After the wake

A whole mess of emotions

My dear friend Pru’s wake was held a week ago at the Avalon Beach Surf Club. Alan and I flew up to Sydney the day before with two other close friends of Pru’s who also live in Hobart. The wake was a mega-event with hundreds there, a vast sea of faces many of whom I recognised from 30-plus years ago — which is how long I’ve been living in Tasmania. It was a gloriously sunny end-of-winter’s day at Avalon with plenty of surfers catching the huge rolling waves and beachgoers lazing on the beach below us.

Avalon Beach, the morning after the wake.

The speeches and tributes to Pru were wonderful, warmly introduced by long-time friend, Jen. First was a heartfelt tribute to Pru by her daughter Ruby, followed by colourful tales and reflections from her brother Bill, and from her lifelong friend Cindy (who could easily get a job as a comedian). Finally, Evan Turner, the 24-year-old young man from the Northern Beaches Greens Party, spoke. Pru had mentored Evan to become a committed member of the Greens since he was 14 years old. He elucidated Pru’s passion and commitment to the Greens calling her the ‘heart of the party who will be remembered for some time to come’.

I read a poem to conclude the speeches — ‘Beannacht’ by Irish poet, John O’Donohue. It was the perfect poem for Pru. Not everyone heard it though as nervous-nelly-me wasn’t standing close enough to the microphone and the surf had become quite loud at this stage. I’ve included a copy at the bottom of this post.

After the formal part of the occasion, the Surf Club became a huge babble of noise for a couple of hours. There was an open bar and endless offerings of food amidst lots of hugs and greetings and reminiscing about Pru with old friends and acquaintances. The tricky part of the occasion was finding yourself talking to someone, then catching the eye of someone else beyond them, and wondering how to negotiate your way out of the current conversation and on to the next. I am quite rusty at this social maneuvering. I found myself talking to one man I’d barely known decades ago who started showing me photos of his children and grandchildren. He scanned through his phone’s camera roll and giggled as he showed me some eye-popping porn. Time to excuse myself to go to the bar for another drink …

One thing I note about wakes is the tendency to drink more than you normally would and to have very raw conversations with old friends that get to the nub of matters very quickly. After the wake, we moved on to the Avalon ‘Bowlo’ to continue the reunion with many of Pru’s closest friends. At one stage I was surrounded by a group whom I’d spent a lot of time with in my twenties and early thirties; we were all talking animatedly and ribbing one another as if we were still that age. The fact that it was then dark probably helped. Some of these old friends now have children in their thirties whom I’ve never met.

Phil reminded me that he and I had once taken it upon ourselves to clean the fridges at the infamous Stone House, a sprawling share house, where we’d both lived for a short while. The house seemed to have spontaneous parties several nights of the week, a sure thing every weekend. The fridges never had much food in them — just lots of stale milk, decaying vegetables, and alcohol with stuck-on notes declaring who owned what and ‘don’t you dare touch’ messages. The best one could hope for was that Kerry had cooked up a few large dishes of her delicious two-minute noodle and sour cream offerings.

I was surprised I didn’t have a hangover the next day. The social catchups continued over several days and it was great to be staying with family. I also had a birthday and turned 71. It was a little overwhelming — I’m used to a quiet life and early nights. There were so many conversations about Pru plus so many conflicting emotions set against a Northern Beaches backdrop that I am both familiar with, but also removed from now that I live in Hobart. For a start, the difference in the weather in both places is quite remarkable. It was a heatwave in Sydney and we were swimming during our five days up there whilst back home a blizzard and flooding were going on. I’ve been home for three days now and I am still processing my time in Sydney. I got up at five this morning and sat on the couch with a cup of tea. I looked at Pru’s painting on my lounge room wall and wept.

A poem for Pru, a truly extraordinary woman of enormous heart who will be missed by so many:

Beannacht/Blessing
by John O’Donohue

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.