Stop all the clocks

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Pop died early this morning in ward 11 of the aged care department at Concord Hospital amid the smell of shit and the cold hollow corridors. It is such an unjust end for such a brilliant man.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

I stayed at Liz's last night, after having a birthday BBQ for her 25th birthday. It was a great night, full of laughs. We got up at 2,45pm. Mum called at 3,15 to ask me when I was coming home; it was then that she told me.

I hate telling people. I never know what to say and they never know what to say; we both sit there in silence. I'm too numb to know what to say and they are watching me, ever ready to comfort my tears (which never come). Liz was the first person I told. I was considering not telling her -- just letting her drive me home unknowing -- but I did that when Grandma died and it didn't help at all. So I told her and she got up and hugged me. And I remembered why I hate telling people. It wasn't that her hug was unwelcome or that I didn't appreciate the gesture. I just didn't know what to do or say. Now I will have to field phone calls from concerned family members and friends who want to know how he is. "How's Pop?" -- "He died this morning." -- "Oh, I'm so sorry." I hate it. I don't think I'll answer the phone for a few days.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

When you're a kid you think that things will remain forever. Even as an adult I considered myself lucky that three of my four grandparents were still with me and I guess I got a little complacent in realising what might be just around the corner.

I find the most painful part about death is speech. Choosing the correct tense for verbs when you're talking about the person who died. You say things like "He has been in hospital -- I mean had been in hospital -- for three weeks." Your conversations are stilted. You never know what to say. I feel comfortable enough to make the odd joke, because I know that Pop was a joker and would be laughing if he were here, but people who didn't know him as well as I did wouldn't appreciate this and would think I was being disrespectful.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I'm not such a drama queen that I think life will end now. But it will be different. That's a little scary.

Ronald Stanley
19th February 1914 -3rd December 2006

One wife, seven children, sixteen grandchildren, eighteen great-grandchildren.
Now forever young with his darling Beryl.

He was -- is -- the most amazing man I've ever met.

Te echo de menos.

Que descanses en paz mi querido abuelito.