The New Year was birthmarked by the death of my brother, John. That day, a poem for him poured out. It begins:
We’ve lost the head of our family –
our only brother.
Parents long gone, the gap is hazardous now.
It was read at his funeral by my older sister Jan, the one who now stands strong at the edge of that gap. The new head of our family.
In Los Angeles, vengeful wildfires tear the New Year apart, killing, destroying, laying waste. Wars in Gaza, Ukraine and a dozen African countries take no pause. Helpless, I bow before the inevitability of global barbarism.
Closer to home, January is the month for tending to the structures and supports in my own life. I take time for reflection and deep spiritual practice, for looking ahead, for clearing out cupboards and drawers and reorganising.
Nic comes two days a week to re-stain the decking in the courtyards, attend to many odd jobs, and paint doorframes and skirting boards. He spends more time inside than out, as the hot weather gives way to unrelenting rain. Nic discovers a new leak in the garage ceiling; I point to a water stain in the living area.
My heart sinks: in mid-2024 the garage, office and bathrooms were the subject of an insurance claim. Have the repairs failed? I contact the insurance company and they re-open my claim.
During the latest episode of torrential rain, water floods my office floor, along the sliding door. I’m about to go to bed when the storm breaks. I lay thick towels to absorb the water and check everywhere. It’s bedtime but I am afraid to undress – I need to be awake and ready for action with my hearing aids in and my shoes on. It’s the first time since Ken died that I’ve experienced a violent storm. The couple next door, who always look out for me, are away. I feel vulnerable and alone.
The storm passes, and eventually I go to bed.
Next, morning, Thursday, I report the old/new leak to the insurance company. A visit by internal and external assessors has already been scheduled for Friday morning to review my earlier reports. The case manager says she’s worried about my worsening situation and will put me on the list for a visit by their Make Safe team.
‘There are a lot of people needing help’, she says. ‘More bad weather is expected. But I’ll try and get someone there today’.
When the Make Safe builder phones, he says he’ll be here ‘last thing’.
‘Around dark?’ I suggest. ‘Yes, close to dark’, he agrees.
Near dark, he arrives, clambers on the roof of my two-storey home, and within ten minutes finds the source of the new leak affecting the garage. He puts some temporary coverings in place, then inspects the other areas of concern. After discussing his conclusions and next steps, he’s gone.
That evening, my neighbours phone from Brisbane airport.
‘Are you alright? Do you have power?’ they ask, anxiously. It another blessing; no power outage.
‘Our plane is delayed but we’ll be home by 10.’
Next day, Friday, the insurance assessors are here. Everyone I deal with is thorough and professional. It augurs well for future interactions – last year, the claims process was new to me and a rapid turnover of case managers left me battered.
I feel grateful that there are kind people, people who are good at their jobs, people who care about others. My situation is relatively minor compared to what others are experiencing in this severe weather event. Yet I am assured that every customer is important, no matter their predicament.
It brings me back to my brother. He was one of these practical people, quietly capable, marvellous at fixing things, always there to help my parents, me and my sisters throughout our lifetimes. How much I miss those two practical men in my life, lost within months of each other – my husband and my brother.
These lines for John apply equally to Ken –
He was the back-up crew, the one-man
road assist program, the call centre that never closed.
And my poem ‘For John’ concludes:
We’ve lost the head of our family –
our only brother
but not his quiet devotion, his truth to life, or the way
he made us feel when
we saw him at the gate
waiting to welcome us home.
Vale John Charles Tufrey, 1938-2025
12 Responses
Oh Ruth, I am so sorry for the loss of your dear brother. He was such a help to many, you say. Inside such a person, their generosity of spirit shines.
These are days of rattling rain and nerves. But, as you point out, we may be alone but our utilities are mostly functioning.
At least the heat is not cooking us.
Hope your repairers all perform well.
Thank goodness for such people!
Thank you Cecile – we have much to be thankful for.
Sorry for the loss of your brother, Ruth, so early in the year.
And sorry to hear of you going through that violent storm alone, with leaks in your house.
Glad to hear that the insurance people have been good so far. My father was insured with Australian Alliance Insurance, I think, when the earthquake hit his house in Kahibah. They were very good. Actually Dad had read every word of the policy and constantly rang them up. They visited several times, had to replace two walls of his bedroom- there was a tarpaulin over it for months- and they painted the house inside and out- twice, because their assessor said it had not been done properly the first time!
I understand you feeling alone without the practical help and advice of your husband and your brother- both having passed away within a short time of each other.
My sympathies to you Ruth- may the help of your family, friends and neighbours tide you over this period.
Thank you Sue. Your dad did well to master his home insurance policy … I guess the Newcastle earthquake was a pretty big incentive. The first few pages of my policy are all about “What we don’t cover’ !!
Ruth, you’re very stoic. A lot more going on with you than was obvious on Thursday!
Merv, I felt afterwards I should have apologised to you both for the mild chaos …perhaps I am still able to multi-skill after all!
Ruth , sorry that you had to endure that fearful storm-.I felt similarly during my recent car accident while an epic storm raged and I lost control while aquaplaning .You are also experiencing the loneliness of ‘singleness’ , so apparent in the simplest activities like opening a tin of fruit to the helplessness of coping with the bigger ‘stuff’ . Thinking of you with much love
Jan .
Thanks Jan; challenges large and small lie ahead – blessings too.
That huge storm was a bad way to start the year, I only had minor leaks luckily. Our whole Coastline has changed again due to it. So sorry to hear of your brother John passing too Ruth xx
Thank you so much Vicki. Images of all the sand that’s shifted were heartbreaking.
Dear Ruth, as you will know it is the inner storms that are the hardest to deal with! But when the storms of life rage around us, and we find that quiet within, we know we are resilient and strong…understanding ‘this too shall pass’.
And yet…how wonderful to have friends and helpers.
I am so very often thinking of you. Leonie xx
Thank you dear Leonie.Keep thinking ‘east coast’!