God bless her

Friday, September 9, 2022

God bless her

Looks like my Spidey-senses were on point last night. Like the rest of Australia, I woke to the news that Queen Elizabeth II had passed away. Our Head of State for the last seventy years had passed peacefully in the afternoon.

May she rest in power and peace.

I've nothing but praise for the Queen. Although I'd rather see Australia a Republic, this is not the right time for that discussion. Let this phase pass. Let her have a funeral. Let Charles the Third take the reigns and settle in. (I still smirk at the fact that Charles I was beheaded and Charles II lived most of his life in exile after Oliver Cromwell threw him out of the country). Then get on with moving us from a Constitutional Monarchy to a Republic. But let the dust settle for a few months at least.

Of course, the media are at saturation point with the coverage, and I've been watching a lot of Netflix to get away from this.

I'm looking at this from a different vantage point. And I think to my dear old aunt who died earlier this year, also with the now familiar dates - 1926-2022.

Earlier in the week I saw the Queen looking happy, but very frail. She swore in Liz Truss as Prime Minister of England. (It was said in one of the satirical papers, the Queen has lived through World War II, The Blitz, The Falklands War, Nine Eleven... but Boris Johnson did her in.) There was a noticible bruise on her hand. From a canula maybe, maybe not. But she looked happy - and peaceful. With her ever-present black handbag over her arm (in her own home - how strange...)

And then I put myself in the shoes of people my age with aging parents.

You worry about them. You visit when you can. You know they are being looked after, with any luck.

Then the news comes through that things have changed - and they've changed quickly. You drop everything to make your way to see them, be with them. The family rally. The Prodigal grandson comes back to the fold to join the Chosen One - not that they've spoken for years. Even the Barmy Uncle tries to make it to see his mother - on the quiet. He was always her favourite before his actions threw him out of favour.

Some get to see their parent and grandparent, some don't. There is some relief in the fact that they didn't have to suffer a long, debilitating illness. Quick and peaceful when you're old is always a blessing, even if it feel suddens. At 96, it's a good innings. A life well lived. They're allowed to go. They've done their time.

Then you have the readjustment, the grief, the sorting out the funeral, the reconnecting with family - all of the rituals you go through.

My heart goes out to the Royal Family who have to do all of this in public, every blink recorded by the press. May they get sometime to mourn in private. How must it be to not have your life as your own when you're going through all these changes.

Of course, many will say that this is the richest family in Britain and their fortune has been accumulated on blood money and being Royals this is what they do. But did any of the family really sign up for this? I'm sure there are members of the family who'd rather being curled up with a wine and a pint of Ben and Jerry's with the phone set to silent.

To have to go through something so personal in such a public way must be excruciating.

And then there's a matter of what happens to the corgis.

Listening to breakfast telly, I heard Kevin Rudd relate a story of how he and his wife were having dinner at Buckingham Palace. Nearing the end of the meal, the couple got to meet the corgis, who did what dogs do and stole the show. When his wife pointed out that one of the corgis looked a little different to the other pure bred canines, the Queen piped up, "Oh yes, that one. Her mother was a trollop."

I love that the Queen loved her animals. Animal people are good people.