Plans and Preparation

I was a little worried that it would take me some time to adjust to the clock of the southern hemisphere but considering the reality that no real sleep had been achieved (at least not in a reclining position) for the past 48 hours and the bed that was located in my selected room was surprisingly comfortable, I was able to quickly fall asleep after we turned out the lights.  Staying asleep was much more of a challenge.  I don't believe I dreamed at all, not that night or any night I was in Australia, but my mind was spinning with thoughts and memories of Geoff.  I've always been able to process information in my sleep and quite often awaken to the solution of a business problem or knowing exactly how I was going to handle a situation.  Sometimes when traveling, I will wake up in the night and be insecure as to where I am for a few moments.  I was acutely aware at 2 a.m. after having been asleep for less than 2 hours that I was in Darlinghurst, staying in a rented townhouse, laying in bed in an upstairs room at the top of some scary stairway, one of my daughters asleep in the room next door and I was there because my only son had died during that previous 48 sleepless hours at 26 years of age.  I knew it was 2 in the morning because the display on Robin's borrowed mobile phone told me it was so.  I only wished I was dreaming.

After wrestling with my pillows for another 2 hours I finally decided to negotiate the stairway.  Not wanting to wake Candi, who I knew to be a very sound sleeper in any event, I tried to be as quiet as possible.  We left the light on at the top of the stairway as a beacon to warn a sleepy inhabitant of 21 A Taylor Street to pay attention before any descent on the dreaded stairs.  Leaning against the exposed brick wall interior to the staircase (because there was no railing on the side bordering the abyss) I made the trip uneventfully and more importantly, quietly.  I then made myself multiple cups of coffee (using an instant cappuccino mix we had picked up with some groceries on the trip to the townhouse the evening before) and spent the next couple of hours seated at the breakfast bar, balancing on a stool that was ill-suited for actual sitting, alone with my thoughts, memories and sorrow.  I had to make a mental note to buy a couple of boxes of kleenex.

Knowing that I was to meet Robin, Mag, Melissa and Jo at the WN Bull office in Newtown at 10 a.m. I calculated that if Candi was not awake by 8 a.m. I would be her personal alarm clock.  Jeanette had offered to pick Candi up at about the same time that Luke would call for me and take her to Darling Harbor for breakfast. One thing we never discovered in that house was a clock of any kind.  Luke was going to pick me up at half past 9 and accompany me to the meeting.  The dawn began to appear about 6:30 and having spent enough time staring into my rather large coffee cup I decided to take a walk around our little neighborhood.  Being a Friday, there was a fair amount of commotion outside our door with the citizens of Darlinghurst walking their dogs, jogging, leaving for work and many of the other things Sydneysiders do on a week day morning.  I was out for about an hour and then returned to yet another cup of the instant caffeine jolt.  At precisely 8 o'clock I navigated the ascent of the evil stairway and knocked on Candi's bedroom door.  She acknowledged my persistent tapping and made her way down the staircase where I set her up with her own cappuccino and she made the triggering interrogatory "how are you doing?"  I wanted to scream "How am I doing?  How do you think I'm doing?  I'm 8000 miles away from home, my only son is dead, I don't know why, I'm headed to a funeral home to discuss what to do now" but instead I looked into her eyes and she took the cue to give me a hug which caused me to sob sorrowfully on her shoulder. 

We took turns in the bathroom and shower and I made myself some breakfast with the cereal, yogurt and fruit we had snagged with Jeanette's help the evening before at the supermarket.  Luke rolled up right on time and I headed to Newtown, to the office of WN Bull Funerals, to meet with Linda Graham-McCann JP (I don't have a clue what the JP represents) about what our next steps would be.  Candi waited at the townhouse for Jeanette.

As Luke piloted his sedan toward Newtown the neighborhood started to look somewhat familiar to me.  Sydney, outside the Central Business District, is a conglomeration of unplanned neighborhoods with business districts, office buildings, train stations, churches, schools, hospitals and commercial facilities co-existing with residential neighborhoods in close proximity.  As we approached the Newtown area I recognized the landscape as one where a number of universities were located and the surrounding commercial strips provided the support services for thousands of college aged Aussies with restaurants, cafes, booksellers, chemists, news agents and art supply stores densely located among the tattoo parlors and piercing studios.  Ethnic restaurants for every culture dotted the main drag, King Street.  As we approached 164 King Street, the address of WN Bull, I observed a sign for "ThaiRiffic" at 109 King Street.  Wasn't this the place that was one of Geoff's favorites?  Isn't this the restaurant where he had Mitzi and me meet him after he was off work one evening the last time I was in Sydney, where I insecurely boarded a bus in Darling Harbor and navigated my way there using only the public transportation system?  Isn't this the same place where we met JoJo and shared multiple plates of delicious Thai preparations, family style, deftly ordered by Geoff for all our enjoyment?  I was sure it was, even though in the brilliant sunlight the exterior looked nothing like it did that night basked in all the artificial multi-colored lights of the neighborhood.  Not only had I been to Newtown before but I remembered that I enjoyed myself immensely.  How ironic it was that the recommended funeral director was doors away from one of his favorite restaurants in a neighborhood where he had many memorable experiences.

Luke and I waited outside the entrance and very soon after we arrived Robin, Mag and Melissa walked up with Joanne.  We entered the double doors of the WN Bull office on King Street to a reception area understatedly furnished with upholstered chairs, a coffee table and various stand up displays with brochures all exhibiting covers adorned with sunsets and birds in flight.  The reception area gave off the aura of serious confidence.  Directly opposite the twin front doors was a singular etched glass door with a button set into the wall on the side that was obviously a doorbell or buzzer that was to be rung to summon whomsoever from the area behind the wood panelled separation of the foyer from the rooms that lay beyond.  Luke engaged the buzzer and a middle aged woman appeared from behind the door.  After we identified ourselves she greeted us very somberly, invited us into the next room and asked us if we would like cups of tea or coffee while we waited for Ms. Graham-McCann.  She then left to fulfill the various requests.

Linda Graham-McCann (Linda) soon entered the room, introduced herself and we then performed self introductions.  After a mandatory period of condolence expressions she deftly laid out the course we were there to navigate.  Would we be having a service?  We responded with our desire to have a service at Our Lady of Fatima in Kingsgrove that, in fact, had referred us to WN Bull.  We had not decided whether that service would include a Catholic Mass.  Would Geoff be buried or cremated?

At dinner the previous evening there was conversation about what some of us thought Geoff would have wanted but no decision was forthcoming.  For a fact, Geoff never confided in me any thoughts about funerals or burials.  After all, he was the quintessential, immortal young man and would surely outlive me.  What point was there in discussing your desires for a funeral with your father?  It was also self-evident he had not had that discussion with his mother or sister, either, but I came away from the previous evening with the firm belief that Geoff would not want to be buried but would choose to be cremated and then have his ashes released in various places as he was all about freedom and expression.  Melissa stated she believed much the same.  Robin had taken all the viewpoints in with no statement of her perspective in that regard.  I did have concerns, though, that the Catholic Church may have rules associated with cremation to the point where I was insecure that they allowed it at all.  I expressed that concern to Linda who assured us it was no longer the position of the Catholic Church to insist on burial and that they freely allowed cremation.

Linda mediated the discussion there in the conference room at WN Bull.  The initial speakers were Melissa and myself and we both iterated our belief that Geoff would have opted for cremation.  Robin chose not to speak but listened intently to our points of view.  As if by direction all eyes in the room turned to look at JoJo.  Understanding that Jo was raised in a Muslim family and that we were pretty ignorant of Muslim customs and traditions, especially when it came to funerals, burials and things of that nature I'm sure most of the people in that room were as insecure as I was about what she would have to say on the subject.  On the other hand, wasn't it likely that our son, nephew, brother had confided in the love of his life about what his plans may be in the case the unthinkable ever became a reality?  After all, although he refused to accept that it was anything but an inconvenience, Geoff had been treated for Lymphoma soon after he and Jo became an item.  Surely in an unusual moment of mortal acknowledgment Geoff would have or at least could have let her know his wishes.

Jo began to speak.  She told us in a clear and certain voice that yes, she and Geoff had that discussion.  That she had told Geoff that were she to predecease him her desire would be to be buried in a tandem grave and wait for Geoff, however long that may be.  My heart sank.  Hearing Jo's words that were heartfelt and sincere I was preparing myself for the reality that Geoff may have concurred with her wishes and expressed his desire to follow the same course.  How could we be so wrong in our assessment of his wishes?  Joanne continued in a very clear voice.  She said that upon hearing Jo's desire Geoff told her that he would not want to be buried in the ground.  Jo admitted she was disappointed with his thinking and decision but that she wanted to honor what she believed were his wishes and that was to be cremated.  I was amazed that this young woman could be so forthcoming and honest in this situation and subjugate her own desires to that of her now dead boyfriend.  No wonder our son so loved Joanne.  After listening to her words I think we all broke down simultaneously. 

The WN Bull Funeral Home in Newtown, NSW, Australia