LETTER TO MY SON

[Maureen K Clifford]

This came about basically because I suppose it is just me - a bit of a control freak maybe - but a very dear friend of mine who is living on borrowed time has been organizing everything so that when he goes through the last gate everything is done and his daughter virtually just has to close the door and turn off the lights. That is how he wants it and that is how it will be..organized right down to the last nut and bolt. You have to admire that I think.

We have a lot of late night conversations about this, as I am his back up person here - his family all live interstate and his daughter in WA. He is a wonderful man who is a great neighbour but has become a terrific friend. We don't live in each others pockets just keep an eye out for each other as friends do and the dogs love him - all the credential you need with me. If we don't see lights on and windows opened or signs of activity we go and check to make sure all is well. No big deal, just a little thing, but it is the reassurance factor. He has a terrific sense of humour. We are the same star sign, birthdays only three weeks apart, same age and like the same things - twins almost.

He said to me once when we were talking about checking if we feared something may have happened to the other overnight.'Ya know Mauz I sleep in the nick' he tells me 'It's alright Mate' I said 'I'm not easily frightened.' He always gives my old Mum a cuddle when she comes here as his Mum is the same age..he has become a part of my family.

So I just got to thinking about things and decided that even though my family have spoken of our last wishes often I would put it in writing and give it to my family.

Hope this offends nobodies sensibilities - I may have perhaps in a previous life been a boy Scout



LETTER TO MY SON

You feel your time approaching though it hasn’t got here yet
but a plan should be in place for when life ends.
Do you want a lot of meaningless old platitudes read out?
Or would you rather just heartfelt words from a friend?

Are the things that are important to you now going to be said
or will somebody stand up – waffle and ramble?
I ain’t taking any chances this is how I want it done.
Here’s the order of the meeting and preamble.

Firstly let’s keep it simple – we were never a fan of flash
and I rather fancy a wildflower bouquet.
Some wattle and some bottlebrush and ironbark leaves are fine
and some pink tipped gum leaves picked along the way.

I’ve never been religious or at least not needed church.
I much prefer the old blue sky cathedral.
And Eric’s ‘Tears in Heaven’ is I think a lovely verse
although some perhaps its lyrics wont enthral.

I want the ashes of Dogs passed, to be interred with me -
at the moment I’ve just two but when I go
which could be many moons from now – their numbers may have grown
so there may be quite a few – I just don’t know.

My ashes must be scattered at ‘Springdale’ near the creek
below the house – where my sweet Khadizia lies.
We never found her as you know – but that’s where her soul is
and Sam, Jess and Ralph Patrick there abide.

You will need to stand beside the creek and call the four dogs’ home.
For the little buggers could be chasing bunnies.
But if you stand and call their names out loud they’ll come to you;
and no, your Mum’s not lost her marbles or gone funny.

It’s just some things that I believe that I am sharing here
and it would you know give me great peace of mind,
if I knew for sure my final wishes would be carried through
for I hated leaving all my dogs behind.


And when you’ve done this final thing for me my darling boy
you will know you’ve set your Mothers mind at rest.
It’s one day out of your life Mate to do this little task,
though the road there will be rough I do confess.


So I’m sharing my thoughts with you now so if you might have qualms
or questions you can search for answers now.
But this is my final wish and one I know you’ll understand
and I trust you’ll see the job is done somehow.

But all this is in the future or at least I hope it is
for I don’t think I am ready to go yet.
But one should ‘never say never ‘– who knows what’s outside the door
and it’s best to be prepared – least that’s my bet.

So for now Son I’m enjoying the benefits that life brings
and I’m thankful every day my glass is full
if not to overflowing – sufficient unto my needs
I would never over you try pulling wool.

Oh and just one thing that I forgot to add here to my list
and it’s something of which we’ve spoken before.
You can no longer chuck me from a big F111
for they’ve all been mothballed and don’t fly no more.

So if you don’t wish to inflict Springdale Road upon your car
for you fear that it is far too rough and stony.
Then you’ll have to hire a helicopter, or borrow a 4WD
for the only other way there, is Shank’s pony.

Maureen Clifford © 03/11

[Heather]

I really enjoyed the poem and the sentiments Maureen. Your neighbour sounds like a great mate - I hope he goes easy. When my friend Alison died she requested native flowers and the hall was overflowing with wattle and other native flowers - it was really lovely. We also decked the hall with balloons and photos - it was a real celebration of her life.

This story brings to mind when my grandmother was dying in hospital. My uncle was the executor and was organising the funeral in advance. One day he came in and told her he had ordered her coffin in Tassie Oak - he thought she would like that. (She was born in Tassie). I saw my nana purse her lips - she knew she was dying and she was ready, but she didn't really need to know about the coffin! I still chuckle when I think about it.

Heather

[Neville Briggs]

My mother always used to say that she didn't want flowers at her funeral, if people wanted to give her flowers , then now was the time, she had no use for them when she was gone. At her funeral I complied with her wishes ( just a small spray on the coffin lid ) , some of the rellies thought I'd made a boo boo, It was her wish and as always I obeyed my mother.

I think a gathering at the graveside is all that's required for a decent send off.

[Zondrae]

G'day Maureen,

I hope you have given your son a copy of this beaut poem. I am going to write my wishes down again, although I'm sure they know them well by now.

My first gift is, * my brain, to science. Yes, I am a registered brain donor. It goes to the University of NSW to continue with their research into Parkinsons. One of my daughters and her husband are also donors. They need 'normal' brains to study too. And their son, who is Autistic is also on the list.

After that, my eyes, liver, kidneys, and anything else that can be recycled goes. What's left (and I hope it's not much) can be burned in a canvas (or calico) bag. As long as I think that someone will remember me and says a little payer now and then, I will rest in peace. I have written in my will that I want no permanent memorial, eg headstone or plaque in a cemetary. I would like my ashes spread where I can hear music if possible. If not then in a garden, preferably roses. I have promised them is they spend one dollar more on my funeral than is absolutely necessary, I'll come back and haunt them.

[Maureen K Clifford]

Yes I have Zondrae that was the whole purpose of the exercise and my girlfriend who used to live on the property next to Springdale has promised to see my wishes are carried out. Springdale Road had the dubious honour of being one of the worst roads in Stanthorpe to travel on and my son hated it hence the F111 joke.

My Dad was like your Mum Neville and like Zondrae - didn't want any flowers, or unnecessary expense in fact didn't even want his death in the paper - reckoned if people couldn't take the time to visit him when he was alive he sure as hell didn't want them freeloading at his funeral - he was 96 and very outspoken which is a privilege that comes with age I reckon - I seem to be heading down the same path these days. Like you Neville we abided by his wishes, with just a single spray on his casket and his Akubra. In fact he used to get so vocal about the cost of funerals I told him once not to worry I'll take the post hole digger out on the tractor, throw him on the back of the truck and bury him standing upright - that way he'd always have a good view and take up less space He rather liked that idea and I reckon it has merit as well.

I wrote this for him and a copy went with him.

The Rose.

The flowers on Bills casket where he rests in sweet repose
are symbols from his family, depicted by the rose.

One red rose from his wife who he loved all his days.
Three pink ones from his children who around his feet oft played.
Four yellow blooms for Grandchildren and three great granddaughters have mauve.
Five white roses for in- laws who on his family were bestowed.

A simple floral tribute for a man we all held dear.
We love you Dad and miss you - how we wish you were still here.


Dads favourite expression one he drummed into us as kids was 'a job worth doing is worth doing well'..closely followed by 'measure twice and cut once'. I hear his voice every time I go to do a job around the house..he was just a simple man and his family meant everything to him - so I guess a lot of him has rubbed off on me.

[Zondrae]

Lovely memories of your Dad,

My father often seemed to be remote and I have (on occasion) referred to him as a stranger who lived with us. He had little input into my raising. Although I remember him admonishing my mother to "leave it now" on more than one occasion when she was ranting at me. (or smacking)
My Dad, when he liked something, would say, that it was "not too black". I would like to find out the origins of this expression. I don't know if it was a translation from something Italian or a phrase he picked up in the cane fields or the wharves. I would love to know but there is noone I know who I can ask. I am not even sure if it is a common expression or a unique one. Guess I need to look into it.
As his only child, I was as close to a son as he had. I do remember hanging about when he was building or working in his shed and fetching things for him. He would send me to the hardwear store to buy nails, chicken food etc. an 8 or 10 year old could safely walk the roads back then. Thanks for stiring up the fond memories.

[Heather]

Maureen what a beautiful poem. I'm sure he would have loved it.

Heather

[Maureen K Clifford]

I hope so - Dad was always my biggest fan