - mostly EPL but occasionally the second tier Championship, Serie A from Italy or German Bundesliga.

The last time I saw Roger he did not look as good as he had been in earlier weejs. His medications were making him feel unwell but he also looked grey. He did mention that he was considering stopping the medication most responsible for making him feel unwell. I did not ask which medication. By this stage he was on multiple medications including some powerful analgesia. I did wonder if this could be the start of the last lap but we parted with the usual banal "See you later" and "Take care".

He died, peacefully after a period of excellent care in the company of the close friend with whom he lived and her daughter. I am so grateful for their act of generosity. He went quietly and as he wanted there was no public funeral or memorial.

At a later date we will collect and celebrate knowing Roger, a gentleman and a gentle man and a steadfast friend to many. 

Vale Roger

Anniversary

Today's the fourth anniversary of the death of Bernie my father-in-law.
The day passes not long after the January birth of a great-niece and the very recent announcement that my daughter-in-law is pregnant with twins, due in August. My son is still gobsmacked.
Bernie wasn't a lovable bloke in the touchy-feely way. I couldn't go a give him a hug (at an appropriate hugging occasion). Handshake only. That was OK, everyone's different.
He may not have been a cuddly bloke but I miss him and I miss his stolid, solid support and presence

Twelve month hiatus

I hadn't meant to have a break for a year but once Midge the dog had gone it just seemed that there had been too many deaths affecting me. I couldn't even make comment on here about the passing of my favourite writer, Terry Pratchett on12 March 2015 and how devastated I felt That death on top of my father-in-law and my dog and Leonard Nimoy prevented any creative muse although Facebook and Twitter filled in my need to pontificate. 
Twelve months later and first anniversaries are stirring emotions again.
Despite 2015 being sometimes a terrible year for us, there were obviously bright and joyous events that went a long way to clearing the dark clouds:
In September son Chris married the stunning, red-haired Kim on a lovely day in the Australian National Botanic Gardens;
niece Danielle married Darren in November (although I missed that event by being dehydrated and having to rest);
Christmas was good with daughter Holly and her sausage dog Bentley spending three weeks with us;
babysitting a friend's dog for a month while she was overseas on an eating holiday (that's what it looked like). Bentley and Brutus eventually worked out their respective places and they had a good time together. It was great having dogs in the house again.

Recently, on successive weekends, we had another wedding followed by the funeral of the father of one of my son's best mates. Another cancer-related illness and only 62. Very sad.

Every week, something different.

That's life I suppose

Bernie

After a long,  painful at times and possibly unnecessarily stoic illness my father-in-law, Bernie, died around 01:00 yesterday morning.

He died as he wanted to die,  not surrounded by grief-stricken family, but alone, peacefully with as much of his dignity left intact by the cruel pancreatic cancer.

For those of us left bereft and so saddened by his passing we are forever grateful that one of the nurses at Clare Holland House, the local hospice, doing her hourly rounds, happened upon Bernie as he died. She was able to assure us that he passed very peacefully and without pain.

Cancer, in any form, is a terrible disease.
It reduced this wonderful father-in-law from a bright, fit, vigorous 78 year old to an 80 year old husk; able to communicate only by blinks towards the end.
An article written by an oncologist in the UK (I think) recently did the rounds by social media. In this, the oncologist stated that cancer was not a bad way to die because it allowed the sufferer to organise their remaining life and affairs before they died.
Well, in Bernie's case, yes, he did organise his affairs well in advance. He had it all planned; divested himself of possessions and assets months prior. So organised was he in getting rid of no longer needed clothes that, on finding he was still alive long after he'd calculared he would have died that he had to go out and buy some essentials like jocks & socks and a couple of shirts. He was narky. We all laughed.

It's an essential part of this process that we retain humour.  Humour keeps us sane and balanced. Without humour we'd go absolutely screwy. As a family, and I don't think we're exceptional here, there's a streak of black humour always present.
My father-in-law was not a foodie: plain and simple, only in later years did he branch out in to 'funny tucker' like Vietnamese fresh spring rolls and the occasional Chinese dish.
So while a couple of my brothers-in-law who had come to the hospice in the early morning yesterday to say goodbye, were in Bernie's room around his bed (which Bernie still occupied), the jokes started about having an Indian meal with plenty of chilli in Bernie's honour and memory.

We all knew what his response would have been.