Celebrating Sandy’s Solstice with Gratitude & Song

March 23, marks four years since my mother Sandy passed. Sandy was born on the solstice, December 21, 1942.

St.Kilda Beach

When Mum passed; I was lying on her bed; next to her twitching body; holding her hand. I had rung the GP and as he walked through the door (it was late at night) he motioned, telling me not to get up as she didn’t have long. Mum had COPD, her heart finally succumbing to the strain of trying to pump oxygen throughout her body.

She had been in hospital for 3 weeks and had come home to die. This was her last trip to hospital. She had started to discuss end of life more intently with me around Xmas, sensing that her journey in this world was coming to a close. While she had an eight day stay in hospital in January, this visit was different. Mum openly initiated discussion re end of life with nurses, pastoral care staff and her GP. She re engaged with literature about dying, offering her perspectives with which to reflect and be at peace. Mum had always subscribed to the spiritual belief that when we die, we transition to a world of rest, healing and peace. She also believed John had “taught us all a lesson” in the generosity, courage and grace he gifted us during his own illness and death. She drew strength from John’s experience, coming home so that she might enjoy the view of the garden from the comfort of her own bed. John, my beautiful partner, had died in the home we shared with Mum, 13 months prior. My mother was also generous and so very courageous in her death.

This, her last trip freed her the burden of the malaise of pain, the frustration of being constantly unwell. She was ready and wanted to die. Her only fear now lay in how she was going to experience that moment; being unable to breathe; knowing there would be no ambulance next time. We live in a small town, her GP was 5-10 minutes away and had committed to being available, at any time of the day or night. We needed to feel comfortable and safe. This was the same GP who supported John in his end of life decisions.

The anticipatory panic surrounding the ‘event’ was noted by the same palliative nurse who tended John, thus able to further reassure Mum with the same comforting wisdom she afforded me shortly after John passed; that “accepting death and being at peace with it makes for a good death”. I too needed to keep my courage, faith and trust that Mum’s passing would be peaceful, as John’s had been. Choosing to die at home was a reciprocal act of faith; trust; courage and love.

In the last two weeks of her life we had constantly laughed; on the phone while she was in hospital; when I visited her in hospital and then, the last 4 days at home. Mum intentionally gifted me these enduring comedic memories. Mum was ‘born for the stage’; often improvising characters, utilising her spontaneous imagination and creativity. Her ‘wicked sense of humour’ came to the fore despite being bed-bound. The parting gift of her final two weeks continue to etch an enduring smile on my face. As do the many ‘skits’ she impulsively performed for my camera; a mother’s endeavour to lift the weight grief bore in the months following John’s passing.

When Mum passed it was the beginning of the lock-down response to the pandemic. Subsequently, there was no funeral or wake for Sandy. In lieu of the lost opportunity, I penned and collated a photo booklet to send to those whose lives Sandy impacted. The reflection was framed around song to signify pertinent elements of her journey. So, in remembering and celebrating my mother Sandy, on her up coming ‘passing day’, I am posting this updated and edited version of the written text.

Celebrate Sandy’s Solstice with Gratitude & Song.

Our Town (Iris Dement)

Go on now and say goodbye to my town, to my town

Can't you see the sun's settin' down on my town, on my town Goodnight,

Goodnight.

Sandy was born in Tasmania, the eldest of three children (sister to Phillip and Stephen) to Delden James Badcock and Betty Rita (née Brewer). They settled in the small north-west town of Forth, close to her (paternal) grandparent’s farm in Moriarty. The farms in Forth and Moriarty provided the lens with which Sandy shared the narrative of her childhood. From stories of camping trips to Turner’s Beach transported on a cart pulled by ‘Prince’, their Clydesdale; to flying foxes her father built; a platypus trapped in their well; a kookaburra repeatedly dropping a snake from the towering canopy of the gums; riding bikes from Forth to Moriarty for the Sunday roast; helping her father work the land ... Mum’s childhood stories were the fodder of what today, we might find in nostalgic children’s picture books. Her stories sparked my childhood imagination, I was particularly delighted in hearing about the mischievous misadventures of a childhood embedded in the richness of the Australian bush landscape. Despite the challenges of being a child from a broken home, Sandy held a great affection for this chapter of her life and was deeply grateful for the extraordinary childhood her father afforded her and her brothers.

Sandy relocated to Richmond (Melbourne) in her mid-late teens to be reunited with her mother. The stories that reflect Sandy’s experiences of this time were of an excitingly perilous; inner city;  working class suburb. She joyfully jostled in the jaunty world of non-conformists. Sandy’s quick witted sense of humour was a shared trait with her mother. The emotional tests of mother-daughter reunion were punctuated with stories of wreaking havoc and hilarity with friends. An enduring life-long trait of Sandy was her acceptance of people from diverse backgrounds and her friendships were testimony of her capacity to open her heart.

Ring of fire (Johnny Cash)

Love is a burning thing

And it makers a fiery ring

Bound by wild desire

I fell in to a ring of fire.

The early 1960s presented another new juncture in Sandy’s life journey, our father Ivan! A post WWII political refugee from Yugoslavia, the boat had docked in Port Melbourne some 8 years prior. Ivan met Sandy when she was living in a flat at the back of his brother’s house in Richmond, part of her baby-sitting arrangement. Our parents conspired to have a shared humour surrounding their union, something to do with ‘Ivan marrying Sandy for her legs’, conferred by the ‘romantic’ admission that their first date was to Festival Hall to watch the wrestling. Wrestling is probably an apt metaphor for the remainder of their 40+ year union!

‘Goodbye Richmond’ and ‘Hello St.Kilda’. My sister Sonia was born in 1963 and I followed in 1966. Sandy’s dream of having two girls and living in bayside St.Kilda had manifested. The early 1970’s saw us move to neighbouring Elwood. Our household was the venue for many parties hosted by our parents. The record collection featured Johnny Cash; Johnny O’Keefe; Carl Perkins; The Carter Family; John Denver; Patsy Cline and so on. Xmas holidays to Tasmania; the beach on weekends; Sunday drives; fishing trips with friends, the usual patterns of our ‘sometimes’ unusual childhood.

As we grew and moved into ‘the family home’, the focus of the household took a new direction in welcoming our friends. Many a meal and laugh were had around the dining table in Sonia’s and my youth. Sandy and Ivan were both keen to display their culinary wares, sharing food was definitely an expression of love in our home and never was this more evident than at Xmas. The day began with an open house from breakfast, neighbours would congregate while friends and family continued to filter in throughout the day. This generosity of spirit continued until 2004 when our family home passed to another generation of custodians. I am grateful for our parent’s gift of Xmas, childhood friends continued to drop in at our ‘family home’; in their travels with their own children; including new adult friends … all … were always welcome.

Back Home Again (John Denver)

Hey, it’s good to be back home again

Sometimes tis old farm feels like a long lost friend

Yes, ‘n, hey it’s good to be back home again.

By the mid-late 1980’s Sonia and I had both left the family home to embark on our own journeys into adulthood. Sonia blessed Sandy and Ivan with two girls again, grand-daughters Cloe Elise (1989) and Kate Elizabeth (1991), morphing them into ‘Nan and Pa’. Both were duly enamoured with the girls, their visits and overnight stays enabling and reigniting a conspiracy of frolicsome companionship. The girls bought joy and delight to all of our hearts, a glue that gifted and reminded our small family of the strong binds of kinship.

After You’re Gone (Iris Dement)

There will be laughter even after you're gone

I'll find reasons to face that empty dawn

'Cause I've memorized each line in your face

And not even death can ever erase the story they tell to me.

These four songs, among other favourites remained a catalyst for repeating our shared stories; fond and not-so-fond memories. As with sharing laughter, sharing music can sometimes offer us a compass in navigating to seek greater compassion for others and ourselves. Two days before Sandy passed I lay on the bed with her as we watched an episode of a country music documentary featuring Johnny Cash. A favourite of hers, mine and John. She silently rested her hand on my thigh, a poignant reverberating calm. The next time I lay next to her she was in the throes of leaving her body.

Story telling is an important aspect of our human experience and how we continue to keep our ‘passed’ ancestors present. For they are all present. They are our guides and support. They offer us gifts from the expansive collective. We need only be open to the intuitive wisdom and perspective they offer from whence we all originate. Had there been a funeral when Sandy passed, Iris Dement’s  After You’re Gone would have closed the service. So, in closing this, I reflect on my mother’s soothing reassurance; one she always offered my wounded self; albeit child or adult ... as she continues to want, and do:

 “I love you all the way up to the moon and all the way back to the bottom of the ocean.”

Thank you Mum. With much love,

Simone