For Lisa Murray: 'There will never be another Lisa', by Michael Catley - 2016

Is it possible to sum up Lisa’s life in just a few short words? No, it is not. So what should I say about my beautiful little sister? Should I speak of her constant smile and sunny disposition? She kept her spirits high even in the darkest of times and hardest tribulations that she experienced. The death of her beloved baby daughter Madison something she always held close in her heart. Should I speak of her strength of character? The way she took charge in most situations, even as a small child, and led everyone forward towards better times or new places, earning her the nickname “The Captain.”

Maybe I should mention her wicked sense of humour or her great sense of adventure or her everyday joy at the interaction with her customers at work. Perhaps I should talk about her love for everyone she knew, her husband, her boys, her mum and dad, her sister and brother, a genuine, warm, radiant love that we all basked in. The way she ended every call to me with a sincere, “I love you Mike.”

All of these aspects of Lisa and many more combined to make her a unique and wonderful human being. Lisa was caring, kind, energetic and vivacious, filled with life and love and an unselfish need to care for everyone she knew, earning her the love and respect of her peers, her numerous friends and her family as is evidenced here today by all who are present. Although Lisa is now lost to us, she has left behind an everlasting legacy for all of us who she has touched and loved, guaranteeing that she will live forever in our hearts and minds.

There will never be another Lisa and we are all a little poorer now that she has left us. So let us now all try our best to be a bit kinder, a bit more sincere, a bit stronger and a bit more loving just like my beautiful little sister Lisa.

Thank you.

Lisa Murray, 1973

For George Floyd: 'Keep my brother's name ringing!' by Terrence Floyd - 2020

1 June 2020, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

First of all …Hello.

Audience:
Hello, hello.

I understand you all upset, but I can deservedly say, I dealt in y’all’s habits of society.

Audience:
Come on, now. I can’t hear. Speak.

So if I’m not over here wilding out, if I’m not over here blowing up stuff …
… if I’m not over here messing up my community, then what are y’all doing?

Audience:
White nationalists.

What are y’all doing? Y’all doing nothing, because that’s going to bring my brother back at all.

Audience:
It’s not us. It’s Donald Trump’s buddies. Yeah, Donald Trump’s buddies is right.

It may feel good for the moment, just like when you drink, but when it come down, you going to wonder what you did.

My family is a peaceful family. My family is god fearing.

Audience:
Amen.

Yeah, we upset, but we not going to take it, we not going to be repetitious. In every case of police brutality, the same thing has been happening.

Audience:
Yes, sir.

Y’all protest, y’all destroy stuff, and they don’t move. You know why they don’t move? Because it’s not their stuff, it’s our stuff.

Audience:
That’s it.

So they want us to destroy our stuff.

Rev. Kevin McCall:
Come on, guy.

They’re not going to move.

Audience:

Yes, sir. It’s the truth.

So let’s do this another way.

Audience:
That’s right. Come on now, brother.

Let’s do this another way.

Audience:
Yes, let’s fix this city. They’re going to try to take it. Let’s fix this city. Speak. And get our people into office. They’re going to try to come build. Let’s fix this city.

Y’all right. Let’s do this another way. Let’s stop thinking that our voice don’t matter and vote.

Rev. Kevin McCall:
There you go.

Audience:
Vote.

Not just vote for the president, vote for the preliminaries, vote for everybody.

Audience:
Justice

Educate yourself.

Audience:
Educate and agitate.

Educate yourself. Don’t wait for somebody else to tell you who’s who. Educate yourself and know who you’re voting for.

Audience:
That’s right. You’re right.

And that’s how we going to hit them, because it’s a lot of us.

Audience:
Hard.

It’s a lot of us.

Rev. Kevin McCall:
That’s right.

Audience:
Hell yeah.

It’s a lot of us.

And we still going to do this peacefully, because that’s when we going to get them, because we going to fool them. They think we going to do this, they think we’re going to do something, and we’re going to switch it on them.

Audience:
Change it up.

Let’s switch it up, y’all. Let’s switch it up.
Do this peacefully, please.
My brother moved here from Houston, and I used to talk to him on the phone. He loved it here. He started driving a truck. He was good. So I highly doubt … no. I know, he would not want y’all to be doing this. And I’m not saying the people here. Whoever’s doing it, relax.

Audience:
It ain’t us, man. It ain’t us. It ain’t us. Come on, brother. Come on, brother. It’s okay, brother. It’s okay. It’s okay. Take your time, take your time. Take your time. Come on, brother.

And I like Reverend McCall said, “Peace on the left … ”

Rev. Kevin McCall:
Justice on the right.

Did I forgot already?

Audience:
Peace on the left, justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

I says that. Who says that? Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Justice on the right.

Audience:
Peace on the right.

Right, that’s what I’m saying. That’s what I want to see. Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

Peace on the left.

Audience:
Justice on the right.

That’s what I’m talking about.

Audience:
We love you, brother.

On behalf of the Floyd family, thank you. Thank you for the love.

Audience:
We love you.

Thank you for the flowers. Thank you for the memorials.

Audience:
That was my family.

Thank you.

Audience:
Don’t mention it. Thank you, brother.

Now before I go, I just want to hear this again. What’s his name?

George Floyd.

What’s his name?

Audience:
George Floyd.

What’s his name?

Audience:
George Floyd.

What’s his name?

Audience:
George Floyd.

George.

Audience:
Floyd.

George.

Audience:
Floyd.

George.

Audience:
Floyd.

George.

Audience:

Floyd


Lert us pray for peace. I thank you.

For Michael Gordon: 'Mikey was a role model for humanity', by Sally and Johnny Gordon - 2018

15 February 2018, MCG, Melbourne, Australia

Sally and Johnny were Michael's sister and brother. Johnny's speech is a great example of an ad-libbed eulogy. He's allowed us to include his handwritten notes to illustrate.

Sally:

I’ll be quick as this is very much not my forte. Harry, Mikey and Johnny always have this bit covered. I’m the cheer squad and always just so proud.

We’re all here out of love and respect for Mikey.
He leaves a tremendous hole in our lives.
However, the overwhelming number of emotional and profound tributes has left me with two big hopes.

The first is that all of you who can pick up his baton, will do so.

I hope that many of you will be inspired by him, and then that you will inspire others, to do the stories often regarded as not very sexy. 

Give voices to those who otherwise wouldn’t have one as Mikey did.

As Fergus Hunter said the world desperately needs more Michael Gordons.

Now more than ever.

Take his torch and keep it burning

My second wish is that those of you who are in a position to affect change will work together, and work really, really hard together, to right the wrongs that have so unbelievably become the norm.

Only a few weeks ago Mikey so proudly, so humbly and so beautifully accepted his Walkley award in the company of his colleagues.

He later told me he wished he’d thought to finish with this gesture of support for his friends, the men still on Manus. 

That’s the essence of our brother. 
And we loved him like crazy.

Go well darling Mikey.
 

Johnny:

G'day everyone, I'm Mikey's brother. And how lucky can one guy be to have Michael Gordon as your big brother? It's like one of those [lucky] things you look back at from when you were a kid, "Like crikey, I saw Bob Marley when I was 12 years old!"

But anyway, I'm going to throw these things on [reading glasses] and try and not howl like a mutt. Alright, welcome all, that's what I write down to start with, and what a tidal wave of goodwill. 

Thanks every one of ya, hey Mark if you was looking through my eyes and just go, "giddy up" and thanks so much, so give yourselves a round of applause.

Okay here we go.

Mikey was a role model for humanity, but he was my role model as a kid. He taught me to surf, he was a top bloke, and he was much quieter than me, believe it or not. But you know what I always brought out that other side, a lot of people go, "Well, Michael, he's running on all twelve cylinders!".

Okay I've got two little things written down here. It says, "Police Rounds, Philip Island'

So when I was a kid, I'm learning to surf, I was just a youngster, right, and as you know Mikey was the journo and as a kid, he did it all [whole paper], but he used to do the police rounds. So I think it was something like a 2-11pm shift. So I'd get dropped in at flippin' Russell St., I don't know I'm like twelve or something, right? And Mikey goes, "You know, we can't split till eleven, so he's constantly on the beam, we got the police radios hummin' in the background and he was telling me, "Alright, it's a really big spoil - straight across the road there's the watch house. If you don't act like a kook, we can go over and use the coke machine." It was like ooooooh!

So anyways, when you're a kid right, nine o'clock, you feel like it's three in the morning right, so it's like 11 o'clock we finally get in the car, ready to go, and he goes, 'You know what, I'm tired, I've been working, we can't start the car right?" We had this little red Escort, right? So, I'm sitting next to him ... and the music would be pumpin' and then as you know he was a bit of a ... he loved his music so we had the killer music pumpin' down, but as a grommet I'm half on the nod, right? And he's trying to drive thinking 'if big man shuts up we gonna hit a tree' so it's a safety device to keep me awake.

So, I've just got a pair of shorts on, and Mikey would just go, "Bang!" and just give you the biggest slap on the flippin' thigh... and he goes, "how are the ham steaks now?" 

We had some incredible surfs together and the thing is too big brothers normally bar you if you're like two weeks older ... he was six years older than me, but I was in the posse and that's why I'm mates with all this mob too.

Okay, the next story, [reads note] we gotta here, it says table tennis right? And Michael, he was like the most competitive fruitcake, right? So we had the table tennis at my joint and as he'd get more focused, because he might be like two points ahead, it's like 'don't get mad, get even.' But he sounded like flippin' Jackie Chan or something on flippin: "whaaaa, woo oo, kneyah," So even weeks after Michael had left, Harris and I'd look at each other as we walked through the corridor and just go, "kneyah!" -  and we knew that was Michael's backspin right?

Okay, there's my two casual stories, okay [applause] No no, you're not out of jail yet! [laughter] Okay, back to the notes, here we go.

Birds of the same feather flock together and that's why his family are absolute legends and you know what? His mates - all flippin' legends. Everyone here, you're flippin' legends because you're part of our flippin' mob, right?

And even on that day where we lost Mikey, he was surrounded by legends. You know, these people were black belts of their field and I just wanna give them an ocean of thanks. There's one guy called Nathaniel, I've got him in my phone as "The Man," so let's just give him a round of applause for doing what he did.

I turn the page.

My aboriginal bras have told me their ancestors from The Dreamtime will guide Mike through his journey. Go well, my bra.

Johnny, Sally, Harry, Michael Gordon

For Michael Hutchence: 'A part of me died the other day and strangely a part of me was born', by Rhett Hutchence - 1997

27 November 1997, Sydney, Australia

There is no available vision or audio for this speech

A part of me died the other day and strangely a part of me was born, and then there is the part that will carry the memory of my brother Michael forever in my heart.

Michael and I were only two years apart when we grew up arm-in-arm. From the very beginning all the signs were there that Michael was destined to lead an extraordinary life. When he first opened his soulful eyes, he had two loving wonderful parents Patricia and Kelland from whom he inherited gentlemanly charm, accommodating nature and charisma.

With the help of our sister Tina, who played an integral part, feeding, helping, bathing, caring and being, when finally Mike came along our family was complete.

I have an early lyric book of Michael’s in which when he first started writing (and) there is a list of 10 things he wanted to achieve in his life. The first one was to conquer the world. I can’t remember what the other nine were but I’m sure he achieved them too.

Michael was a poet, a singer and a gifted performer. He touched the lives of everybody he met, even people he never met.

It hasn’t been easy being Michael’s brother, it’s strange, it’s been fantastic at times and other times the hardest, but having Michael for my brother I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

My heart goes out to Paula and beautiful, darling girl Tiger, and the other girls, to the band, to his friends and people who have known Michael and lost a tremendous friend.

Thanks to the support from friends, the love I’m receiving at the moment is helping me through this.

I cannot stress enough the importance of friendship and love in today’s times.

The other night I went and spent some time in the room, his room at the Ritz, to see if it had any answers. It seemed a sad room, it definitely wasn’t Michael.

And if Michael, who loved Oscar Wilde, would have identified with the famous poet’s last words “either this wallpaper goes or I do” then I understand.

On behalf of Michael I would like to thank my family for the love they gave him and together these words may have meaning for us all.

To mourn too long for those who we love is self-indulgent, but to honour their memory with a promise to live a little better for having known them gives purpose to their life and some reason for their death.

Rest in peace Bro. I love you. I will miss you.

***

Rhett also wrote and delivered a eulogy on the first anniversary of his brother's death

One year ago exactly, I was out buying some new sunglasses, and I came home to find out I’d lost my brother, I do however still have my sunnies. God works in mysterious ways.

For the first few weeks after Michael’s untimely death, one line of his many Lyrics kept playing in my head. it was from “Bitter Tears” and the line was “And I thought I was doing no wrong”.

And to be honest I don’t believe he thought he was. Or he realized the full ramifications of his actions. Not that it would have made a difference at the time.

One year, long in grief and short in time. And one where it seems some peoples grief has been manifesting in anger, the pain of loss.

In the eternal cycle of life, death, and rebirth, life is constantly presenting us with opportunities to totally let go of what encumbers us, in order for us to fully embrace life with fresh openness, and forgiveness plays a major part.

Unless we have full gratitude for those we have loved how can we expect the fragile bud of rebirth to emerge within us.

It is time to let go, time to forgive.

The past cannot be changed, remember Michael with love and joy, not misery.

We are here on the anniversary of his death. We are here to celebrate his life.

If Michael’s death was a tragedy, his life was not. And how does one sum up such a full life.

The beauty is that some of his many talents will surface forever, due to the huge legacy he left us all, in a dozen albums, hundreds of songs, and the performance of thousands of truly memorable shows, all around the globe. Sometimes I feel Michael is everywhere, literally.

Michael, the poet, the lyricist, the natural performer certainly kicked his goal of world domination.

The hardest thing for me to reconcile is the death of Michael Hutchence, the normal human being. The ordinary man with an extraordinary life.

It’s Michael, the searcher, the explorer, the healer, the big brother, the kind gentle sensitive loving man that I miss. Thank god for memories.

It hurts that I won’t hear his spoken word, even if it was rousing on me, or feel in my heart the roar of the crowd when he stepped on stage.

I truly feel proud and honoured to have known him and lucky to have spent some of the best years of my life with him, and I cherish those memories.

I would never have wanted it to turn out this way, however Michael’s death has been my rebirth. It is the least I can do for him.

How we live and how we die are less than a breath apart.

Rock on mate, I love you.

I’d like to let go with a poem

Please take a few soft breaths
As we move
From one level to the next

As in growth, or dying
We need to let go
At the edge
To continue further

Trust the process
Let go lightly
Pass on Gently

For Bob: 'When you suffer from chronic major depression at the level that Bob did, life can be so very painful', by Karen E Dill-Shackleford

22 October 2014, St David's Catholic Church, Arnold, Missouri, USA

Karen Dill-Shackleford is a social psychologist who studies the psychology of everyday media use and the author of 'How Fantasy Becomes Reality'. A psychologist, but not a therapist, Karen's talk reflects on her brother's life and thanks her mother, Joan, for the grace she showed in raising Bob, who suffered severe mental illness. It first appeared in Psychology Today.

I’m Bob’s sister, Karen, here to give his eulogy. For those who don’t know, my parents had three children. My sister, Christine, is the nicest and the most likeable; my brother, Bob, the smartest and most talented; and me: I’m…the youngest. I’m here today to share memories and thoughts about my brother Bob on behalf of myself and of my sister, Christine, and of all my family. We wanted to remember the person he was and to celebrate his life. My sister wants everyone to know that we think that Bob was an awesome brother.

My brother was not average – pretty much in any way. Those of you who knew him well knew that he was incredibly smart and talented. You also know that it was never easy to be Bob. When Bob was a teenager he suffered his first onslaught of mental illness. He was hospitalized with major depression, though they called it a chemical imbalance in those days. I remember how scared he was and how deeply he was hurting. He stayed in the hospital for some time, missing a semester of high school. But that summer he taught himself trigonometry and went back his senior year to calculus class. He finished the year at the top of that calculus class and, when they graduated at Busch Stadium, he gave the address as Salutatorian.

In addition to serious depression, Bob also had to cope with social deficits. I don’t know if he’d been born 10 or 20 years later if someone would have diagnosed him with being on the autism spectrum, perhaps as having Asperger’s Syndrome. In any case, he was very different socially from all the other kids. He also had a speech impediment. Many times my sister and I found ourselves explaining Bob and talking for him. We loved him and we wanted to translate Bob to the world to put everyone at ease.

Similar to people who are on the high functioning end of the autism spectrum, Bob had social deficits, but also noteworthy talents. He eventually earned a degree in mathematics with a minor in computer science. He really loved math and computers and would talk about them endlessly, fixating on the things that intrigued him. Some people who excel at math or computers aren’t good at English, but Bob was also excellent at English. When I was in AP English in high school, my teacher read one of Bob’s essays aloud to our class as an example of an exemplary essay. His challenges kept Bob out of college for a while, and though he was 3 ½ years older than I was, he ended up going to college at Mizzou with me for a time. He hung out with my group of friends and we spent a lot of time together. I remember that he was always helping other people in his classes write their computer code. Those things that flummoxed others came so naturally to Bob. In fact, I recall that he had an old rudimentary computer years ago, a Radio Shack model with a tape recorder attached to it, and with only lines of code, he managed to write a poker game complete with pictures and sounds. I’ll never know how he did it, but he did it.

Bob was also very artistic. When he was in elementary school, the art teacher made a display of only his work in the school hallway, which was unusual. He tried many different kinds of art, from carving bars of soap at home to making charcoal drawings to painting. But maybe his favorite art was photography. One of my favorite memories of Bob is a time that we had a beautiful spring day off of school together and Bob drove us to Bee Tree Park. We walked around and Bob took interesting artistic photos, such as a picture of our feet propped up on the rail of a gazebo.

When you suffer from chronic major depression at the level that Bob did, life can be so very painful. Looking back on Bob’s life, my sister and I have been thinking about the toll mental illness took on him over the years. Christine describes Bob’s depression as a storm, and his episodes like a storm breaking over him. We think that Bob was happiest when he was a child. In those days we called him Robbie or Bobbie. I admit that I called him Roberta as often as I could.

Bob was different, as I say, pretty much always. But when he was little, he laughed and joked a lot. He loved being outside, playing and riding his bike. He was also a little trickster. I recall the days when he would set traps for us so that when we opened a bedroom door, we’d get hit on the head by a cup of water or even flour. He was funny. Bob also loved to do voices and pull faces. He had a sense of humor that was all Bob. He also had a wild laugh, almost a cackle with a wheeze, which he would emit when he was watching silly TV shows. You could hear that laugh all over the house.

Over the years, as Bob’s bouts with depression and the difficult episodes continued to crash onto his shores like breaking storms, it seemed that each impending storm took a greater toll...took away a part of who he was from us and from him. He went through periods where he was so afraid of the world that going out in public was too much for him, and periods where he said almost nothing. As the destruction of those waves hit him time after time, a little bit of Bob would disappear each time.

In the last few years, at times he seemed more remote than ever, less like himself than ever. Bob had a number of pretty awful episodes of mental illness. During these times he sometimes lost touch with reality. A few years ago, he decided that the drugs he was taking for his mental illness were poison. He started to have strange thoughts and beliefs. He called me and told me many unreal things, such as saying that some people can control the weather with their thoughts. At one point, he couldn’t sleep, so he drove around all night, every night for days on end. I feared he would hurt himself or others. Then he got angry with friends and family and took off on the open road, having a series of odd encounters with strangers. My mother tried to get him into the hospital, but red tape got in the way of helping him. While Bob was off his meds and his thoughts had lost touch with reality, our Aunt Betty, our Dad’s twin sister, was very ill with cancer. Sadly, at that time, Bob had convinced himself that she didn’t really have cancer and he told her so. If you don’t know a lot about mental illness, this behavior might seem purely thoughtless or mean. But if you can look inside the mind of a mentally ill person, you can see what may have caused that behavior. Bob loved Aunt Betty so much that he could not deal with the idea that he was losing her. So, in his sick mind, he rejected the idea entirely. I think it’s possible that this was his way of coping. In the end, it was one tragedy piled on top of another one.

This leads me to another reason that I wanted to give Bob’s eulogy. When someone suffers from mental illness, it is also a struggle for those who are close to him. In thinking back on Bob’s life, I think it’s very possible that some of us here are holding onto some guilt or disappointment about times when we felt we didn’t do as much as we might have wanted to do for Bob. If you feel that way at all, I ask you to treat yourself with the same compassion you would offer a good friend and forgive yourself. Bob would want you to do that.

I also want to acknowledge all the people who did their best with Bob, though it was not always easy. So many among us were kind and compassionate. Friends and family took him in, helped him get back on his feet, talked with him or listened when he needed it, and really acted out of love and compassion time and time again. From my dad, Bob, to my stepdad, Leo, to my sister, Christine, to his roommate, Cathy, to aunts, uncles, cousins and friends – to all of you who loved Bob and did your best for him – thank you. There are some very special people in this room and in Bob’s life.

And there’s something else I need to say. Someone else I need to thank. I’m not sure if I can make it through this part or not, but I want to try. I want to thank my mother for all she did for her son. As a mother myself, I know that there are not a lot of medals that get handed out for good mothering, but there are a lot that are deserved. Thought I don’t think there’s a reason in the world that my mother would have been prepared to raise a child like Bob, she always seemed to have a knack for it. She had such a gentle way with Bob. When he did things that were maddening, it hurt her, but she hung in there. She stepped up to the plate every time and tried to help him. She was sweet and kind. She always made Bob feel like he was wanted and welcome, no matter how odd or broken he’d become. The best way I can describe it is that she treated him with a kind of unearthly love that I feel privileged to have seen. Maybe there aren’t any medals for mothering, mom, but there should be. So, I’m giving you an honorary medal today—a gold heart-- for being Bob’s mother and doing it with such extraordinary grace and love.

Speaking of love, I’ve told you about how hard it was to be in Bob’s life. But it’s also true that Bob really did have an extraordinary way of loving those who were close to him. For example, once Bob and I were at a party. Some guy was there who had gotten very drunk and was hitting on all the girls. Well, when this mad Romeo tried to grab me and make me dance with him, my brother, who was 6’2”, swiftly and deftly deflected the guy and moved me out of harm’s way. It was all done without a word and in a few seconds, as if by magic. I remember to this day the way it made me feel – that my brother was there, watching quietly, ready take care of me. It told me that he cared and that he had my back. This may seem a weird kind of story to tell at a funeral, but it strikes me that it tells you a whole lot about my brother. Maybe he didn’t always have the words to relate to other people. But he had the best of intentions and he really loved the people in his life.

As another example, the last year of his life he spent caring for his roommate who was very sick with cancer. He was glad to be there for Cathy and it gave him a renewed sense of purpose in life. When I think back on Bob’s life, what rises to the top for me is that I know that my brother really loved the people around him.

In low moments, I have often felt regret for Bob…regret for the pain he suffered; regret that he could not freely apply his natural talents because of the burdens that mental illness put on him. But I think that I’ve been unfair in judging his life that way. It’s unfair because if I judge his life this way, I haven’t then given him credit for what he did accomplish despite his burdens. He suffered from crippling depression, but he kept fighting that battle all his life. That took an incredible amount of bravery and stamina. He had social deficits, but he still loved being with people. As I mentioned, he ended his days as a friend’s caregiver. Given the weight on his shoulders, he accomplished quite a lot in his too short life.

I’ve mentioned Bob’s challenges; I also wanted to say that I really liked my brother and I loved his sense of humor. -- And besides…really, what is there in life to accomplish but to love and to be loved?

Bob, you loved us well and we loved you. We will miss you.

Karen E Dill-Shackleton is a social psychologist and the author of this book. You can purchse it here.

For Don Mackay: by Therese, Ian, Melissa & Ali

21 May, 2007

DONALD WILLIAM MACKAY - 4TH JULY 1950 - 17TH MAY 2007

Poem written by wife, Therese Mackay,  read at the funeral by the celebrant.

The Man and Me

Sleeping at night my palm opened flat on his chest,
Warmth feeding warmth, I know we are blessed.
No matter the day’s misunderstandings and blues;
No matter points made and lost;
No matter who thinks who’s the boss;
Sleeping always next to him is the life I would choose.

Re arranging pillows, blankets and such;
Both easy to fire off, yet both easy to touch.
Each unwilling to give way, equal to the end.
The Celt in us both, a marvellous brew,
Stirred and stirring, a wondrous stew.
Sleeping hand to chest our rousing battles mend.

Ah! And give me that fire, pure and unpolished,
And give me the spirit, no argument undemolished,
And give me the wickedness and its play,
Give me the empathy and knowing
Give me the common sense for our growing.
And let us wake hand to chest at the start of the day.

How dear to me is the man who breathes beside me at night?
How dear is the spirit, which gives his eyes their light?
How dear to me is the world we share?
There is no measure I can explain
But that his pain gives me also pain
And that our love is sometimes more than we can bear.

For me he stands, young, fair and clear-eyed as in youth.
For me, the things he feels I know, they are truth.
And I will hold these truths like rare and precious treasure,
For in a shifting sea of easy useless lies
The values of such truths are cherished ties
To the love which lives within the heart which is without measure.

So let me lie for hours, my hand upon his chest,
Thinking on the treasures with which we are blessed.
Such as our children treading out into the world to be,
Carrying the dreams of all our life;
Treasures as sacred as the man and wife
And as sacred as the love which binds the man to me.

With Love Therese

Ian Mackay's part (brother)

The dash between 1950 and 2007 is the period Don was with us. It is the most important dash that we know. It fulfils his life and the love that we know both from Don and to him.

My portion of Dons life is mainly from birth till his early twenties.

Born on 4th July 1950 the fourth child of Rod & Kath Mackay in the western town of Moree. His family consisted of firstly Jeanette… (Tet) Judith… (Jude) and myself, Ian. … Not counting the main proponents of the family Dad (Rod) & Mum (Kath).

My sisters used to dote on me until this kid called “Don” arrived, it changed after that and he became the dotee. That didn’t matter all that much as they couldn’t play marbles and didn’t go much on catching frogs.

Not much to do in Moree

One evening at dinner not long after his first birthday Don said to us and all, “We should go to the Snowy and build the Eucumbene Dam as they need people like us”. He was a very advanced child. As a group of half a dozen we set off to build a dam. Turns out it was a bit bigger than the six of us could handle, so we called in a few more people (1000 actually) it took about six years to complete. Those six years probably formed Don into the person he became in later years.

The things that we got up to as kids would have sent you to a home of some sort or other. It included, the four of us setting out for a bike ride of a lifetime, ending up in a pigsty at the original dam site, with a raging fire that could have burnt an average National park. Someone volunteered me to get Mum and Dad (Tet I’m sure) in a raging stormy freezing cold on a 10 mile ride in the dark, with the cavalry Mum & Dad the three eldest – me included were chastised severely. “What were you thinking taking this young baby out in this weather”. As quick as Tet said “Mum at least he is warm and dry and he is not a baby he is four years old. It ended well. The kids could do no wrong.

The Shooting

Don & I were shooting tadpoles and frogs in a creek near home. I had just shot a frog and Don said give me a shot: I gave him the slug gun and he said to me “see how you like it” and promptly shot me in the foot. That was the start of his GREENY ATTITUDE. Not content with the foot shooting when we got home he reloaded the slug gun and chased me around the house.

Fishing

A mate and myself were going fishing and knocked off a bunch of carrots from the headmaster's place to eat while fishing next thing Don and his mate Ian ‘Ackenzie’, his real name was Mackenzie but Don couldn’t get his tongue around that, caught us and dobbed us into the headmaster- Mr Faulkner. Don got extra points for that. The mate and I panicked when called to his office, but being a great teacher he didn’t go crook instead gave us a lesson on tying fishhooks.

The remainder of our stay in the Adaminaby Dam site was filled with family love and love of family a really great place to grow up as a child.

Dam completed, Don called us together again and said that the people were having troubles with a dam at Tan Tanungra and felt that we should help a fairly uneventful part of our lives Don schooled at New Adaminaby. Tet worked with Dad and Jude helped mum at the local shop.

Don again gathered us after our Sunday roast and weekly caster oil and said, “there are problems with a power site at the Lake Macquarie we should go and help”

Swansea this joint had it all
TV - never seen that
Beaches - been on holiday
Lakes - made them
Fishing - caught millions and masses of adventures that four kids from the Snowy had never seen.

Don became a super star at Soccer in the under 14s and we both completed schooling there. From there the family fragmented.

Tet married Jack Holmes and had a son Phillip all died in a car accident 1969.
Jude married Buddy who died in a car accident in 1965.
I married Monika and had a son Terry and daughter Jenny.
Jude remarried, Kevin and had a son Rodney and daughter Joanne.

Don said they were calling from Port Headland in WA. The family fragmented further, as mum and dad with Don in tow headed there to sort out the problems the Port mob encountered.

The problem solved and plans to return to Swansea were completed. However Dad encountered cancer and lost the battle in the Sir Charles Gardiner Hospital in Perth on 31 Jan 1966.

Don and mum returned to the eastern states, I got leave from Vietnam to see Dad before he passed but unfortunately due to slow transport missed seeing him before passing. My leave was far to short and I returned to Vietnam whilst Mum and Don went to Maroon country in Brisbane where the tied up with Jude.

With Brisbane a temporary base Don now 17 headed to Blackwater mines 4-500 kilometres west of Rocky. This part of his life was born “The wild child” bought new cars and demolished them at a rapid rate.

Mum returned to Cardiff and Don soon followed and sort of lost the Wild Child a bit when he met

Therese and had two daughters
Melissa in 1974
Alison in 1977.

The remainder of his story is related by Therese through Garry our celebrant.

To have known Don as a brother was a privilege and to have loved and be loved by him irreplaceable.

DON REST IN PEACE, WE ALL LOVE YOU.

Therese Mackay's part (wife)

Don and Therese met in Newcastle in 1972 and joined forces about three weeks after that meeting. Don was then working as a Fitter for Hodge Industrial installing underground petrol tanks and bowsers all across NSW.

In 1974 Melissa was born to them and Don’s boss offered them the use of a large caravan to use so that Don would not want to come home each weekend to be with his family and could spend months moving around NSW working.

This was a wonderful 18 months and there were few areas they did not get to spend time. Blayney in winter in an uninsulated caravan was an experience. Opening the van door at the tick gates and seeing their red kelpie, called Red, slithering around in the beetroot which had fallen out of the fridge, because someone had forgotten to put the pin in the fridge door was another.

Port Macquarie was one of the towns they visited and Don was offered work from Gordon Hunt should he ever move here.

In late ’76 they moved to Port Macquarie.

Alison was born in 1977 and the family was complete.

They lived in a small house just past Sea Acres near Johnson’s Fruit shop, which cost $12 a week. Here they were home. Chooks, ducks, a dog – Boris, cats – (Don was never too keen on these creatures) and Lucky - Don’s horse, two happy little girls and little money made this a happy home for Don and Therese

He worked on building sites and drove a backhoe and truck and was able to turn his hand to most things he tried.

In 1982 Don was badly injured while working in the canals behind Settlement City.

He became a quadriplegic and spent a seven-month stay at Royal North Shore Hospital (Sydney). Therese, Melissa and Alison moved for that period living near the hospital, with Therese’s eldest sister Veronica. All returned to Port Macquarie when Don was well enough

After a settling period, Don along with his wife Therese became involved in issues in which he believed in passionately. He lobbied Council in the ‘80’s for better wheelchair access and struck a deal with them that he would go halves in the cost of construction of wheelchair access on major access points around the CBD.

In the early ‘90’s he manned the RSPCA phone and was passionate about his commitment to this. Although it’s a well known fact Don was not a great cat lover, he abhorred cruelty of any sort and would too often be upset by the callousness of human beings to their pets and livestock.

His mother died in 1997. He not only looked out for his mother’s needs but also Therese’s mother and was always quick to see when others were had difficulties. He had a great compassion for others who were suffering illness or other.

When his sister Judy was dying in Queensland in 1998 he and Therese spent the last three months with her only leaving a few days before she passed away. This was a special time and he spent many days just quietly sitting by his sister’s bedside talking and laughing about family.

He believed ardently in the right of the individual to freedom of choice on issues regarding Fluoridation, and other and it is well known he did not suffer fools gladly. He was very active in the fight against the privatisation of Port Macquarie Hospital and he worked for years tirelessly to have the hospital returned to public hands.

Unfortunately he was stuck in bed on the day the Hospital Action Group had its celebration outside the hospital grounds once again when the hospital was finally handed back to the people of NSW in 2004, but he spent that morning harassing the local media, as was his wont, into speaking with the Hospital Action Group who were there from the beginning of the fight in early 1992.

He became actively involved in One Nation, and along with Marge Rowsell from Taree organised the original meeting in the Civic Centre when Pauline came to Port Macquarie and filled the Civic Centre to overflowing on a Tuesday morning. When Pauline moved away from One Nation so did Don. He was outraged by her jailing and worked as hard as he could writing letters etc to help raise awareness of the injustice often saying that if it could happen to such a public figure as Pauline, it could happen to any one of us, and that we each, on our own, must always fight against injustice when we are able…

When Pauline was released, fully exonerated he was over the moon.

Don and Therese moved out here to Craggy Island in early 2004. The sense of peace and beauty they both felt the first day they saw this place is still here with us and for Therese it is the essence of her husband and a fitting place for this service.

Becoming a Quadriplegic was bad enough, but Don was unlucky in that he was suffered constant pain and would comment on those few days when it totally lifted how good the day was. As the years went on this became much worse. His courage and endurance, still being able to be concerned about others, smiling, fooling about, being involved and interested and most of all never complaining, was truly wonderful to experience. It was heartbreaking at times when people did not understand his fragility and his exhaustion and bravery he showed by just facing the days at times.

The family are aware of the many roles Don played in life and on the small screen, where just the placement of a wig, or a hat and he would transform into little fat Eadie from Picnic at Hanging Rock which should now be known as “Picnic at Don Rock”…and his Mafia alter ego called “The Don” was done as seamlessly as he did everything.

There was the eighth day of the week “Don Day” which was a special day for the kids.

His force of personality and its many facets became something of a miracle to his family and especially Therese, Melissa and Alison. He was constantly concerned about their welfare, and that of the extended family, and he seemed to grow more compassionate, the more he suffered.

Melissa and Alison joke about the fact that they quickly learnt to never say they were bored because when they did he would give them jobs to do. Now adults they say they are grateful for this. He was fiercely independent and a gentle and concerned loving husband and father.

He passed away at his home on Thursday 17th May, two days before his eldest daughter Melissa and her fiancé Chris were due to be married. He had been in RNSH for 5 weeks and was flown home the night of his passing. Unable to speak because of the Ventilator for the past 5 weeks, when it was finally turned off, he softly talked and joked with those of us gathered for about two hours. He died with his family around him and was loved gently as he went with dignity and concern for others welfare the last things he expressed.

The manner of his passing after the terrible suffering he endured, will never be forgotten by those of us present, and has left us with no fear of death… none at all. Yet another of the precious gifts he left to those he loved. He was beautiful to the end and died quietly with his daughters and wife and other loved ones… in a quiet room... at home at last. He deserved such a peaceful seamless death to this life. His compassion and empathy for others; his sense of fun and stirring; his generosity; his unpredictability; his intense love of the natural world; so much, but more even was the love he held for his children Melissa and Alison, and his wife Therese. He loved them without conditions. Its known Don had his rough edges but the rough diamonds are always the best, and are always more precious

Thanks must go out to Therese’s sisters Veronica, Joan and Jackie for their support. Jackie spent the last day in the hospital with Don while the family drove home to meet the Air Ambulance. She went on the flight with him so that he always had someone with him he loved. Thanks to Carmel, Patsy, Mike, Rod, Neil and Renata, and Donna, and they know why.

The effort made by Don’s Doctor Dr Mark Stewart and the Air Ambulance and others made it possible for Don to have his last wish, which was to die at home.

He is survived by Therese his wife, Melissa and Alison his daughters and Ian his brother.

Goodbye for now our lovely Eadie… See you round like a rissole.

Melissa’s part (daughter)

One things for sure this world will never be the same again without Don or better known as Noddy to Ali, Mum and I.

Whenever I think of him it always makes me smile and a million memories come rushing to me. Each one making me happier. Dad had a wonderful sense of fun and a wicked wicked sense of humour. Which left a lot of people not quite sure, was he laughing at them? That made it funnier. Alison and I from a young age absolutely loved when he was being wickedly funny. Kids love it when someone can get away with saying and doing things naughty. Ali do you remember your first communion? I know mum and I sure do! Only 20 cents for a glass of water. We had some amazing times as a family, you couldn’t ask or wish for a better dad. He was always always there for you, and nothing was ever too much. The gap in our little family is going to be felt, but he is always with us, because he promised me once. I remember when dad was in hospital, his arms were tied with restraints, mum and I untied them and he stretched out his arms like he was going to fly away. I said jokingly, YOUR FREE! And he laughed and smiled it was the most beautiful smile. So I hope he is free and still has that beautiful smile, that I’ll never forget.

He deserves all the wonders of complete freedom and happiness.

Melissa Mackay
 

Alison’s part (daughter)

Where do I start, when trying to say goodbye, or a final “see you later” to you Dad? I know that you will always be with me & that I will meet you again, but for now you need to rest. I am so sorry for what happened to you at Royal North Shore Hospital, it was as you said “Shithouse”. We were lucky to have been with you at the end. I hope that you could feel all the love from us.

You & Mum gave us such a fun & rich childhood; there was always much laughter in the house. There are so many stories and great times that will always be with my heart. Thankyou for teaching me so many things its strange but I still remember each moment so clear when you taught me to tie my shoelaces, to dive properly into the pool, my times tables, telling the time on a real clock. All the times you watched me swimming by myself in the pool because I was always to scared jaws would get me if you weren’t watching. You would try to sneak away after a long while but I’d always catch you and you’d always come back out.

There were always lots of cuddles in our house, interesting games of monopoly, jobs if we admitted boredom, and there was always a right way to do jobs and a short time in which to begin them. That was just you though Dad and it became slightly amusing as we got older.

We have so many funny home videos of us four and others, but by far the best was our “Picnic at Don Rock!” you played Edie brilliantly and we have so many one-liners from it that will always make us laugh.

Thank you Dad for always being so helpful and kind to me. You always tried to make things better for me. All the phone calls over the last few years I will cherish. All the stories you told, all the silly voices we did. You taught me how to cope with things that were beyond my grasp, and always when the seriousness was over you’d get me chuckling again.

People tell me that I am like you in many ways and I am proud of that. You always taught me to stand up for myself too, which I am grateful for. You did so with such phrases as “Don’t take shit” and “are you gunna put up with that?” Dad you always taught me to be strong and fair. Two qualities that you have.

I will always love and cherish you, there have just been so many funny and warm times shared. I am so lucky to of have had a father like you, a friend like you and a teacher like you.

Take care Dad wherever you are right now, and always know how proud I am of you for who you are, how you lived, how you dealt with hardship’s, how you joked and how you loved.

I love you

Love always Ali

For Ebon C Ingersoll: 'I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would do for me', by brother Robert C Ingersoll - 1879

3 June 1879, Washington D.C, USA

I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would do for me. 
The loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where manhood’s morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were falling toward the west.  
He had not passed on life’s highway the stone that marks the highest point, but, being weary for a moment, lay down by the wayside, and, using his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust.  
Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship. For, whether in mid-sea or ’mong the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment jeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death.  
This brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock, but in the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic souls. He climbed the heights and left all superstitions far below, while on his forehead fell the golden dawning of the grander day.  
He loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to tears. He sided with the weak, and with a willing hand gave alms; with loyal heart and with purest hands he faithfully discharged all public trusts. 
He was a worshiper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand times I have heard him quote these words: “For justice all place a temple, and all seasons, summer.” He believed that happiness was the only good, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only religion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy; and were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom to his grave, he would sleep to-night beneath a wilderness of flowers.  
Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of death hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.  
He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his last breath: “I am better now.” Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, and tears and fears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead.  
And now to you who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved, to do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust. Speech can not contain our love. There was, there is, no greater, stronger, manlier man