I awoke well before dawn on the Sunday morning as had been my routine. When I fell asleep a few hours before I had this vivid recollection of Geoff standing in the doorway of my room at the 4 Points Sheraton in Darling Harbour. The last time I had been to Sydney was July, 2009 and Geoff was so good to make sure he met up with Mitzi and me nearly every evening for dinner. Knowing he would take the train to the Town Hall station from North Sydney where he worked at Zlata Creative Design and then walk the 3 or 4 blocks to our hotel I always had a good idea of when he would appear but never exactly. I would leave the door to our room ajar using the metal security lock as a jamb so he could just come in when he arrived. Typically I would be sitting on the sofa watching the evening news and he would appear with his bag slung over his shoulder, sporting the biggest grin possible. I would always get up and walk to the treshhold and we would hug each other as was our custom. If he wasn't happy to see me he was an incredible actor.
As I climbed out from under the blankets and slipped on my socks I still had the vision of him in that doorway fresh in my consciousness. I have been told that I communicate with my eyes as much as with words and Geoff definitely inherited that trait. The image I have of Geoff in that hotel room entrance says "Dad, I'm happy you are here. I'm happy to be here and I'm happy we are together" although he maybe never said those exact words, I knew what he was thinking just by looking into his beautiful green eyes. I made my way down the staircase with my now usual caution and that memory locked in. As I prepared the espresso press for the first eye opening cup I couldn't shut off the recall; I wanted to keep that memory as vivid and fresh in my mind for as long as possible. I sat down at my regular spot and spent the next 45 minutes or so lost in my wonderful memories of Geoff. It was beginning to sink in that was all I had left of him. At some point my pleasant recollection dissolved into the bottomless pit of regret. Regret that I hadn't pushed him earlier in the year to make another trip to California or perhaps to meet up in Hawaii. When I brought up the idea to him of travelling in 2010 he rationalized that he was saving his money for "a deposit" which I presumed to be for a house or apartment of his own. It struck me at the time that I was proud of him when he told me that. Now I'm thinking how ironic and sad it is that he was saving his money for anything given the events of the past week. No amount of tears were going to bring him back, my intellect told me, but I tried like hell.
Just before dawn, as had become my routine, I grabbed my jacket and mobile phone and headed straight to the pocket bark-park so as to avoid the Darlinghurst partiers stumbling homeward. Candi was still sleeping and wouldn't stir until I disturbed her. I reached the park on that misty morning uneventfully and phoned Mitzi at home since it was Saturday in California. I related the events of the previous day including the fiasco at Our Lady of Fatima. I told her about our walk home and what I described to her as my "misbehaving". She listened to me and only provided words of support and caring love. She told me she was headed to Orange County (about a 2 hour drive) and would spend the night at her son's home in Irvine and then attend Tanner's birthday party the next day. Tanner is Candi's son, my grandson, and he was to have is 7th birthday on October 10, a day that also happened to be my parents 58th wedding anniversary. I thought that was a good idea and told her so. I was imagining how helpless she must be feeling, only able to know what was happening at this most difficult time in our lives through these daily phone conversations.
After the phone call I headed to the grocery store passing a group at the corner of Oxford Street and Flinders singing football songs at top volume in the increasing day light. A council employee was hosing off the sidewalk in front of the club from where they must have just retreated as a number of homeless people were attempting to sleep in the midst of all the commotion on a small plot of grass referred to by locals as "The Island". The contradiction struck me; the young men bellowing on the street after a night of partying probably had beds waiting for them at home which would have been a much more appropriate place for them at this early hour and the group sleeping next to all their worldly possessions on the common plot of turf in lieu of a bed were attempting to do so in spite of the noise.
I made my pass through the grocery store picking up a few needed items and stopped at the internet cafe to check my email before returning to the townhouse. I boiled some water in the kettle then headed up the stairway to awaken Candi. We discussed the relative value of the sleep we had the night before over our espresso and then decided to set out to explore the neighborhood known as Paddington in the opposite direction of where we had heretofor been walking. We figured we could get some breakfast at one of the sidewalk cafes that seemed to be everywhere.
Making a right hand turn on Oxford Street after we walked to the end of Taylor Street we started our trek through Paddington. In contrast to the neighborhoods we encountered when walking toward Hyde Park and the City Center, Paddington was quite gentrified and quaint. The shops seemed friendlier and trendier. We encountered Victoria Barracks not too long after we started our journey. Victoria Barracks was built in the 1840's and is still used as a military installation to this day. There was a guard posted at the gate on Oxford Street and we inquired about the current use of the facility which he explained was primarily for Australian Army offices and support services but that occasionally there are situations where active duty members of the Army occupy the grounds. He then invited us inside the gates to take a look at the facility while informing us that any kind of formal tour would require a reservation and the payment of a fee. We took a quick look inside, thanked him and continued on our way remarking to each other how unlikely it would be for similar treatment at a U.S. military installation.
After another 45 minutes, or so, we decided we were hungry and looked for a suitable cafe. Candi was convinced we needed to find a place that was busy in order to be assured that the food would be good. We happened upon a tiny place with small metal tables inside and out that was nearly packed with what appeared to be a cycling group out for their weekend ride. She gave this place her nod of approval and we ventured inside to find a place to sit. Occupying a too small table tucked in the corner we sat patiently waiting for the service personnel to notice us. After a few minutes of observation we concluded that to stay in our seats would only insure our hunger and Candi approached a 50ish looking woman with an incredibly deep voice that gave off the air of ownership to place our order. We had predetermined what we would be eating from the single menu on our table and after serving us coffee the presumed proprietor returned a short time later with our selections; mine was the smoked salmon, capers and toasted bagel with cream cheese. Candi had the meusli, yogurt and fruit. My food was excellent but I found myself with the type of envy one assumes when a fellow diner ordered what you should have. Knowing Candi never eats anything close to all the food on her plate and seeing how impressed she was with the meal, I was able to taste enough of her breakfast to know that when we returned, which we most surely would, exactly what I would have that next time.
Once we replaced all the calories we burned off on the walk to the cafe we paid our bill and headed back to Darlinghurst by the same route but on the opposite side of the street. We came upon a shop, "Vinnies" that had the look of a thrift store. Candi had been remarking about the shoes she bought the previous day with Jeanette and that on reflection they were more expensive than she was hoping. Wouldn't it be perfect if she could find a pair of shoes to match her dress in the thrift shop and then she could return both pairs she had purchased? "Vinnies" is apparently a local institution, the primary beneficiary being the St. Vincent de Paul Society and the proceeds are used for their various good works. She completed her socially conscious shopping snagging 2 pair of shoes and a book for less than 1/2 the cost of one of the pairs of shoes she had purchased at the mall. Candi was quite pleased and we made the rest of the walk back to the townhouse without any additional purchases, although the quest for bargains was constant.
As we sauntered back to Taylor Street I was thinking how great this opportunity was to be able to spend this time with my adult daughter unfiltered by the reality of our complicated daily lives back in California even though it was occurring under the most difficult circumstances possible. Just like the discordant revelers early this morning celebrating their consumption of way too much beer by singing lullabies to the homeless on "The Island" the joy of being able to spend this alone time with my daughter while mourning the death of my only son made no sense; then again, it made every bit of sense there was.
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