Willow | Kumuls
Uncle Arthur
In 2009, Arthur passed away in a Coffs Harbour nursing home. A former Vietnam veteran, he slipped away after losing the lottery of life. He was in his 60s, only 10 years older than me.
We were close. It has taken me a while to come to terms with it.
On my last visit to Coffs, he was on the front foot and typical Arthur when he said, "have you heard? I've got cancer!"
"You should have that seen to," I replied. To which he laughed for as long as his body would allow.
When everyone left, he asked if I had any "wheels". He wanted me to take him to "Russell Crowe's pub". He was pretty crook and had trouble walking.
The nurses said no but he insisted.
"Alright, just make sure he takes one of these before five o'clock." The nurse handed be a plastic bag with two pills.
At first, none of this seemed appropriate. But Arthur was dying. For months now the doctors said he had less than a few weeks to live. So in the latter stages of life, the rules of propriety seem less important.
Born in Sydney in 1949, Arthur was a South Sydney supporter. He was my mother's brother and was brought up in what was then the family home in East Hills.
In the 1960s, he actually volunteered to join the Army, he was too young so the recruitment office in York Street sent him back home. He argued with his mother to sign the form. Incredibly, she eventually relented and let her son go.
Arthur's little brother Ross was a mad Canterbury supporter. I say 'little' with reflective notions. Ross was by no means little and he passed away from related illnesses some 15 years ago. He was the youngest of the siblings and the first to go.
I remember their rooms in East Hills. Ross's clippings of Canterbury players above his bed - a young Chris Anderson scoring a try for the Berries. Down the hall was Arthur's room, with clippings of South Sydney players. His favourite was Ron Coote.
The oldest brother in the family was Brian. He died in hospital just five years ago. Their father John was already long gone, having passed away in the 1950s. Their mother Mary was laid to rest the 1980s. So Arthur and my mother were the last in their family.
Arthur and I walked slowly down the hall of the nurses home. He made some crass joke about a statue of Saint Mary - better left unsaid. It was a catholic run establishment and Arthur was an atheist. He kept laughing at the irony of it all.
I drove us from the boredom of the home and towards the pub, where a wall adorned with posters of Souths greeted us. Arthur again insisted that the pub belonged to Russell Crowe. I don't even know if this is true. But the Hollywood actor and Rabbitohs' owner/supporter was a local of sorts - apparently he got into strife there years earlier. In any case, Arthur reckoned Russell was a top bloke... and that was good enough for me.
We had a beer, played the pokies and talked football. I picked his brain for anecdotes about his life, and he was happy to share them with me.
My wife and sons met us there later and we all had a meal together. Arthur was struggling and it was difficult for him, but I know he loved every second of it. I took him back to the nursing home afterwards, and we watched the sun go down in the carpark. Arthur was not prone to sentiment, but on this day he wanted to see the sunset.
"Check this out mate. What a beaut sight."
Apart from goodbyes, those were the last words we had. I got the call a few days later, Arthur finally nodded off for the last time. It was expected but still a shock. His daughter, my cousin, was with him. She let me know that he mentioned our trip to the pub. He joked about the last time he was allowed out for drink. That was the hardest part - still a little difficult now.
My mother said she was alone. Of course we rallied as a family, bringing in the extended clan of children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews to let her know that she is not alone. There were more of us then ever.
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