My brother David

A few years back Robyn and I went to watch a performance. A story I had written about her in 2005 had been turned into an interpretive dance piece. We sat still in the audience watching it play out ahead of us. In walking back out to the brightly lit foyer afterwards we stepped to the side and had a giggle…meeting people who have had the worst happen to them doesn’t mean that there isnt a space for a big laugh now and again. Robyn has shared her story of David with you all.

Have a read.

Robyn – its National Missing Persons Week. How many years has David been missing, what were the circumstances around his disappearance?

David went missing in Iran in November 1993.  He was on an extended trip travelling through Europe and had decided to travel home overland through Turkey and Iran and on to India before heading back to Australia.  He was an architect and interested to visit the various monuments in these countries.  He had been staying in Tehran with a family he had met whilst travelling overland from Turkey.  He was last seen leaving their house very early one morning on November 11, in a taxi headed for Tehran airport.  He was due to fly to Shiraz to visit the ruins of Persepolis, and then meet up with the family in a few days time. He never made his rendezvous.  It was a month later before we (David’s family in Australia) learned that something was terribly wrong.  For several weeks we had been surprised not to hear from David – he had been in regular contact with family and friends.  We all just hoped that it would be difficult for him to contact home due to where he was travelling.  This was pre mobile phones and emails, so communication was far less frequent.  When he failed to call before his flight home, we suspected that something was wrong but still had no proof and hoped for the best.  My parents and I headed out to the airport to meet David’s flight on the evening of December 8, 1993, only to watch all the passengers disembark without David.  This was the defining moment when we knew that something was terribly wrong. It was another month before we traced David’s last movements to the family in Iran (tracked back from an address on a box containing a kilim that he had bought in Iran and shipped home).  Despite family travelling to Iran and extensive investigations involving AFP and DFAT, we have had no further news of his whereabouts in over 18 years.

How do you acknowledge the anniversary as it comes around?

There are so many anniversaries that are significant.  The last day we saw him, the day he was due home, birthdays, Christmas.  The day he went missing, November 11, was also my parents wedding anniversary.  It is also marked by Remembrance Day, which is now particularly poignant for me.  When people pause for a minute silence on that day, I think of David.

Your parents passed away without finding David – did they ever come to terms with being able to sit with ‘not knowing?’

Mum and Dad both died longing for news of what had happened to David.  I don’t think they ever came to terms with not knowing and I believe that they both died with broken hearts.  It makes me so sad that the final years of their life had to be so hard.  I have to make a conscious effort to remind myself that they were not always sad and that a large part of their lives had been happy.  It’s easy to remember the worst times when they are the freshest memories. I keep a wedding photo of theirs in a frame at home.  It’s a close up of just the two of them. They are young and look so happy.  When Mum died I felt like it had been so long since I could remember her being happy in any way. That’s when I got this photo out and framed it. I keep it there to remind me that there were good times.

How do you handle the question – have you got any siblings?

It really depends on the situation. It still conjures up very raw emotions for me, even after all this time. I never say that I am an only child, but how much information I share about David’s circumstances depends a lot on who I am with.  Most people don’t cope well when you tell them that your brother is missing. It’s not a situation people are familiar with and as such, don’t know how to respond. The result can some be insensitive comments – a situation I try and avoid.  Sometimes I will say that I had a brother but he died.  If I feel comfortable, I will share my story.

Whats does missing persons week mean to you?

A moment to pause and reflect.  It’s the first week in August which is also my Mum’s birthday – so again anniversaries seem inextricably tied together with “missing”.

Missing seems to permeate everything.  It’s a huge part of who I am.

 

For more information about National Missing Persons Week or about the only support service in Australia that responds to families click here.

 

Rituals for the lost, is it possible?

But your name is written on my heart forever

And there is never a day when I do not search for your face

Somewhere, everywhere, anywhere

I see a turn of a head

A back that reminds me of you

And I hurry to look more closely

Only to feel despair again

Because, of course, it is not you

D. McRae McMahon (2003)

 

There is much that is missing when a person vanishes. There is the oscillation between absence and presence and more profoundly there is the absence of ritual. I began working with families and friends of missing people in Sydney Australia in 2003. Missing soon consumed my focus and I began to notice gaps that I hadn’t noticed before. I noticed that there wasn’t a section in the newspaper that allowed for people to share their loss, to share what it meant to not have a missing person in their lives or to even publicly notify others that a loss had occurred.

When we think of missing we immediately picture posters with multiple images, not unlike headshots, that only capture the name of the person. The posters only serve to identify the person as missing, not as a person in their own right.

A book published in 2011 by Jenny Edkins Missing Persons and Politics reviewed the power of the images of those missing after the September 11 attacks in the US. The book outlines that missing persons posters serve as a ‘precious remnant, a trace, a proof the person exists. This is a person, a missing person, they proclaim’. So to in the celebrating, so far, is the opportunity for the left behind to say this is who I am missing and this is what they meant to me.

Missing cuts across all sectors of the community and missing can occur in a multitude of circumstances – abduction, homicide, mental health concerns, parental child abductions and misadventure but the commonality is that in the very moment where missing occurs there is a loss that a person left behind is enduring.

I began to ask families, in the early days of working with them, what they did to acknowledge their loss. Some found that a ritual, like a memorial service, was not useful as it was an outward sign that the family had given up hope of a return,. For others they focused on providing chances to come together, some held picnics and some found that just sharing in an activity that the missing person had enjoyed provided them with the space to reconnect with the person that was not here. One of the ideas we shared was to introduce the concept of a celebration, so far. By signaling so far the pressure was not placed on the family to concede anything – to concede hopefulness or hopelessness – it just provided the space between loss and remembering and it was a way to come together and share what the person had offered without labeling them just as missing.

While death and its finality provides the chance to follow a clearly worn path both in religiosity and practicality the process of missing is far more ambiguous. In allowing people the space to create their own rituals of remembering the concept of an ambiguous or unresolved loss might be far better understood by the wider community and in turn create better opportunities for support for those enduring such losses.

Its National Missing Persons Week here in Australia, starting today. I have seven scheduled posts to cover the week. Drop back in or follow #nmpw on twitter to join the conversation.

Have you ever thought about the impact of the loss when a person is missing?

 

 

 

The nest egg.

I watched the family of this poor boy try to find words to convey their trauma and sadness on TV this morning. I watched the camera pan to his siblings sitting to the left of their bewildered parents and I wondered where would they go from here. Not in the years to come but today. Where would you turn if you lost one of your lights? The news reports explained that Thomas was out on his first night to popular area of Sydney, the CCTV footage showed him walking hand in hand with his girlfriend and then he steps out of camera. The power of knowing what happens next makes you want to press pause and rewind over and over again almost trying to keep him in view, keep him safe.

I can clearly remember sitting with a family a few years back in counselling. I had already been working for a few years with people living with life altering traumas – no two stories were the same, they all showed different traits of resilience, of strength. The family and I were talking about the grief of losing a child – replaying over and over the events that led to the sadness, the rawness of approaching anniversaries and that impending doom that nothing would ever be the same ever again. It was an uncomfortable place for me to be sitting too – I was heavily pregnant with my first child and trying my hardest to be supportive and engaging while my own baby squirmed inside of me. I remember as we catalogued the pain they were experiencing – both physical and emotional – that it was like a nest egg. Parenting is like having a nest egg – a giant fund that you contribute to for years and years only for to find yourself one day looking in and realising that it had all vanished in the blink of an eye. That all those years of juggling, of working hard and of hoping for that day that you could sit back and reap the rewards, were stolen from you. I cant imagine walking along one path for so long and then the world throw you a giant detour.

If you take a moment to read the blogs, the magazines, the news sites about parenting you find that the elusive work life balance gets thrown around on a daily basis. We wish away the early years full of sleep deprivation and tantrums, we struggle through the primary school years where it feels like the bell rings almost 5 minutes after school starts  and then we hold our breath as kids reach the years where they dip their toes in the world of independence.

There is no way of holding them back, of keeping them wrapped up at home because like many of us; we went out at night, we found ourselves in precarious situations and many are still here to tell the story. The randomness of it all means that there can be no preparation for it. No amount of counselling or supportive words changes what has happened. So sad.

How do you juggle the need for kids to assert their independence with your fear of what could happen to them?

 

Missing You – a TSIB book review

Over the last week its only been about missing people in my little corner of the world. Last week I spoke at the National Missing Persons Conference about the disconnect between the way the media speak about families of missing people and the way these families describe themselves. In the telling of the missing persons story, their stories seem to get lost in the process. The story of being left behind is not often loud because the need to search is the priority.

One of the handful of families that attended the conference last week was Loren. Loren and I met online last year through the editor of Mamamia. I recognised her from her little profile pic that Id squinted at the morning of the conference so that I knew who to look out for. Lucky she was wearing her glasses. Loren’s brother Dan is missing, the day we met in real life was a year to the day since she’d seen him. The word yearn is not a word that pops into peoples vocabularies these days but Loren’s pain and desperation and longing for ways to find her brother and bring him home radiate out of her. Her yearning is visible. In a sea of unfixable challenges the need to fix it for her is palpable. The same can be said for most missing persons cases whether we hear them face to face or from afar.

Five Mile Press sent me a copy of Justine Ford’s new book to review on my blog because of my interest in the area of missing.  Missing You – Australia’s most mysterious unsolved missing persons cases – catalogues twenty stories of unsolved missing persons cases in Australia. Ive read a lot of true crime stories over the years and especially so in the last year as Ive moved from the counselling world to the research space – its been an interesting ride. Justine’s stories are told with respect and compassion about the multitude of situations people find themselves in when they vanish and the trauma of being left behind. Some of the names – Jamie Herdman, Christine Redford and Bung Siriboon- were familiar to me and others weren’t. They were the ones I was interested in.  Families of missing people, the longer the person remains lost, have to compete for space to get their story noticed, they have to find ways to engage and then reengage the public to remind them that they are still searching, still yearning for answers. In the telling of a story in Justine’s book she was able to share a piece of that person – it made them more than a missing person, it made them real. The cataloguing of clues, of Police insight (which seemed to have been provided with cooperation in this book) and the perspectives of loved ones, of forensic professionals and the stories of those that are found but not yet reunited with whoever may be searching for them is provided with enough space to give you a sense of what it might mean to not know where someone is.

One of the later chapters sums up the need to keep the interest alive – no matter how much time has passed. Linda Stilwell, was snatched from a funpark in St Kilda in 1968 at the age of 7. Her mother recalled that even back then people expected her to cry more than she did. Like many of the families Ive met over the last decade the challenge in living with a loss that may not be permanent means that those conventional ways of grieving, of releasing the sadness about the loss makes it difficult. It makes it difficult for people to truly understand what it means to live in that space of someone being both here and gone ‘all I would like is to be able to give Linda a funeral, not be thrown away like a piece of rubbish’. Telling her story 4 decades later and still pushing for the truth through the coronial system just goes to show that families of the missing cant simply move on from their grief.

Its not often that a book gives a space to the grief of an unresolved loss – this book isn’t just for people with personal experience of searching of missing but for the wider community wanting to understand more about the need to bring them home. Its unfathomable that someone can be here in a moment, gone the next and that no one has the pieces that complete that jigsaw puzzle. Someone, somewhere, must know something.

Missing You is out now. For more information about Justine Ford’s new book click here

For more information about Loren O’Keefe’s search for her brother, join her search on FaceBook.

Linking up with #ibot

What garden path? a TSIB interview

Tash contacted me a few months ago asking for some room to explore her space between her man and his illness. After a few speed bumps we managed to get the interview together and what we finished up with was a poignantly funny piece about living for now, having a love and hanging with your soul mate. I get a little frustrated by the continual sharing on social media sites of inspirational quotes – they depress me, more than uplift me as we can’t all be up all the time. Its ironic then that I think Tash’s next business venture should be  writing little manifesto’s for just getting on with it!

Its bloody cold in Sydney at the moment, so pop on a pair of daggy old slippers (if you’re in these parts or swan about with your skin showing if you’re lucky enough to be in a warmer climate) and sit back and learn about what it means to love, in sickness and in health.

 

Tash…tell me a little about you

Hello!  My name is Tash and I am 26 years old. In the past year I have moved to Ballarat in Victoria, with my partner Chris. I really like to make things, dance in my lounge room on Saturday nights in my pyjamas, read-lots and I love comedy of all sorts. One of the most important things I think we need in life is to laugh. And be comfortable. (Hence the pyjama pants)

I live with my ‘Chef-man’ Chris, Matilda (our Border Collie) and Mary (our cat). We moved to Ballarat from South Australia because we were not happy in SA and we needed a fresh start. We both were in jobs that were unfulfilling, and we could not work out where to go next. We had had a few years of really average things happening-Chris has a form of bowel cancer called ‘Lynch’s Disease’ (officially called the very scary sounding, Hereditary Nonpolyposis Colorectal Cancer) and quite frankly we were both emotionally tired and felt like we were facing a dead end.

So we packed up our life, put our houseboat up for sale (yes we lived on a houseboat!) and drove to Ballarat. Now we live next door to my brother and sister in law-we even have a gate in out back fence. I feel like I escaped. I am so happy in Ballarat and love our life we are building together.

What makes you love Chris like you do?

So many things Sarah! I think he is marvelous…right now he is sitting across from the couch from me, watching QI with a glass of wine. He is laughing at Bill Bailey, with our Border Collie curled up next to him. I feel very lucky to have his love, I feel very blessed to be sharing my life with him. I like that he can laugh at me when I am grumpy and make me laugh at myself too. We play cards together at the pub. He writes me cards for Mothers Day from Matilda and Mary (our cat), his laugh is deep, his soul is large, he has kind eyes and a slow smile that creeps across his face.

When we met we would talk for hours, all through the night. He is the strongest person I know. He has to face the reality that one day, the cancer will come back. He has to have tests every three months, for the rest of his life. He does not get the luxury of remission.

We are 23 years in age apart. We fell in love whilst working together (oh God it was complicated!) We danced around the concept for about a year before we finally bit the bullet, had a massive fight on New Years Eve and ended up kissing that same night, somewhere on the Murray River.

I think one of the main reasons I love him is because he adds so much happiness to my quality of life. We love going for long country drives together, poking about in markets and spending nights in with cheese, wine and a good movie. We are a partnership and we support each other in the ways that the other can not.

How does illness live between the two of you – is it there some days and then forgotten on others or is it always in the background?

Chris has a hereditary form of bowel cancer. It is in his DNA, his father died from the same form of cancer, and his brother has the same cancer too. (a real shitter eh?) We have dealt with numerous operations and rounds of chemo. Chris is currently in the clear, but he did have a tumor removed from his shoulder last month. Lynch’s Disease has an increased rick of getting other cancers too because of the mutations in his DNA.

We live in limbo. We do not plan a future, perhaps further than a year. Being 26, most of my friends are starting to think about kidlets and marriage but Chris and I know that we will not have kids, because his cancer is hereditary, which is something which I have learnt to accept, as much as one can anyway. Our everyday is the same. We live exactly the same life that everyone else does – rego, bills, dreaming of holidays – but there it is, always hanging around the edges, the sinister. We are scared that it will come back. Every three months, there is the slow build up of tension before his tests (Chris calls it his turkey basting-I’ll leave it to your imagination!) then the waiting for the results, then the release when it is all-OK.

I think the thing that we try to remember is that if we did not follow our hearts (as clichéd as it sounds) we would not be sharing this experience of our relationship. It was not an easy decision for either of us to let go of our individual fears and jump in.

I definitely do not regret it, and I am pretty sure Chris does not either!

How do you sit not knowing what the future will hold? 

I have never worried about the future prior to Chris and I definitely do not focus on it now. I have learnt that you never ever, ever know which garden path you will end up dancing down, and that is honestly what I love about life the most. This may sound strange to some people, but I would rather have a wonderful time with Chris now, and in the future when something does happen to Chris, I can hold onto the wonderful memories we have created. I know, that because of my age, that there is a possibility that I will have another partner in life-but then again, I may not. Who knows? We concentrate on the here and now, and what makes us happy. I hope this does not come across as sounding frivolous and shallow. But there is no point in worrying. You will miss things that happen right in front of your nose.

What would you say to people in a similar situations?

Do what makes you happy. Accept whatever may come will come. Tell everyone you love them, all of the time.

Live for today.

Make sure you are happy with your doctor, and then trust everything he says. Do not Google any medical terms/symptoms EVER. Be gentle to yourself. Utilise services that are available to you, social groups, doctors, everything. Remember that when things are really, really shit (and they will be!) that you will be OK.

Surround yourself with people that make you feel safe. Make sure you laugh a lot and fill your life with colour and love.

I think the main thing I have learnt is that I am strong. I can deal with most things that come my way. That is not to say I do not cry, or get angry, or feel weak some days. I have learnt to be very content in the right now.

To not worry about the future.

To not worry if the couch is old, or if we have an old bomb of a car, or if we do not know what we will be doing in five years.

I wake up every morning with a big black dog that runs in and jumps on us as soon as she senses we are awake, a little cat that sleeps on my feet at night and next to a man who loves me….even with bed hair.

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Thanks Tash, its hard not to get caught up in collecting what we thing we need when what we want is some chances to laugh and be surrounded by people we love. I must admit Im also partial to a poke around at a good market too! Tash also writes a blog which you can visit here, if you liked Tash’s story and you’re new to TSIB jump over here and read some of the other interviews. Im always happy to chat with other people about their space in between…

Oh and yes, Dr Google is never a good idea.