Michael is quietly devastated.
Meeting Leigh on the bus to Midland Station, off to cause mayhem in Perth on a Friday night, they had been friends for about forty-five years. Leigh had spent the majority of his life on and off in North Queensland. He'd tried to return to the West for a while, but Leigh's world revolved around his children, Michael and Natalie, and he couldn't bear to be apart from them. So he came back to the tropical north. His children then lived with him in his unit in Cairns as teenagers. So, Michael had travelled to see him over the years and Leigh had returned to Perth from time to time to attend family events. A great deal of their close friendship had been conducted over the phone.
We both spoke to Leigh less than two weeks ago. He broke the news that he had cancer and his prospects were rather ordinary, to say the least. We made up our minds there and then we wanted to see him alive. His illness took a dramatic turn for the worse six days ago and eventually, five of us flew the Midnight Express to Cairns, arriving twenty-four hours ago.
In acknowledgement of his wonderful persona, Leigh's hospital room was packed all yesterday. We took turns sitting with him, talking to him, holding his hands, massaging his feet, stroking his hair. The room was filled with love. Stories were shared, laughter erupted as well as tears, all of us joining to celebrate Leigh's life.
I can't praise Cairns Hospital enough. Most of the staff we encountered were empathetic and compassionate. They expertly handled his terminal restlessness so that Leigh was as comfortable as possible. They also turned him regularly, changed him and treated him with dignity, affection and respect. Midland Hospital, a large and new teaching hospital in Perth's suburbs, could take a long and detailed look at how Cairns Hospital cared for their dying patients.
I said my goodbyes to him as Michael and I prepared to return to his unit last night. We knew his timeframe was shortening to hours. And so, a beautiful sweet man died overnight and left the rest of us alive to grieve.
Death is brutal and raw and unforgiving for those left behind. Death comes to all of us at some stage. There is absolutely no positivity about its arrival. We may be thankful that Leigh's physical suffering is over for him, but the effect is a smack in the face for the rest of us.
I have written about chief neonatalogist Paddy Pemberton's growing knowledge of grief, back when the Health Department was known as the Department of Stealth and Total Obscurity. He came to understand that grief is entirely individual. As far as possible, all wishes of those bereaved in the aftermath of death, need to be accepted and fulfilled.
I regret that I never took Christopher home. At the time, I justified the decision by believing that our home wasn't Christopher's home. Except I had carried him, inside me, for thirty-one weeks and he had been there with me for all that time. I hadn't wanted to make a fuss. Now, I'd like to whack that timid twenty-six-year-old girl and tell her to follow her heart.
So for Nat and James, Michael and Kahli, Rob and Vicki, I would urge you all to follow your hearts. Go with the flow. Honour Leigh as you wish. The rest of us just need to love and support you.
So, I urge everybody here in Cairns and beyond to be gentle with themselves and each other. As for our beloved Leigh, he is forever sailing with his Captain's hat perched jauntily on his cheekily grinning face.
Our larrikin Leigh
At Cairns Botanic Garden
Off to dinner in a reasonably swank hotel...
Agatha Christie is on the money.
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