Life cycle...

Andrea Snashall was one of the most outstanding public relations officers working in any of the Catholic schools in Western Australia in the 1990s. She was seconded to work at the Catholic Education Office because of the quality, and effectiveness, of her work. A few years ago Andrea moved to live in Switzerland following a long-distance romance across the globe. She is now married and the mother of Luca and Gioia (10 mths). She wrote this reflection recently for a magazine for expats living in Switzerland. It's a particularly poignant reflection on her relationship with her father.

A dream I had: My father is staying in a hotel but I can't find the room number. I again ask a staff member for the room number and keep walking around the corridors but I can't find his room.

Another dream: At my cousin's wedding, someone asks me if my father is attending. I try to ring him to find out but I can't find his number and I can't even press the numbers on my mobile phone to ring someone for the number.

Before I properly awaken from both dreams my subconscious reminds me that my dad is dead. In the dreams I feel him to be around. There is a feeling of comfort in that but there are also the obvious feelings of sadness and loss. At the time of having these dreams, Dad had been dead for nine years. Although I have accepted that he's gone, the strong feeling of loss remains.

We talk about "getting over" someone's death. That makes the grieving process sound too simple and implies that there is a point when a person has gotten over the death of someone close. For me there is no such end point; the transition to a life without my dad is continuing and evolving.

Just a few weeks after Dad died I remember hearing a joke. Immediately I thought it'd be a joke Dad would enjoy hearing and that I must remember it to share with him. No sooner had that thought appeared than I realised he wasn't around to share the joke with. Those are the moments that sneak up on you, making the transition to a life with a still much-loved but now absent person more difficult. It is true that time slowly heals the pain. And that is why the process is an evolving one.

Now, almost ten years after his death, I still come across things that I think Dad would have appreciated; rather than burst into tears, I'm usually able to smile and enjoy the thought. (Though it has to be said that sometimes the smile and the tears are there in equal proportion.) Since having kids I sometimes wonder what Dad would have been like as a grandfather.

Would he have been like his dad, my grandfather, and taken his grandchildren to films, circuses and fairs? Would he have called them by the pet names he used for us? Dad used to affectionately call my brother "Rough nut," and I believe he would have used the same nickname for my son.

Collectively we were "Tin Lids," (rhyming slang for 'kids') and I can almost hear Dad ringing up and asking how the "Lids" - his grandkids - are doing. Although my father isn't physically in my life, thinking about him and how he might be today helps keep my memories of him alive.

The transition to a life without a loved family member or friend can be particularly felt on special days such as a birthday. The chair they used to sit in can look quite empty, or the absence of a well-loved dish they used to prepare can be a stark reminder that they aren't around any more. My grandfather was always the one to distribute the gifts on Christmas Day. He was the one who used to lead the "Hip, Hip, Hoorays" when singing "Happy Birthday," and who could be relied upon to bring the chocolate to family dinners. My grandfather used to sit at the head of the table at family get-togethers. Now on such occasions his absence at the end of the table is sorely noted.

It can be very difficult when someone has suddenly died and you haven't had the chance to say what you wanted to that person. I knew Dad was dying so we could say our goodbyes, for which I was very grateful. We had had time to be together and say what we needed to say. I had been crying for the nine months before his death when I knew he had an incurable cancer, but I still grieved a lot when he was gone. I was a bit tough on myself after my father died: I decided I'd done enough crying, that it was time to move on and time to remember him with out breaking down. Of course, that was unrealistic; I had to come to terms with his death over a long period of time. And for every person I know who has experienced this, that period of time varies greatly.

I was at work when Dad was facing the last hours of his life. I got an urgent phone call from my sister saying to come to Dad's house immediately. I rushed to the house. My brother, sister and stepmother were all there.

I held Dad's hand, his breathing was very laboured, and then he died shortly after.

Not long after that, my grandfather arrived.

The saddest sight I have ever personally witnessed is seeing my grandfather kiss his dead son goodbye. Whenever I remember this moment, it puts my life into perspective.

I know death is a part of life, and though I don't want to dwell on that all the time, sometimes realising it helps me in making decisions.

For example, facing my father's death up close helped me really value my relationship with my future husband, whom I met three years later.

As exciting as it was having a long distance romance between Australia and Switzerland, it was also frustrating and lonely sometimes. A couple of times I questioned whether the relationship was worth all the hassle. I'd think about the shortness of life and knew that it was. A husband, a new land and a new culture came about indirectly through the assistance of my father. And I mustn't forget the two Tin Lids. The cycle of life carries on. Accepting this made the transition to the next phase of life without my father a little easier.

Photo Credits:
Andrea provided the cartoon used to illustrate this story.

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Andrea Snashall can be contacted at:
andrea@catholica.com.au

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