Life is but a stopping place
a pause in what's to be
a resting place along the road
to sweet eternity

we all have different journeys,
different paths along the way,
we are all meant to learn some things
but never meant to stay

Our destination is a place
far greater than we know
for some the journey's quicker
for some the journey's slow

But when the journey finally ends
we'll claim a great reward
and find an extraordinary peace
together with the Lord 

Thursday

My plane touched down at 7.25am on Wednesday February 1, 2012. I’d been whirring around the world for about 36 hours; my usual 24 hour flight lengthened with stops at Dubai and Brunei. My favourite younger brother, and only younger brother, Wayne, and his friend Joe picked me up at the airport. We went for a quick coffee before heading back to the flat. Two hours later a text arrived from my mum. My Aunty Joy was extremely ill. She was in intensive care and not responding to treatment. It was looking grim.

Christened Joy Pamela Ostler, Joy had had a long life of illness, it started when she was diagnosed with Bronchiectasis at around age 4, and a life of severe and complicated sickness followed, with one complete lung to be removed and a portion of the other lung at age 12. Joy was part of a loving family, and her mother, also herself Pamela, despairing of her illness, and told her "You will never make old bones". But it did little to dampen her love for life. I will always and forever remember Joy with a smile on her face. Always.

Amongst her life accomplishments, and there were many, Joy had two children, my cousins, Carol and Gary, and the four grandchildren, Adair and Danica, Julian and Tessa. And while she was a completely hands-on and dedicated wife and mother who threw herself into the role with great gusto, Joy was so much more.

She was the indispensible person at John’s right hand side, his confidante, friend and number one supporter when it came to their many varied entrepreneurial ventures in the hospitality field where she worked here, there and everywhere she was needed. (And it wasn’t just Joy that worked alongside John, all through our college years, us kids could be found working in any one of John’s many hospitality ventures. Speaking for myself and my brothers’ Michael and Wayne, those jobs helped pay our way through college - if I never said thanks John Stickland at the time, I'd like to say it now!) When Joy wasn’t working with John, she was closely involved with her own interests, which included fundraising and helping those she saw as more needy, than herself. Joy thrived and delighted in life and refused to let illness get her down.

The Stickland’s were crazy mad footy fans at a time when AFL was the only thing that counted. Essendon was, and still is, very much their team. And on any Saturday’s Joy Could be found working at the footy, or barracking wildly and cheering loudly at a match if she was really lucky! Otherwise she could be found working at one of the many sandwich bars and coffee shops that they ran during their working lives.

Joy was brought up as a member of the regent Baptist church and attended Sunday School and services from a very young age. She met John who was also a member at Regent and they married there soon after.

A few years later they had their dream home built out at Clayton and found the Syndal Baptist church where Carol and Gary attended Sunday School. Life was busy but Joy was always drawn to church, and made the most of it whenever she could. In later years Joy and then John were able to reconnect with the church as full time members and take part in the many activities and enjoy the fellowship of the ministers and the congregation.

Joy was my dad’s younger sister. My parents Max and Lorraine were close to Joy and her husband John, who for some reason we always called John Stickland. My dad and Joy maintained a close friendship effortlessly throughout their lives. I suppose it was easy to see why, they liked each other, it was that simple. Much more than a token sibling relationship based on visits at Christmas and birthdays, it was consistently strong. It taught me a good lesson about staying close to your brothers and sisters.

When we were little, Carol and I did calisthenics together for a short while. We got to somersault and dance and twirl steel rods and clubs and do all sorts of fun things, and we loved it! If memory serves me correctly, Aunty Joy made our outfits. I’ve still got the photo of us at the annual comps with Carol as the little Cherokee Indian, and me as the great green Goblin – which to be perfectly honest; I was a bit miffed about. The only saving grace was the outfit which was cute enough, if you fancy lime green satin with a jester’s hat of bells twinkling gaily around your head like the Jolly Swagman! Carol was the real star though, going through to seniors in callisthenics, and now, her daughter Danica has carried on the tradition. With her health permitting Joy never missed a club concert or the very important end of year trips to the Ballarat Comps. She loved following her daughter and then her granddaughter as they excelled at each new level of competition. Lifelong friendships were formed with the girls and their parents which still thrive today.

Ever since I can remember our Christmases were spent seaside hopping from one spot to another down on the Mornington Peninsula foreshore before settling at Rye with the Stickland’s. Us kids messed around and bickered and swam and caused trouble – and generally had a ball. As far as I could see, so did our parents. We were lucky kids.

But as time went by the harsh Victorian winters took their toll. That’s when Joy and John started to take their annual holidays up in Queensland where they spent many a sundrenched holiday with my parents on the Gold Coast, down on the sand lazing in sheltered spots and walking along the beach paths. And then they would head further up north to stay with Wendy and Jane at Caboolture from where Joy loved to travel and see all the natural beauty spots: Maroochydore, Noosa Bribie and the stunning Fraser Island.

Friday

Two days after my mum sounded the alarm about Joy’s situation, Wayne and I were on our way out to the Monash Medical Centre. Soon I would be reunited with the cousins I hadn’t seen in, well, I don’t know how many years, and their adult children who I’d never met. Making my way up to Ward 44 I felt surreal, like I was in some sort of film clip.

I got out of the lift and walked slowly towards the waiting area where John sat, ashen face with his mobile phone glued to his ear – there were a lot of people wanting to know about Joy’s condition. Five minutes later Gary walked out of Joy’s ward. He had rushed straight from work earlier to be here and was dressed immaculately in suit and tie. He looked exactly as he looked last time I saw him, all those years ago. I bit my lip to stop the tears from flowing. “I’m so sorry.” I said and hugged him. He just looked at me.

We waited until John’s fathers’ sister, Aunt Beryl came out of the ward and then John nodded to me. “In you go.” He said. With butterflies lurching about in my stomach, I stepped slowly towards the room and went in. A single bed was in the middle of the room where Joy lay. She was sitting up with her eyes wide open, and I kid you not, she gasped when she saw me, and broke into the most massive smile.

“Sue!” She said grasping my hand.

Joy Stickland!” I said, trying to stop the tears but failing miserably.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she said.

“I can’t either.” I said.

I’d been living in London on and off for six years. I was back because of a promise to my mum who had tickets to see Rod Stewart on the Gold Coast. If it wasn’t for that, I might not have been there now. At the time nothing was more important than the date with my mum. As it turned out nothing was more important than being in Ward 44 and seeing the look on Joy’s radiant face when I came in. She was all the more surprised because she didn’t know I was back. Or maybe she did, but with the medication, she’d forgotten. Either way it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way she beamed when she looked at me and said, “And now the story is complete.” I’ll never forget that moment and I know that John who was there in the room with us, won’t either. I cried when she said it and I’m crying now – which is awkward when you’re sat in the middle of the State Library.

Joy always loved that I wrote books. “How many have you written now?” she would ask whenever she saw me. Part of what I loved was that she took an avid interest in what I was doing, just like she did with her kids, and her grandkids. And no matter what answer I gave her, good bad or indifferent, she’d always have something light and funny and encouraging to say. Not that she avoided saying the real things – the things that maybe you didn’t want to know – but you were better off for knowing them. It was always such pleasure to catch up with her, she had the knack of making you feel good about yourself.

Back in Ward 44 we were all gathered together: John, Gary and his wife Robyn, Joy’s grandson Adair and his girlfriend Genna, Wayne and Joe, and Carol. We sat around Joy’s bed exchanging stories and laughing. And while I couldn’t tell you what the stories were about since it’s all a bit of a blur, I can tell you about the laugher, for amongst the sadness, there was a sense of genuine happiness; a sense that we were incredibly privileged to be here, and so very blessed to have this opportunity to say our goodbyes. “The party” was how Gary described it later and that summed it up perfectly. It was a celebration.

And as Joy lay in the centre of our big circle of love she smiled with the knowledge that she had done herself proud. Her kids were good kids who had done well and had beautiful families. Her grandkids were adorable. She was leaving a happy healthy legacy and she had nothing to worry about. The girl done good. As we talked, I watched her eyes, and the way she looked over each and every one of us for the longest time imaginable, burning the image into her mind.

An hour or so later, just, I was whizzing back out to Tullamarine Airport. My parents were on their way from the Gold Coast to see Joy and say their last goodbyes. I was picking them up in Gary’s car, with Wayne as my co-pilot. I hadn’t driven a manual in ah, quite a long time, and between you and me there was a bit of rampant gear crunching going on, which could have been hair-raising but fortunately it was after peak hour so there wasn’t too much traffic, more importantly I had Wayne to keep me calm and encourage me. “You’re doing great Sue!” he said as I stalled in the middle of a Dandenong Road intersection. Somehow we managed to make it back to the Airport, just 48 hours after I’d arrived with me feeling strangely déjà vu-ish and curious about what happens to jetlag when you don’t have time to deal with it. We found Max and Lorraine and drove back them back to the hospital in plenty of time for them to see Joy while she was still as bright as a button. We sat in Ward 44 until it was too late to stay any longer.

Joy was passionate about the best things in life, and just like me, she loved good food, chocolate – especially Cherry Ripe and Turkish Delight – and music, boy did she love music. I remember a few years back, getting tickets for John Farnham’s Farewell tour (one of them) and how she glowed like a teenager afterwards. Music made her young. Having a laugh made her young, and while she was careful not to overdo it, she loved a cheeky glass of wine with dinner. Especially if happened to be overlooking the Sydney Harbour where it’s rumoured she got a little tipsy on one anniversary celebration and according to myth, became very annoyed with the management of several different convenience stores down at Circular Quay for not stocking soda water. I’ll never forget how my mum and dad and John laughed when they told that story. For anyone who knew her, it was just too comical for words. Joy didn’t have a go at anyone. Unless you pushed her buttons and then she was quite happy to say what was on her mind. Otherwise it just wasn’t in her make-up. She was as gentle as a lamb.

Saturday

The next day I was off on an excursion to meet my Aunt Airdrie for the first ever time. She is dad’s natural sister. The only odd thing about that is – we didn’t know he had another sister besides Joy and their late sister Beryl. Not until two years ago when dad got a call from the Human Resources Office in Victoria who upon giving them the information they required then said “Your brother is trying to find you!”

It turns out my dad had been adopted. His brother John, who sadly passed on late last year, lived in Altona and had a sister who lived only minutes from where Joy and John lived. As weird coincidences go, my dad’s biological parent’s names were Joy and John.

Joy Stickland was the first person my dad rang with his news, and shortly after she came along to meet his brother John, and later his sister Airdrie who she got along with famously. The funny thing was that she too, had been adopted which was no big secret, everyone knew that, the interesting thing was that she’d never been concerned about finding her biological family. She was more than happy with the family that found her.

The next night I made my way back to the hospital. Mum had left to pick John up from his home after a power-nap, and bring him back to be with Joy. I went to Ward 44 where Joy was sleeping and Robin was dozing and waited. A short while later mum and dad and John returned to the hospital. John asked if I want to come in and say goodbye. I shook my head. I had already said my goodbye, and nobody was going to mess with that beautiful memory I had from yesterday’s visit. He nodded and disappeared up the lift.

Realising we were starving we stopped at MacDonald’s on the way home and ordered burgers and hot chocolates and sat alfresco on what must have been Melbourne’s balmiest night. We talked long into the night, yo-yoing from Joy’s condition, to my first meeting with Aunt Airdrie earlier that day. It was truly the nicest time I remember having with mum and dad in a long time.

Sunday

Dad woke me the next morning. He told me it was after 9.00am and John who had been home to freshen up and have his medication, wanted to get back to the hospital. Of course he did! I leapt out of bed shocked by how late it was. We downed a quick coffee and then we were off. John stopped first to drop me at the train station so I could make my way back to Wayne’s for  a fresh change of clothes. Along the way he told me in great detail what had happened when we left him at the hospital in the early hours of the morning. It painted an all too vivid picture. Now he was uneasy and in a rush to get back to the hospital. As it turns out, he had good reason to be…

As John and my dad walked into Ward 44 that Sunday morning, they knew it could be their last visit. Mum was in the waiting area. She told John they had just finished making Joy more comfortable. He popped his head in to see her, and then indicated to them to come in quickly, “It won’t be long now.” He said. Gary was holding her left hand, and John her right, and Gary was measuring time between her breaths.

And then there were no more breaths.

“I’ve got bad news” mum said when she rang a couple of hours later. We talked through what had happened, and how, in the early hours of Sunday morning, with her family at her bedside, Joy had her wish which was to rest in peace. Mum told me that it was peaceful and gentle, and that afterwards Robyn had hugged my dad.

After hanging up, I tried calling my oldest friend Sue Scott. We’d grown up in the same street and gone to kindergarten together. I had to call her mum to get her number, and burst into tears as soon as I heard her voice. It took me back to a time when I was four years old. Sue was away for the weekend and would be back tomorrow. I hung up the phone and sat looking around at the empty flat feeling weirdly alone.

A couple of days later mum and dad and I had to go back to the Gold Coast briefly, Max had a few loose ends to tie up, and my mum and I had the Rod Stewart concert on the Thursday night. Friday was the day was the day of the service and we were on the first plane out, landing back at Tullamarine and winding our way through the traffic to Stickland’s Syndal church with only one and a quarter hours to spare. Thankfully Tiger Airways didn’t let us down and we had Wayne and Joe to pick us up at the other end to ensure we were there with no delays.

The Service

The thanksgiving service was beautiful and elegant and flawlessly conducted by the minister whose face glowed with love and warmth and sincerity. The fact that he was such a close friend of both Joy and John helped. Thanks to the efforts of all the family who had worked so hard on the detail, the service was a modern take on the traditional and a celebration of Joy’s life. There were hymns, prayers, and two giant screens flashed up happy, evocative images of those happier moments of Joy’s life – a particularly poignant touch.  It was the most moving experience.

Of course the big moment was always going to be when Gary took his place centre stage in front of us all to do the eulogy. I couldn’t imagine how tough that would be. Hugging him when I came into the church he looked at me and said, “Don’t. You’ll make me cry.” Twenty minutes later there he was, up on the podium dedicating the most eloquent and heartfelt speech to his mum. And while it was sad, he hit all the right notes by generating life and warmth, adding in humour and memorable stories about Joy’s cheeky side. A couple of minutes into it, he stumbled over a sentence and tried to choke back the tears. His son Julian, seemingly ten foot taller than him, leapt gallantly to his side and saved the day, reminding me of the time I had done the same thing at my grandfathers' funeral, when my mother had found it hard to carry on.

And then, all too soon, it was time for the men of the family, to take their toughest journey. One of Joy’s music requests had been for something by Neil Diamond, and we had Jonathon Livingstone Seagull coming through the speakers as Gary and Julian, Carol’s husband Gavin and their son Adair made their way gracefully to the coffin, lifting it up high and leading the way out of the church. John, Carol, Robyn and their girls followed immediately, and then our family and John’s family. Behind us nearly three hundred friends, relatives and representatives of the organisations with whom Joy and John have worked and socialised, paid their respects.

Once outside we stood for what seemed like the longest time, watching as the coffin was lifted into the hearse, and then driven slowly down the drive and onto the busy road to take Joy on this, her last journey through Melbourne. I was standing behind Carol and my heart went out to her. I wanted to reach out and say something, do something. But words failed me. I can’t imagine how she feels, of course I can’t. I haven’t been there.

A beautifully catered afternoon tea was waiting as we turned back into the foyer area. Daintily cut sandwiches and divine looking cream and jam scones stood along jugs of steaming tea and coffee. Robyn asked would I to take some long stemmed cream roses from the stunning wreath and hand them out. What a great way to introduce myself to all these people, I thought, many of whom I’d met before, but not seen for a long, long time.

I mingled throughout the crowd, meeting Gavin’s mum and Robyn’s sisters and having a chat with the grandkids – although I was caught slightly off guard by Carol’s cute as a button daughter Danica who is so much the spitting image of her! I asked abut the medallions they were wearing and it turned out they had each worn something of Joy’s. The girls’ wore medals that looked just like the ones Carol and I had won at the gym comp all those years ago, while Robyn wore a string of beautiful cream beads. Julian had a pin of Joy’s in his lapel.

After chatting to so many old and new friends, including my Aunt Airdrie who came along with her daughters Brenda and Ronda which was really was the nicest thing , and meeting some of John Stickland’s brothers (he came from a clan of 7!), it was time to head back to their home.

Carol was at the front door when we arrived. Looking forward for the chance to catch up, I recalled our drama event filled trip that day, getting from the Gold Coast to the church in time. It had the right response, Carol laughed, and when she did I saw in her the cheeky twelve year old I remembered so clearly.

Going into the house Gary very thoughtfully offered me a glass of wine, and there was more time to catch up properly with people I’d seen earlier. None of us to know there was a fresh drama waiting around the corner…

John’s sister Betty had a medical condition which suddenly became quite serious and needed the attention of the paramedics. Not what you expect straight after a funeral service, but fortunately it was only precautionary alert.

Some hours later after all the guests had gone with just my mum and dad and John left, Wayne and I headed back to Wayne’s. With a shock we realised it was exactly one week ago today that we had driven across town to be by Joy’s bedside, yet it seemed like an eternity. So much had happened. So much had changed. But the important things had stayed the same. We were family. We were together. And through this sad and untimely experience of Joy’s passing, we had all become closer. And from Joy’s point of view, that was the only thing that mattered.