Just when you think you're coping with the Corona crap, it gets a bit personal.
I should be in Adelaide at the moment. More to the point, I should be down at Victor Harbor. I should be with my parents, sitting in a drafty hall, socially distanced from all around, saying goodbye to my uncle.
I should be with my family tribe. I should be able to offer comfort and condolences to my Uncle's kids, who are a year older and younger than me respectively. We've known each other for 50 years. We grew up together.
My uncle's son is a taciturn fellow. Bloke of few words, he is. I haven't seen him since his sister's wedding about eight years ago. We ended up taking him, his partner and my Uncle's old next door neighbour down to a winery between the ceremony and the reception. The drink prices were too steep at Weribee Mansion for the lot of them. It was a good afternoon. I was the designated driver for the afternoon (for the record, my Uncle, as I call him, is a long term family friend, but he's been my other dad since I was born.)
His daughter is a practical woman. Practical and strong. She lives in regional Victoria. We've made loose plans to catch up in the near future.
I should be keeping hold of my uncle's grand-daughter, as I did at my Aunt's funeral. Mind you, she was a distraught teenager back then. She's now a young mother. Time, and kids, change things.
I should be there to keep a check on my Mum, who despite her outward stoicism, will miss her old friend. She's known him since 1962.
I should be able to mill about with friends and family and provide funny stories and share reminiscences, as you normally do when you have a funeral. You have a cup of tea and a Cookie Man cookie or two (those Harlequins are awesome - and also remind me of my grandfather - he loved them). But that can't be done. Just as there will be 50 people at the funeral, the wake will be a stark affair.
I should spend the night at either my sister's place or at my Mum's place.
One small blessing out of this is that my Mum and Step-Dad don't have to worry about him any more. And they have been worried for years.
If my uncle knew just how much they worried about him, he'd be mortified.
But I can't be in Adelaide. I can't be in Victor Harbor. And I can't be at his funeral, where the numbers are capped at 50 and everybody needs to remain socially distanced.
I can't be there because I live in a state whose residents are denied entry to South Australia unless you quarantine for 14 days after. If you're found breaching quarantine, they fine you heavily. Besides, there are no planes going there at the moment. The limited flights are exorbitant in price.
This is a pandemic - it's not worth bucking the system. You put up and play by the rules.
They'll hold a memorial service for my uncle later - whenever later will be - where people can give him a proper send off - complete with a lot of decent wine and other alcoholic beverages. It will be a party. He'd like that.
But today, I am really feeling not being able to be at home with my family.
Because grief is a family affair.
Vale Uncle John - and thank you for always being there.
Today's Song:
I should be in Adelaide at the moment. More to the point, I should be down at Victor Harbor. I should be with my parents, sitting in a drafty hall, socially distanced from all around, saying goodbye to my uncle.
I should be with my family tribe. I should be able to offer comfort and condolences to my Uncle's kids, who are a year older and younger than me respectively. We've known each other for 50 years. We grew up together.
My uncle's son is a taciturn fellow. Bloke of few words, he is. I haven't seen him since his sister's wedding about eight years ago. We ended up taking him, his partner and my Uncle's old next door neighbour down to a winery between the ceremony and the reception. The drink prices were too steep at Weribee Mansion for the lot of them. It was a good afternoon. I was the designated driver for the afternoon (for the record, my Uncle, as I call him, is a long term family friend, but he's been my other dad since I was born.)
His daughter is a practical woman. Practical and strong. She lives in regional Victoria. We've made loose plans to catch up in the near future.
I should be keeping hold of my uncle's grand-daughter, as I did at my Aunt's funeral. Mind you, she was a distraught teenager back then. She's now a young mother. Time, and kids, change things.
I should be there to keep a check on my Mum, who despite her outward stoicism, will miss her old friend. She's known him since 1962.
I should be able to mill about with friends and family and provide funny stories and share reminiscences, as you normally do when you have a funeral. You have a cup of tea and a Cookie Man cookie or two (those Harlequins are awesome - and also remind me of my grandfather - he loved them). But that can't be done. Just as there will be 50 people at the funeral, the wake will be a stark affair.
I should spend the night at either my sister's place or at my Mum's place.
One small blessing out of this is that my Mum and Step-Dad don't have to worry about him any more. And they have been worried for years.
If my uncle knew just how much they worried about him, he'd be mortified.
But I can't be in Adelaide. I can't be in Victor Harbor. And I can't be at his funeral, where the numbers are capped at 50 and everybody needs to remain socially distanced.
I can't be there because I live in a state whose residents are denied entry to South Australia unless you quarantine for 14 days after. If you're found breaching quarantine, they fine you heavily. Besides, there are no planes going there at the moment. The limited flights are exorbitant in price.
This is a pandemic - it's not worth bucking the system. You put up and play by the rules.
They'll hold a memorial service for my uncle later - whenever later will be - where people can give him a proper send off - complete with a lot of decent wine and other alcoholic beverages. It will be a party. He'd like that.
But today, I am really feeling not being able to be at home with my family.
Because grief is a family affair.
Vale Uncle John - and thank you for always being there.
Today's Song:
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