My crazy, crazy life ...
It's been 14 months since my last post, and my world has changed so much in that time that it positively boggles my mind.
To recap: I left my employment as a Federal Senate media adviser about this time last year; around the same time I fell ill, and after numerous tests was diagnosed with a mild form of whooping cough, which metaphorically knocked me on my arse for close to six months. Memo to self - do not find out what a SERIOUS case of whooping cough is like. During this period I worked sporadically in Adelaide, had some time at home with my son, and watched the release of the movie Snowtown, which was based on two books including my own, and which has gone on to earn rave reviews and a stack of awards.
In that same period, my wife's dad came close to death through throat cancer, and while she was in Brisbane at his hospital bedside, one of life's crazy bits of timing turned me round and hit me square in the chops. As I have previously written in these pages, I have never met my own father - he and my mother split up shortly after I was born, and for more than half my life I was under the impression he had died. After finding out, via a chance conversation with my mum that he could still be alive, I spent most of the next 15 years going through an emotional rinse cycle of Ignore - Stress - Mourn - Decide to act - Decide it's too late - Rinse - Repeat.
The imminent birth of my son in 2010 spurred me to try and find him, without success, although I did manage to contact one of my half-brothers in New Zealand (as previously discussed herein). In any case, I had pretty much given up hope when in May last year, while my wife and little boy were in Queensland, I received an email which changed my life. It was a message from a woman (my cousin-in-law) writing on behalf of my father, who had responded to a post I had left years before on a British website that helps people find missing family members. I had never received any responses before that day - she had gone through enough pages of a Google search on my name to find the post, an act of determination for which I will be forever grateful.
After getting over the shock, I wrote back, and was soon in contact with another cousin, who lives next door to my father. She told me that the entire family were overjoyed that I had been found, as I had to come to terms with the fact I was now the oft-repeated cliche of a long-lost cousin ... she gave me a contact number for my father and I spoke to him for the first time by phone on May 19. This date was already special, as it was the birthday of my little son, and also the birthday of my late grandfather, who died when I was 13. I had to pinch myself - I had trouble deciphering his broad Glasgow accent, and the line wasn't great, but that didn't matter. It was great to finally talk to him.
Over succeeding months we spoke a number of times on the phone, I became Facebook friends with a number of my cousins, and began to share family pictures and to piece together, bit by bit, a side of my history I had little to no knowledge about. Happily, my father-in-law beat his cancer, although he had to go through hell to do it, and I got a contract job working with a great bunch of people in a university media office. Things were looking up, although I was keeping my eyes peeled for a permanent gig.
Then came another big change. I was given what is pretty close to my dream job, working in online sport for the ABC. The only trouble was that the job was in Brisbane, and there was no guarantee of my wife getting a transfer up there. So, after much discussion, we decided to go for it, even though it meant a two-state relationship for six months. My wife, son and I headed up to Brisbane together - me to make the move, them travelling to help with the transition. It was a tense but exciting time, and my first day in the new job was great, right up to the point where I fell on a walkway by the Brisbane River and shattered my shoulder while walking 200m to the bus after my shift ended. I learned new levels of pain as the docs tried to relocate my non-dislocated shoulder in emergency, with nothing but laughing gas to blunt the sensation. I then spent three hours in surgery as they painstakingly tried to put my shoulder back together - nine pins and a plate later (and 26 staples, since removed) they had succeeded, but of course this meant the dream job was on hold and it was back to Adelaide for a few weeks' rehab.
Then as I was coming to terms with this latest crazy change to plans, the scriptwriter of my life really jumped the shark. My dad - who has had a number of heart and other health-related problems - had been having tests after losing some weight. A week and a half ago I called my cousin, to be given the news that my dad had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. My heart sank - there had been hints something was wrong, but you never think the worst until it hits you. Along with the awful sadness for my dad there was an element of why? Why now? Why me? (selfish, I know). I spoke once again to my dad, and tried to be strong and let him know my little family and I were all thinking of him and that I hoped the pain relief would give him some quality of life for as long as possible.
I hung up the phone, somewhat numb. Since then, the last week has been a blur, but in my latest attempt to take the positive out of a dreadful episode, I have come to realise that the accident has actually given me the opportunity to see my father during my rehab period. So it is that next week I fly to Scotland to spend a few short days with him and the other half of my family, before returning to Australia to ready myself for work.
It hasn't really hit me yet, and probably won't hit me until some point in the air on my journey. I hope I can keep it together enough to take advantage of this precious opportunity, to share stories and time with my dad without pushing too hard or losing my place in a moment that sadly will not last. My aunt is coming over from Ireland for emotional and physical support - it still takes a lot longer to do physical things like wash and dress myself than I would like. I am extremely lucky to have her support, but I am under no illusions that it will be an easy trip.
This blog is nominally about music, and it's impact on my life. I hope at some point to sing for my Dad while I am over there - we have previously sent over a CD of my wife and I singing solos and duets - to share with him my love of music, and hopefully to provide some small amount of entertainment for him.
As yet I haven't really cried for what is happening and what is yet to come - what will soon be lost. But today I re-watched an amazing movie called As It Is in Heaven, a Scandinavian film about a musical maestro who retreats to his home village in the far north after having a major heart attack and ends up coaching the local choir. It is a fairly confronting film, but the score is great, and the maestro's dream of making music that opens people's hearts is a challenge that he fulfils at the very end of his life. This final scene always makes me cry - it did again today. I hope that when the time comes that my Dad has a moment like this (without the blood shown in this clip), a moment of peace and happiness:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6mi5jTsLBc
To recap: I left my employment as a Federal Senate media adviser about this time last year; around the same time I fell ill, and after numerous tests was diagnosed with a mild form of whooping cough, which metaphorically knocked me on my arse for close to six months. Memo to self - do not find out what a SERIOUS case of whooping cough is like. During this period I worked sporadically in Adelaide, had some time at home with my son, and watched the release of the movie Snowtown, which was based on two books including my own, and which has gone on to earn rave reviews and a stack of awards.
In that same period, my wife's dad came close to death through throat cancer, and while she was in Brisbane at his hospital bedside, one of life's crazy bits of timing turned me round and hit me square in the chops. As I have previously written in these pages, I have never met my own father - he and my mother split up shortly after I was born, and for more than half my life I was under the impression he had died. After finding out, via a chance conversation with my mum that he could still be alive, I spent most of the next 15 years going through an emotional rinse cycle of Ignore - Stress - Mourn - Decide to act - Decide it's too late - Rinse - Repeat.
The imminent birth of my son in 2010 spurred me to try and find him, without success, although I did manage to contact one of my half-brothers in New Zealand (as previously discussed herein). In any case, I had pretty much given up hope when in May last year, while my wife and little boy were in Queensland, I received an email which changed my life. It was a message from a woman (my cousin-in-law) writing on behalf of my father, who had responded to a post I had left years before on a British website that helps people find missing family members. I had never received any responses before that day - she had gone through enough pages of a Google search on my name to find the post, an act of determination for which I will be forever grateful.
After getting over the shock, I wrote back, and was soon in contact with another cousin, who lives next door to my father. She told me that the entire family were overjoyed that I had been found, as I had to come to terms with the fact I was now the oft-repeated cliche of a long-lost cousin ... she gave me a contact number for my father and I spoke to him for the first time by phone on May 19. This date was already special, as it was the birthday of my little son, and also the birthday of my late grandfather, who died when I was 13. I had to pinch myself - I had trouble deciphering his broad Glasgow accent, and the line wasn't great, but that didn't matter. It was great to finally talk to him.
Over succeeding months we spoke a number of times on the phone, I became Facebook friends with a number of my cousins, and began to share family pictures and to piece together, bit by bit, a side of my history I had little to no knowledge about. Happily, my father-in-law beat his cancer, although he had to go through hell to do it, and I got a contract job working with a great bunch of people in a university media office. Things were looking up, although I was keeping my eyes peeled for a permanent gig.
Then came another big change. I was given what is pretty close to my dream job, working in online sport for the ABC. The only trouble was that the job was in Brisbane, and there was no guarantee of my wife getting a transfer up there. So, after much discussion, we decided to go for it, even though it meant a two-state relationship for six months. My wife, son and I headed up to Brisbane together - me to make the move, them travelling to help with the transition. It was a tense but exciting time, and my first day in the new job was great, right up to the point where I fell on a walkway by the Brisbane River and shattered my shoulder while walking 200m to the bus after my shift ended. I learned new levels of pain as the docs tried to relocate my non-dislocated shoulder in emergency, with nothing but laughing gas to blunt the sensation. I then spent three hours in surgery as they painstakingly tried to put my shoulder back together - nine pins and a plate later (and 26 staples, since removed) they had succeeded, but of course this meant the dream job was on hold and it was back to Adelaide for a few weeks' rehab.
Then as I was coming to terms with this latest crazy change to plans, the scriptwriter of my life really jumped the shark. My dad - who has had a number of heart and other health-related problems - had been having tests after losing some weight. A week and a half ago I called my cousin, to be given the news that my dad had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. My heart sank - there had been hints something was wrong, but you never think the worst until it hits you. Along with the awful sadness for my dad there was an element of why? Why now? Why me? (selfish, I know). I spoke once again to my dad, and tried to be strong and let him know my little family and I were all thinking of him and that I hoped the pain relief would give him some quality of life for as long as possible.
I hung up the phone, somewhat numb. Since then, the last week has been a blur, but in my latest attempt to take the positive out of a dreadful episode, I have come to realise that the accident has actually given me the opportunity to see my father during my rehab period. So it is that next week I fly to Scotland to spend a few short days with him and the other half of my family, before returning to Australia to ready myself for work.
It hasn't really hit me yet, and probably won't hit me until some point in the air on my journey. I hope I can keep it together enough to take advantage of this precious opportunity, to share stories and time with my dad without pushing too hard or losing my place in a moment that sadly will not last. My aunt is coming over from Ireland for emotional and physical support - it still takes a lot longer to do physical things like wash and dress myself than I would like. I am extremely lucky to have her support, but I am under no illusions that it will be an easy trip.
This blog is nominally about music, and it's impact on my life. I hope at some point to sing for my Dad while I am over there - we have previously sent over a CD of my wife and I singing solos and duets - to share with him my love of music, and hopefully to provide some small amount of entertainment for him.
As yet I haven't really cried for what is happening and what is yet to come - what will soon be lost. But today I re-watched an amazing movie called As It Is in Heaven, a Scandinavian film about a musical maestro who retreats to his home village in the far north after having a major heart attack and ends up coaching the local choir. It is a fairly confronting film, but the score is great, and the maestro's dream of making music that opens people's hearts is a challenge that he fulfils at the very end of his life. This final scene always makes me cry - it did again today. I hope that when the time comes that my Dad has a moment like this (without the blood shown in this clip), a moment of peace and happiness:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6mi5jTsLBc