A Sudden Silence

Despite the distance between my home in Sydney and Patsy’s in Lismore, over the last few years, I’d become consciously aware of my older and last remaining sister’s daily routine.

I knew when the cleaner came, when the home-assist nurse arrived for her showering, what she watched on television, and what time she’d have lunch.

She would often have a nap after lunch before settling in for her afternoon television viewing, or playing Solitaire on her tablet.

The best time to call was either mid-morning, or between five and six at night. From four to five, she would watch Neighbours and the Bold and the Beautiful. She’d then catch Deal or No Deal. We had to vary the return recently when its time slot shifted to 7:00 PM.

Although we had been close our entire lives, she took on a mothering role from a very early age. Our connection deepened more recently into a routine of daily phone calls after I got sick a couple of years ago. She was genuinely concerned about my welfare, especially living alone —she worried I might fall or that my diabetes would flare up leading to more health problems.

Living in Sydney without close family, with me being a two-hour plane ride away, was a constant worry for her. Our calls varied; sometimes long, sometimes just a quick 30 seconds: “How are you going? You’re good. All right, talk to you tomorrow.”

Then, a couple of Sundays ago, the routine broke. I rang, and she didn’t answer. Usually, if she was busy, she’d call back straight away, but she didn’t. Her husband rang me back from the home phone: “Pat’s a bit sick today.” Within a few hours, the decision was made to take her to hospital, and she died the next morning.

Those daily phone calls have ended, and I’ve felt it most, being back in Sydney over the last few days.

The last time I saw her was when I was in Lismore at the beginning of September, after attending a family funeral in Brisbane. It was the funeral of my nephew and his son, who were tragically killed. Their deaths were literally a front-page newspaper story; they were hit by a drink-driver while going to get an ice cream. My nephew was 33 and his son was four. It was a terribly sad funeral, but also a poignant celebration of two young lives, richly documented with photographs and videos.

Then, just a couple of weeks ago, one of my dearest friends lost her son in a road accident in North Queensland. He was a single dad to two young children, aged 11 and four, who are now in the care of my friend, who is in her late sixties. She will be a great carer for them. This was also a big news story in the papers in Townsville & Cairns.

In a strange and sad twist of fate, Patsy had also made the front page of the paper, due to the Lismore flood in 2022. The slideshow at her funeral I put together featured photographs from throughout her life, but perhaps the most dramatic was the photo of her being rescued from the rising waters, which made the front page of The Australian and was featured prominently inside The Daily Telegraph

In some ways she never quite recovered from the flood. Aged 74 at the time, she was rescued, literally through the kitchen window, along with her husband and grandson. I remember the phone calls of that night as I passed on all of the latest flood information, and tried to contact emergency services on her behalf. I genuinely thought she might drown that night.

While preparing the eulogy, I looked for quotes and inspiration, which led me to her rarely used Facebook account. The feed is mostly full of people wishing her a happy birthday. Yet, her one and only post spoke volumes. I think it might have been what she wanted to say to us all on the day. The post was simple: “life is short, don’t be sad for too long.”