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| Liz & Phil, Christmas 1987 |
It’s been 24 years since my brother passed away. He died in a motorbike accident when I was 17. For reasons I don’t fully understand, my family and I don’t really talk about Phillip. All those years ago, I remember being told to be quiet as I tried to process the death of my brother. We all went quiet. We grieved privately, behind closed doors. We got on with our lives. We closed off a piece of our hearts.
I have always missed Phillip. He was a rock in my life. Not all my memories are pleasant, but they are memories of a man who was solid, loving, generous, funny, crazy. He was committed to his beliefs. He was committed to others. He loved deeply and gave himself to his work, his art, his friends and even his enemies. He loved the unlovely. He was down right crazy and zany.
He challenged the status quo and hypocrisy– in family, church, school, society. He challenged me to think about the decisions I made and the reasons behind them – from my taste in music to my beliefs about God.
I missed Phillip at my wedding. He was at both of my sister’s weddings, and I confess, I am jealous that he was not at mine. I wish Sean and Phillip had met – they could really cause a lot of trouble together! I talk about him with my children. I show them photos. Just as I talk about my sisters and parents, separated by thousands of miles, I remind them of the Uncle they will never meet this side of Eternity.
I Remember:
How he worked tirelessly to create and craft a wooden rifle as a gift for a cousin. It was perfect. I begged him to let me have it!
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| Phil, Liz, Mum, Dad, Stephanie, Anne c.1974 |
He challenged my religious hypocrisy, when I was just 12, after he accidentally hurt me and I lashed out, swearing at him, punching and kicking him.
His art project in college, designed to raise awareness in the community about blind. His art wasn’t for art’s sake, it had a message.
His sense of social justice.
His commitment to the kids he taught, both in school and outside school. He love them. They loved him.
His eclectic taste in music. Classical. U2. Midnight Oil. Redgum. Keith Green. He liked music with meaning.
The risque birthday gift he gave me for my 11th Birthday… a poster of a scantly clad faceless hunk
that turned my face bright red and spent it’s life hidden behind my wardrobe (and that he managed to find and show to friends occasionally! YIKES!)
The memories are sketchy. They are not as full as I would like them to be. He was 8 years older than I. He moved out of home when I was 10 or 11, and lived a city two or three hours away from me in the years that I truly appreciated having an older brother.
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| Mum, Phil, Anne c.1979 |
The sound of his motorbike roaring up the road and into the driveway on his occasional visits always excited me. Phillip is Home!! I hated that bike – I was always worried for his safety, but I also really wanted him to take me for a spin. Of course, Mum wouldn’t let me go. When I was 16 he offered to take me to a music festival called “The Black Stump” – on his bike, of course. I begged and begged, but no, Mum hated the bike more than I did. Now, I wish we had just done it. One last hurrah with my big brother. A memory that could just be mine…
I love my brother. And I miss him. I wish that he was here with me. I do think about that things that we could have done together: traveling around Thailand and Asia; riding motorbikes and elephants over the mountains, rafting down rivers; watching him play with my kids; learning new things, bouncing ideas and difficulties off someone older and wiser; being challenged to see the world through a different lens; fun and laughter at family reunions.
My life is full. I am happy and have an abundance of love, joy, and peace. But there is a Phillip shaped hole in my heart that can never be filled. I’m done pretending it’s not there. His life left a mark on me. A mark I am proud to wear in honour of him. And I’m looking forward to spending Eternity with him.
I love this so much. Sometimes I think about all the things my sister has already missed out on in the eight years she's been gone and the things that she will miss out on in the future. It's sad and I'll always miss her but your words here are perfect. We should never stop talking about those we've lost but still love! Thank you for writing it, I wish I could have known your brother!
Thank you, Jen! Perhaps some day we can sit down in 'introduce' our siblings to each other through the memories we carry in our hearts.