We are often reminded that the Christmas holiday period is difficult for those who are lonely. Normal inter-personal liaisons are put on hold. Support groups designed to provide social interaction and other benefits of well-functioning families don’t meet for some weeks. People without family, whose regular schedule might include the occasional day under the bedclothes, find themselves in the dark and on their own more frequently.
However over Christmas 2019 my focus was drawn to acute losses rather than to such chronic distress. Separated by half a world, two souls well known to me called time – one with the puzzle completed (QED), the other with it tragically still unsolved.
On the other side of the world, in the town where his father and I were schooled, a middle-aged man was being farewelled with some of his own music plus pieces by Prince, Lenny Kravitz and Shakin’ Stevens. His impressive funeral service was written and led by an ‘Independent Funeral Celebrant’. She spoke directly of his inner suffering and complex range of doubts. In his eulogy there was reference to the way in which he would dive straight into deep and complex conversations, although he had an extremely funny and animated side. I was one of those who knew exactly what the eulogiser meant when he said that people often thought his witticisms equipped him well for the stage. He could be simply hilarious.
A friend of his read Let Me Go, by Christina Rossetti:
When I come to the end of the road And the sun has set for me I want no rites in a gloom filled room Why cry for a soul set free? Miss me a little, but not for long And not with your head bowed low Remember the love that once we shared Miss me but let me go. For this is a journey we all must take And each must go alone. It's all part of the master plan A step on the road to home. When you are lonely with heavy heart Go to the friends we know. Laugh at all the things we used to do Miss me but let me go.
Meanwhile, at The Cedars in Canberra, a few more crosswords were completed but we never did find out whodunnit in that small droughted Victorian country town. Towards the end, when fully awake, one would be fixed with an unblinking, deep, direct stare which seemed, at one and the same time, to ask every question and to know all the answers. Its clarity was somehow alarming.
On one occasion just two weeks before the end I succeeded in administering a whole glass of orange juice before the teeth clamped down on the articulated straw and refused to let go – like a naughty child teasing the providing parent.
A peaceful end came on Boxing Day, at the height of the standard family’s holiday period. At the funeral service early in the new year the Minister made humorous use of the high expectations she had always had of music and those who make it, and of her proud impatience.
It occurred to me that his comedic repertoire might have included the hope that she would be greeted at the Heavenly Gate in English.
So now the Christmas break is over in both Hemispheres. Both carers and the cared for have been released. Families have adjustments to make and in some cases new opportunities to consider. Life goes on but is changed.
