A Christmas Reflection 2012

A Christmas Reflection

This year it was a little harder to leave work on Christmas Eve, for most of my patients it is their last Christmas they will celebrate with loved ones.  For a lot of children it will be the last one they have with one of their parents.

It reminded me of the last Christmas I spent with my Dad.  I can still recall some memories of the day.  It was 35 years ago, I was 12 years old and my brother, Rod was 8.  We woke up early, probably around 6.30, the house was quiet, as we went downstairs and sat down in the lounge, in front of our little Christmas tree.  We knew better not to disturb our parents.  Dad had been sick for so long, and so we had learnt to be extra quiet, and patient.  We quietly, planned out which presents we would open and in what order.  It was a lean year, hospital bills and limited income meant presents were down to 4 each.  We knew one was clothes, we always had one with clothes.  One was a board game we were sure of that, one was usually something we had asked for, and then there was a gift from our Aunty Joan.

After sitting quietly for what seemed like ages, we thought maybe we should make a little noise, so they knew we were waiting, after all it was Christmas Day.  So we began shaking the boxes, which we suspected had our games in.  Mum did emerge, and we asked her if we could open the presents.  But she said no, she said we could have some breakfast while we waited for Dad to get up.  There was such a routine for Dad getting up, he had very advanced illness and had become quite frail.  He shuffled to the bathroom, and then there was the insulin and blood sugar testing to be done, and he needed something to eat.

Rod and I continue to sit in the lounge room.  We loved our Dad too much to ask him to hurry.  By about 8 am, he was sitting in his chair in the lounge and it was time to open up the presents.  In a few minutes they were opened, I remember I got 2 board games, one was Mystery Date and the other was Monopoly.  Rod got Chopper Strike.   We were happy with our gifts.  By 9am, Dad was back resting in bed. 

When I think back on it now, I see so clearly he was dying, and yet he made a huge effort to spend that last Christmas watching us open our gifts.  As children, we knew our Dad was very sick, but didn’t appreciate it was our last one together.  I am so glad, that we waited to open our few presents.  What seemed like a long time from first waking up that Christmas morning was in reality such a short time.  I know my brother and I would gladly trade every other Christmas gift we have ever received to still have Dad in our lives.  For me, it was the last best childhood Christmas, it was never the same after that year.  In fact, until I had my own children, I found it a sad time of year, with a place at the table always missing. Still do some years, this is one of them.

Memories……

This year, as you celebrate Christmas, I encourage you to hug your kids and grandchildren and parents if they are still in your lives, just one extra time.  Presents are soon forgotten, and often discarded; but relationships are the precious gift God gives to us for a season of time.  Never take it for granted, because one day, it will only be a memory.

Have a blessed Christmas.

Decima

ANZAC Reflection 2012

I wanted to write a reflection this year to give honour to two of my heroes.

Roderick Joseph Wyatt

The first is my Grandad, Roderick Joseph Wyatt.   He was born in Gladstone, on 2^nd February 1894, his father was a merchant ship captain.  My Grandad joined the Royal Australian Navy 100 years ago, in 1912, he was 18 years old, The Great War (WW1) was yet to start.  He was allocated to a number of different ships, including HMAS Sydney (1913-1916), HMAS Brisbane (1916-1918), HMAS Melbourne (1918-1919) and HMAS Australia (1919).

HMAS Sydney (I)

 He worked as a Stoker, 2^nd class, in the boiler rooms.  This was certainly no easy job; it was back breaking work, to keep the engines of the great ships turning, and moving.  The ships he served on were often under attack, and he was on the HMAS Sydney when it was in battle with the German Cruiser the SMS Emden on 9^th November 1914.  Luckily for us, they were victorious in sinking this ship.  He served for 7 years at war, after this my Grandfather returned home to his wife and they began a family.  My Grandad continued to work hard to provide for his family and lived till he was 82.  I was fortunate to know him as a young child, and enjoyed his many stories.  He retired to Magnetic Island, off Townsville, and would take daily walks along Horseshoe Bay Beach.

He rarely mentioned his Navy years, and apart from his service record we have little understanding of what those years were like.  We have a few photos of him at the time, and a written piece on the medals he received.  From reading other accounts from sailors, it was clear that his courage and willingness to service his country, and perform his duty is something that deserves respect and honour.  They may not be called ANZAC in true form as those in the Army corps, but they still shone the ANZAC spirit.  The tenacity to dig in under fire, to fight against the odds, to stand by a mate, all with a sense of humour and a bit of larrikinisms; was the spirit that made this country great, and keeps us proud of all servicemen and women.

Today I remember my Grandad and the legacy he left behind.  I will always remember him with fondness, and much pride.  Thank you for answering the call, knowing the high cost that military service may ask of you.
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Harold Connett

My second hero, I never got to meet.  His name was Harold Connett, he was my Uncle.  He served in WW2, as a Navy pilot. He left his home in America to serve his country.  He gave the ultimate cost, his life.  He was shot down somewhere over the Pacific, dying in a watery grave, known only to God.

When I was last in the States, my brother showed me some personal letters, papers surrounding Harold’s service life, as well as his personal life.  It was the saddest reflection to read accounts and letters, to feel the grief that the family bore, the initial hope that the report of ‘missing in action’ might actually mean he could still be alive.  They lived this hope for some time, until the report from other officers took away that hope.  As a mother and wife, I cannot begin to imagine the pain that my Grandparents endured, a pain that never truly goes away.  I have had the privilege of hearing beautiful childhood stories from Hugh, Theo and Hartley (Harold’s brothers and sister), and their sibling grief as they shared what the profound loss of their brother had on their lives.  It is a difficult sorrow to bare, no grave to visit, only a telegram and letter, just words to bring the dreadful news.

Harold Connetts' Medals

In the next few days, I will go to the beach, to the Pacific Ocean on our shores, to throw forth some rosemary, to remember my Uncle.  I recently watched the series on TV called “The Pacific”, and with each episode I’d think of Harold.  The bravery, the courage, the determination that these men showed is inspiring to say the least.  I am humbled and proud to call Harold my Uncle, and knowing his brothers, and stories of my own father, I know he would have been an amazing person to know and love.

His siblings may have aged, but Harold still remains the handsome young man in his naval uniform, in a portrait that hangs proudly in my Uncle Hugh’s home.

“Age will not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.
Lest We Forget.”

Remembered with humbled gratitude and never forgotten.