The Patty project

Last night I sent a text to my friend asking if it was too late to visit; I’d had a late Nanna nap and my evening was thrown out of whack.

We’re both South American and grew up in Fairfield which means family was central as was food, community and spending time with friends. Growing up it wouldn’t have been odd to show up at a friend’s house in the evening and stay there for hours.

Sending that text was my way of saying, I’m coming, it’s going to be late and I’ll probably be there late too.

I arrived with a pizza at 8.30pm and was greeted by my friend who was chatting with her neighbour. We hug, and we head inside, we sit at the dining table and chat – until approximately 2am.

It’s been a few months since we last caught up. Before that, it was also a few months and before then, it was quite often.

Fourteen months ago her son died.

The Courts continue to call it an ‘unlawful death’ which is also known as a ‘wrongful death’; the technical definition describes this as “a situation where a person dies due to the negligence or intentional actions of another person or entity.

And yes, the case is still open with next to no answers of why her son died.

Fourteen months ago her son went to a Nightclub in the city to support a mate who had a DJ-ing gig. He left home dressed up and looking sharp; he joked with his Nanna about his looks cheekily smiling and teasing about how handsome he was. It was his last time playing this game with Nanna, the last time he dressed himself, looked in the mirror and the last time he’d see his family and home.

Last night my friend talked about THAT night; we often do.

The day before they all met at the Coroner’s office and viewed footage from the night. The suffering continues, the confusion continues – their broken hearts continue to be chipped away without clarity, understanding or reason.

There will never be any reason good enough as to why a young man left home healthy and happy yet never returned.

When we get together for our chats we cover all topics and of course, the heaviest is about the investigation, the court case and the continuous heartbreak.

My friend has endured the most significant sorrow of losing a child. Despite the hardship, she persists in getting out of bed every day, going to work, and continuing most of her relationships. However, her facial expressions, voice, and physical appearance bear witness to the ordeal she has gone through and still going through.

Whilst seated at the dining table her son is watching us; a majority of the home is a testament to his memory and there’s one particular photo that always catches my attention because from where I am seated it seems like he is gazing right at me whilst I’m talking to his mum.

He was a very handsome young man and although he was an adult at the time of his passing one would continue to see the same cheeky smirk or grin he often shared as a young child in most of the photos placed around the house. He is so missed; the house is quiet without him and the almost life-size photos help to keep his place in the home. They don’t scare or worry me but sometimes that particular photo has me looking around, trying not to meet the gaze when alone in the room.

Initially, we were ‘acquaintances’ when our daughters met at age 3 and stayed close friends until they started high school. As mentioned previously we are both of South American descent, both spent the majority of our lives in Fairfield and we both had partnered with Samoans and had 3 children (1 daughter & 2 sons).

My friend cherishes memories of my children, especially my daughter, who was welcomed into their home as if it were her own. One memory that stands out is my daughter’s talkative nature and her confidence in playing and singling along to their keyboard (with no formal teaching or skill) while everyone in the house went about their daily routines.

Our sons became friends by default but they didn’t share the same bond that our daughters did and that was okay. My friend and I have a 10-year age difference and this definitely was evident when we were both parenting young children; I saw her as calm, experienced and accomplished and on the other hand I felt out of balance, disorganised, and dysregulated.

We spent time together at the kid’s parties, sporting activities and when I went to their house to pick up my daughter. Back then I knew I liked them, their company, their family and I felt comfortable in their home (I could see why my daughter considered their house a second home) but I don’t think I ever considered her my ‘friend’ (not because there was anything wrong with her but more so because I didn’t feel worthy enough to be her friend).

The girls went to different high schools and their friendship dissolved. This happened naturally and there was no major fallout or reasons to point fingers at anyone. Life went on and we all went on our own individual paths. We moved out of the area and wouldn’t see or bump into anyone in the family for almost a decade.

Two years before my friend’s son died his father passed away and a short while before that the children’s maternal grandfather passed on too.

With thanks to social media, I found out about the passing of their loved ones and made contact to offer my condolences; I also watched the funeral service online because the passing of their father happened during the covid lockdown when only a few could gather for a funeral and burial.

I managed to be able to pop in for a quick (outdoor – socially distancing) visit a short while after the passing of their dad; I expressed to my friend that whilst the visit was to share my condolences and offer a gift I was also being selfish and felt the intense want and need to be in their presence during this difficult time.

It was hard to explain and we both later agreed that although it had been years between visits and conversations we were able to connect and communicate like we had seen each other recently.

Almost exactly twelve months after the passing of their father my friend’s son prepared himself for an outing, joked with his Nanna, left the family home he grew up in and never returned alive.

On the night this happened I was at home which was approximately 25 minutes away from their house and sadly one of my sons and I were caught up in a terrible disagreement that consumed most of the night and went into the early morning. We called it quits and ‘made up’ at approximately 1am.

The next morning, we woke up still visibly distressed from the arguments of the previous night. While having breakfast, I checked my phone and noticed a message from my daughter’s childhood friend.

‘My brother is in hospital and he may die (Not the exact words). Mum wanted me to let you know before you saw it online or in the news on TV’.

My breath was caught in my throat, and a primal cry welled in my gut, it erupted from my lips in a sound that didn’t sound human. Tears saturated my cheeks and I was overtaken by uncontrollable sobs. My sorrow was all-consuming, and even as my family gathered around me, I was unable to articulate what had happened.

My birthday plans for the coming days were cancelled and rightly so as he would take his last breath on my birthday; I made contact with the maternal Aunt and asked for the family’s permission to attend the hospital. A few hours later my daughter, granddaughter and I met the Aunt outside the hospital and we hugged and cried whilst holding each other.

The hospital corridors were filled with people of all ages waiting to say their final goodbyes; groups of men and women in their early twenties came in droves, some were silent, some sobbing, many emotionless and some not able to stand – all consumed with grief. On the final day, his family were the last ones to stay and say their goodbyes. Life support was switched off and in a short while that seemed like forever, he stopped breathing on his own.

At 23 years of age, my friend’s son was dead at no fault of his own, not from disease, a car accident, a freak accident or anything that could or would make sense.

I would visit the home often; we’d sit at the dining table and talk. There’d be mention of my daughter being so talkative and playing the keyboard as she sang along and everyone in the house went about their usual activities. We’d talk about my grandchildren, my parents, work and then we’d touch on her grief. I’d encourage her to get out of the house, to consider going back to work sooner than later, we’d cry, we’d reminisce, laugh and cry some more. When she had exhausted all her tears I’d cry alone and apologise.

The frequency of the visits began to decrease without any specific explanation, mainly due to the demands of life and other obligations. At times I’d send a text to check in and at times it felt as though her son would visit me and remind me that his mum needed company so I’d send a text and we’d arrange a visit. On a few occasions, we participated in a sound healing session but this was the extent of our friendship and the new norm for time spent together.

The night before my youngest child and my friend’s eldest son bumped into each other in the city and they snapped a selfie which my son sent to me. My heart was filled with happiness and this served as a timely reminder that I needed to contact my friend.

We spent approximately 6 hours seated at the dining table catching up; she compliments my appearance and I laugh because I’ve put on 3kgs since we last met but I’m wearing a new jumper that is different to what I typically wear and I find it amusing that whenever I wear it I receive compliments. As a person I have grown and we discuss the growth amongst other things in my life such as work and relationships.

My friend shares about her life and everything that no longer involves her son; I’m often challenged and I let her know this and we break it down and at times we agree to disagree.

I’ve not lost a child and I will never understand what it feels like to be woken one night to be told the news that your youngest child is dying in a hospital bed. I will never know what the drive was like from Western Sydney to St Vincent’s Hospital in Darlinghurst during the early hours of the morning with little news of what was happening as your child is put in an induced coma due to the swelling of his brain. Regardless of being present during a lot of it, I will never understand the depths of grief, loss, shock, and pain that my friend continues to experience.

They visit his grave frequently; they’ve developed companionship with other bereaved parents and relatives. I honestly share that I find this behaviour peculiar, but they justify it by stating that while I might go for a picnic in the park, for them the cemetery is comparable to a park, yet also provides them with solace and tranquillity as their loved one and others who have undergone comparable sorrow are there.

These conversations are common and an outsider may find them confronting or uncomfortable but we don’t – it’s our new normal. I learn from the conversations, the observations and the information provided. I hope that I’m holding and providing space for my friend rather than causing any discomfort or triggering her.

We eat cold pizza, sip on wine and lemonade. I only cried once and my friend didn’t cry at all. At almost 2am we check the time and realise how late it is and it’s time to cease the visit. We hug and I’m reminded that the court date is in August and then I get in my car and head home.

This morning I wake and start my day with breakfast; I’m asked how the family is and how my night went and I don’t respond with words – instead, I cry.

There is not much I can say or do in situations like this; most times I do not know how to behave or what to say so I just be me.

I show up.

My focus is, to be honest, intentional, authentic, vulnerable, open and supportive.

I don’t know how to be anything else.

I see a future for my friend; obviously, one that will continue to involve grief and loss but I also see how much she has to offer others. The calm, experienced and accomplished woman I was in awe of many moons ago is still present but now she also has added experience, learning and ‘tools’ to help others.

Although I didn’t know her son as an adult I feel that his energy is present, he’s observing and he’s looking out for his people. His life was cut short too early yet he managed to live life fully and made many friends and partook in equally as many adventures. I hope my friend is able to ‘live’ again and I hope that she will eventually go on the holidays they planned together. I hope to be witness to this and I hope that we all get the justice that our ‘Son’ deserves.

Nothing will ever bring him back but his family and loved ones deserve answers, justice and closure.

#JusticeForWoody

#Pattysjourney #keepingitreal #griefandloss #bekind