It’s hard to describe how it feels 7 months down the road of losing a son. Last weekend we did the paddle out for Sam, an event I was only half looking forward to. I sense there was something of it all centring on the ocean that was both soothing me and burring me. I felt edgy and skittish but also like I wanted to full revel in this one last moment of remembering him publicly and in the place we both love so deeply. Perhaps it was knowing that this was effectively the end of the road for any kind of ‘corporate remembering’ that was knocking me off centre.
As far as the day went, quite honestly you could not have asked for a more beautiful , joyful and sincere time of honouring Sam.
We kicked off with Rowan’s baptism – a significant moment in itself as he was one of Sam’s best mates during high school. Rowan spoke of wanting to transform a head knowledge faith into a personal experience of God and of Sam as someone who lived a life that inspired and pointed him to God. It was a perfect time to mark one death and one ‘new birth’, and a privilege to baptise him.
Then Morro drove in and sang the song that he wrote back when Sam had first died. It was as beautiful and powerful as I expected and there was nothing I could do but just weep my way thru it. Sam was courageous and fearless but it was this thrillseeker bent that eventually took him out. In a conversation later in the day with one of his diving friends D said ‘Sam was always diving deeper and staying down longer than we were comfortable with.’ Seems he was pushing boundaries in a sport where there is no margin for error.
Jake led us into the paddle out – an ancient surfing tradition, where the person is remembered and celebrated by those who shared the water with them. It was great to see a number of our local men there to be part of the day – men Sam had surfed with – blokes who had shown him the ropes, given him rides home and generally looked out for him as a local grom growing up in Yanchep.
Around 50 people flocked into the north end of the lagoon and paddled out beyond the reef, forming a large circle as we joined hands. Micah reminded us before praying that Sam would surely be telling us ‘I’m peeing in my wetsuit!’. We splashed and hooted a final farewell to our boy – and then paddled across to the break where 2 ft mush burgers were splodging on a very dry, sometimes bare reef. Our local favourite certainly didn’t turn it on for Sam’s farewell, so the surfing was short lived.
One moment that I remember well was standing and looking out to the crowd as I got the day underway. Seeing locals who had shared this ocean with us for the last 13 years, school friends on whom Sam had left a mark, family – always large chunks of them – and then churchies and valued friends who had come to mark the day with us. I felt blessed to see these people present for Sam – and equally blessed to know they were with us on the journey. I never cease to be amazed at the grief other people carry because of Sam. For some it has rattled their world and it just keeps rattling.
As the crowd settled back on the beach Toby (Cosi’s bro) sang a song he wrote the day after Sam died. It had beautiful lyrics and spoke to the love Sam had for Cosi and the hope they had of spending their lives together. The loss of that future is one of the things I lament most deeply.
On reflection, I wish we could have held the paddle out sooner, but conflicts with dates and dodgy weather pushed us out to here. The emotional overwhelm of the day has caught up with me now and I am feeling the like we have reached the ‘end’ of a long process. And of course the question that emerges is ‘what now?…’
I guess it’s just more stepping out day after day, choosing to find the joy in life while also holding the constant sorrow. There still isn’t a day goes by that I don’t find myself wondering, pondering, questioning the whole thing. How could one breath have made such a difference? Where exactly is he now – yeah I get ‘with Jesus’, but where exactly and what form is he in?… How will we be reunited and when?
Life is in the process of re-forming and emerging from the chaos. We now have a puppy and that was a good decision. Tahnee has simply been a source of great joy and while there have been a few ‘sacrificial’ pieces of homeware chewed and destroyed by her, there are no regrets.
On Nov 16 we head to Tassie for two weeks with Danelle’s sister Janene and Stu & Carolyn, a holiday we planned a fair while ago and one I have barely given a thought to. That said, Tasmania is easy to love and Danelle has done a lot of the planning for us already. The decision to hire two cars should pay off too as we won’t have to decide between craft shops and surfing 🙂
As business slows down, I intend to see a bit more of the beach and to make sure Tahnee learns good habits. Remember that Bible verse?… ’Train up a dog in the way she should go and when she is old she will not depart from it…’
As I was working on a caravan recently the owners were present and chatting with me. She told that her husband was a police chaplain. ‘That’s an interesting job’ I said.
‘We were pastors for 33 years’ she said, ‘but we got a bit burnt out.’
‘Oh yeah,’ I said ‘That sounds tough…’
I listened for a bit and then said ‘I used to be a pastor myself.’
I could see her face get that bemused look as I knelt on her floor and tried to mount a heater. I probably didn’t look much like a pastor – and I too was bemused that I had said ‘I used to be a pastor…’ Was that really the case? Had I reached the end of the road with that vocation?
My hunch is probably not, but right now isn’t the season for diving into anything complex or challenging. In my own gut I feel like I’d enjoy a decent challenge, but I know Danelle isn’t ready for that and there is no value in pushing into anything. I’m very happy to cruise, enjoy another quiet summer and do bits and pieces here and there as needed.
And then we see what 2025 holds… Def gonna be a better year than 2024.