Tea anyone? - from Tim

Ben was conscious for about five days in ICU. For the first few days he wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything except what went in via the tube.

On the third day the doctor announced that he was allowed to eat normal food again. It was just after lunch so he assumed he would have to wait till dinner time. But the nurse from the patient next door came over with an untouched tray of food because his patient wasn’t allowed to eat it. The tray had sandwiches, soup and the ingredients for a cup of tea on it.

Ben ate the sandwiches but was advised to stay away from the soup. When he had finished them he asked Dad to make the tea up for him. Dad looked at him a bit strangely but complied with the request. “What do you want in it?” Dad asked. “Just chuck it all in,” Ben replied. So Dad put the water, tea bag, milk and sugar in the cup and passed it to Ben. As he started drinking it he looked over at the nurse with the smile of a naughty boy and said, “I never drink tea.”

I don’t know whether this was Ben desperate for anything he could get his hands on, or if it was just him enjoying anything put in front of him, but either way something so small seemed to entertain him despite the circumstances…

Tim

Home schooling in Tucumán

Our larrikin son - from Lindy

Our larrikin son. Our big hearted, broad visioned, imperfect and

beautiful son. We feel diminished without him and the world seems
diminished without him. His capacity for forgiveness and his passion
for resolving conflicts is sorely missed. Couldn't there have been another way?

When it's warm and sunny I can hear you laughing and see you in the waves
or rough-housing on the beach. When it's cold and grey I miss you more; the
bleakness mimics me. When it's cold and crisp and the sun is thin and bright I
see you on the slopes, the rush; the joy and freedom of the power and speed
and risk. Your life so full of everything except regrets. Your passion never
left you. You lived and died with courage.
CSB we agree.
CSB.

5 months on

Five months ago today... and I still often find myself in a daze 

of incomprehension as I think about our last six months with Ben. 

How could those first inklings of bad news turn so quickly 

to missed classes, radiotherapy, hospital visits, grave concerns, 

chemotherapy, severe pain and morphine drips, intensive care, 

coma and a funeral? 

I don't know. It feels like a dream at times. Is he really gone? 

And as I ask myself,  I know it's true. 

The shock hits again and the tears return.

Chris

A very private pain - from Adrian

Dear Chris and Lindy,
I wonder if you'd send me a picture
of Ben
when things settle down -
not on his own -
I never think of him on his own
but always with Tim
or with his brothers
or with you all
He was always with people.
I can't imagine the pain of losing
your baby, your little boy
your clunky teenager
your strong son
but with four brothers
my heart hurts
a very private pain
hard to know with whom to share
I dare not burden you, or ask your care
wrung out in the giving
Oh wretched pain!
Do you get on with life and somehow dishonour him?
Or always weep?
He, lover of life, would never have you so constrained
maturely sad he knows
it can never be the same
always amputated
sending messages
intending deciding feeling
knowing
but never whole
until we join him
on the other side.

Adrian Lane
Carlton,Victoria
December 2008