Just memories.

There are so many memories. But they are mine and wouldn’t have the same resonance if I tried to share very many, I don’t believe. 

 

You see, tomorrow, January 21, will be five years since Magucha died. Now it never has been my intention to solemnize this day into a “mourning” day.  Magucha would never have wanted that. It is after all just another day – the sun will still rise in the East and set Westward over the Indian Ocean (viewed from Perth).

 

Tomorrow will, in a sense, be a day of celebration for a life well lived. Magucha refused to be cast down. Her whole approach to life seemed to be “Life is to be lived. Live it. To the full!” And so she did. She was never still, just like a sparrow – my pet name for her was “pardalito” – Portuguese for “little sparrow”  – always busy with something or someone. 

 

Rather than adopt an attitude, “What can I expect from Life?” Magucha approached it differently with a, “What does Life expect from me?” So she was always up to something – more often than not helping some wayfarer who has stumbled on their journey through life. 

 

And I was glad to be part of that. And I respected her, almost unconscious, desire to help others. And I hope I helped too. I loved her, you see! 

 

But in retrospect one always remembers the better times – the many rushed journeys to hospital and the many days spent in hospital, just became part of the background and tend to recede further as time goes on. Just as does the fist full of medications she had to take twice a day – I still have her hospital pharmacy list.

 

Magucha was  tough. Ever since her late teenage years she had suffered from kidney failure – she died just short of 63 years old – so nearly 50 years of illness. This she endured with stoic fortitude, never complaining, always ready for tomorrow! She was like spring steel – always bouncing back with a smile and a thank you.

 

In many respects I think that what the American rebel and “Gonzo” journalist, Hunter S Thompson, wrote gives a good insight into Magucha’s whole approach to life:-

 

“ Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, “Wow! What a Ride!”

 

And it was a ride – being her partner, lover and friend! I wouldn’t have missed any of it. But it is the memory of her gentle side that I remember so fondly. She loved children. Having been told not to have a child - that having a child of her own would overload her compromised kidneys, she was so proud to give birth to a healthy little girl. Her love for Caroline was palpable and wonderful to see. 

 

Being the person she was she gave equal loving attention to Rob whom she refused to call “step son” but always “MY son Rob”. And I loved her for that – her innate kindness and sense of justice.

Then when the grandchildren arrived she was always there to offer help. She was their beloved “Vovo” (Portuguese for grandmother).

 

So, as you can see there are so many memories.

 

As the anonymous poet Atticus wrote:-

 

“What a beautiful thought” she said,

“that even death does not conquer love and sometimes even makes it stronger.”

 

And:-

 

“She had an uncanny energy for life, 

thankful for every little miracle it bestowed –

and it made her entirely impossible to live without.”

 

I know I have used this poem before but it fits my mood so I’ll end with it:-

 

My Wife

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The Great Artificer
Made my mate.

Honour, anger, valour, fire;
A love that life could never tire,
Death quench or evil stir,
The Mighty Master
Gave to her.

Teacher, tender, comrade, wife,
A fellow-farer true through life,
Heart-whole and soul-free
The August Father
Gave to me. 

             

                            Robert Louis Stevenson