Death of a Brother #2

When my brother died unexpectedly I’d packed hurriedly in a highly stressed state in a cold Christchurch April and was not prepared for the warm Australian weather.  It was a couple of days before I surfaced sufficiently to realise that when I went outside the temperature was 28 degrees.  The nights were a little chilly but during the day the sun shone, and I was sweltering in woollen clothes and boots.  Luckily, I had remembered to pack some deodorant.  It was amazing how cheering the warmth was.  At a time of bleak wintry emotions, it was as though mother nature was wrapping her arms around me and offering the comfort of her warmth.  My grief was, in a small way, being compensated for by these unexpected summer days.

There was a psychological warmth too, for despite my grief at my brother’s sudden death there was compensation in the fact that I was now meeting his small grandchildren for the first time.  Up until then the only people I had a close blood relationship to, apart from my own daughters, had been my brother and elderly mother.  I’d met my nephews and niece at intervals over the years, but the fact that they lived in a different country meant there’d been no real opportunity to get to know them.  Now we were thrown together at a time when emotions were running extremely high.  I was the only member of my generation there, and they welcomed me with open arms and open hearts.  As well as meeting two nephews’ partners for the first time there was the overwhelming joy of also meeting two small babies who were my brother’s grandchildren, and my own link to immortality.

Ruth with Bruce’s granddaughter April 1993

This joy, combined with the despair and anger I felt at the loss of my brother served to keep my mind in a state of confusion, which was not helped by the fact that I was constantly feeling overheated.

I soon realised that it was stupid to keep suffering in my unseasonal clothes, and I determined to buy something lighter, but that was not easy.  There were a thousand and one tasks and discussions that I was needed for, and with no transport of my own, and no knowledge of local shops, buying clothing in a hurry was not simple.  On a brief trip to the Town Centre to buy food for the funeral I explained to my nephew’s partner the kind of clothes I preferred – hippy-type was the easiest way to explain my taste – and I promised to choose something quickly if she would just point me in the right direction.  Thank goodness she understood and directed me to an Indian emporium – very suitable for buying clothes for an Indian summer – and I purchased a light shirt to wear to the funeral.  Footwear was not so easy as three shoe shops I asked for sandals had no summer stock at all, and I couldn’t quite bring myself to spend money on a pair of thongs I knew I would never wear again.  So, I sighed for my sandals far away in New Zealand and continued in my socks and boots.

It was two days after the funeral, when I finally found a shoe shop that still had summer stock and bought myself some sandals.  What bliss to let my toes wriggle free after being encased in boots for so long. 

I later heard on the radio that the temperatures for that week were the highest that had been experienced in Ballarat in April since recording began.  It seemed appropriate that in a week when I had experienced incredible highs and lows of emotion the very weather itself should reflect the fact that this was a special season.

The reason for my trip – a bummer
and I was not prepared for summer