Leonie Jarrett lives in Melbourne, Australia with her Husband of more than 3 decades, 2 of her 4 adult children and her 2 Golden Retrievers.

Leonie is a lawyer who has owned several businesses.

Now that she is semi-retired, Leonie loves writing rivers of words. She hopes that the reader likes floating in her rivers!

Living

I wriggle a bit and lift my sweaty legs off the coarse, cotton deckchair. To think I used to just spread a towel on the grainy sand, lather myself with coconut oil and lie there all day! Now, I can’t seem to stay comfortable even reclining in my bougie deck chair. 

The whistle of the lifeguards keeps waking me up. I can’t seem to stay awake though. It’s probably the medication I’m on. And the sun.

I try and focus so that I don’t drift off again. The kids next to me are making sandcastles with square buckets so the castles look more like stepped pyramids. It makes me remember visiting Egypt. I can smell the camels that gave us tourists rides in the searing heat. I can smell the sweat too as we toured the unair-conditioned Egyptian Museum. I read recently that they just opened a new Museum in Cairo – many years late and way over budget. I assume they installed air-conditioning in that one. I can hear the Cairo car horns too. Traffic going every which way. Manic. 

Mindfulness, Cam. I chide myself. I am supposed to be manifesting tranquillity. I am at the beach for goodness sake yet I am dreaming about chaotic Cairo!

‘How are you feeling Cam?’ My wife, Julie, plants a kiss on my cheek. Her lips are sandy and I have to resist the urge to wipe the scratchy, sand residue off my cheek. Julie is wearing her new, constant, concerned look. 

‘All good Jules. All good. Stop your worrying. It’s a bad habit. I’m not going to die on you today. Stop fussing over me. I’m going to take a dip.’

Poor Jules. She looks a bit wounded now. I was just trying to lighten the mood.

I’ve taken to talking to myself since my diagnosis. A lot. Sometimes out loud but usually just silently in my head.  I think it’s my way of conversing with someone who won’t panic every time I open my mouth.

Ooh, that water is refreshing as it hits my feet and shins. 

I wade in deeper and let the gentle waves wash over me.

They’re always worrying about me nowadays. Jules. The kids. 

The doctors have said there is no hope. No magic wand. Just a matter of time and something they call ‘comfort medication.’ I wonder if it would be better all round if I hastened things along? I could just let the water carry me away. 

I surrender to the waves and I feel myself slipping away.

Get a grip Cam. Do you want to die here and spoil the beach forever for Jules and the kids and the grandkids? Man up!

I shake myself out of my trance or whatever that was and start to walk back towards shore. Towards Jules. Towards Life. 

Who knows? There might be a magic wand.

Going Troppo

We’d been working on a client’s house on West Island. He owns a big business in Perth but he loves chilling at West Island, part of the Cocos (Keeling) Islands. He visits at least twice a year. The rest of the time the house sits vacant.

All the gear we need like ladders and nail guns stay at the house. We take some materials over with us on the plane but big stuff has to come by ship. It’s too dear to air freight it.

We’d come over this time to extend the deck. There’s seven of us coz the client wanted the job started and finished in the one trip. Problem was the materials were stuck on a ship that was supposed to arrive weeks ago. Then it was meant to arrive whilst we were there. It didn’t.

The boss, Gazza, had been in a stink about it the whole time. Made him look bad to the client. Gazza had asked around to see if anyone on Island had any spare materials but he’d drawn a blank.

We’d filled our time doing some maintenance. And we’d had more free time than we usually do when we go to Westie so we’d got some surfing in. We’d even done some tourist stuff. The sea scooter tour was sick!!

The time started to drag by the three-week mark though and we were glad to be flying back to Perth. Until we weren’t. The flight got cancelled because there was a Tropical Cyclone nearby. Gazza’s mood got even darker.

A couple of days later, the airline put on a Recovery flight and we all got on that. At West Island, you check in and then wait in the pub next door to the airport until it’s time to board. Let’s just say we were a merry mob when happy hour in the airport “lounge” ended. We boarded and tried not to be too rowdy. Last thing we wanted was to be kicked off when we were so close to home.

The Captain warned us that we’d be flying between two cyclones so it would be a bit bumpy for a while. I wasn’t too stoked about that. I don’t love flying at the best of times. 

Almost as soon as we took off, the rattle and rolls started. The plane pitched this way and that. The seatbelt sign stayed on. I tried not to look too terrified. Bad look with my mates around me.

One drop was so violent that a couple of people waiting down the back for the toilet got hurt. The crew raced to get the medical kit from the emergency box, the First Aid person opened it but he couldn’t seem to stem the flow of blood from one of the passengers.

The Captain said she needed to get medical help for the bleeding guy so we needed to head for the nearest airport. 

Jakarta.

F*** My Life. Will I ever get home?

Snuffing out the Light

My time’s up. I know it. I can’t even get out of bed any more. And a hospital bed at that. At least, it’s a hospital bed in my house though and not in a hospital. I insisted on that. I want to die at home. Well, I don’t want to die but we don’t always get what we want. The doctors told me a few months ago that there was nothing more they could do. The only question was exactly how long. No one has a crystal ball. For all the medicos know, there is a lot they don’t know. I can feel myself waking and dozing off again. I guess I am entering in and out of consciousness. The nurses seem to drift in and out but they make sure I’m not in any pain. My family drifts in and out too. I can feel their love. It’s comforting. Cozy. I can’t stay awake long enough to have a conversation but I’ve had some time for that. Said mostly all I wanted to say. There’s a blurry shape in the doorway. It is coming closer but I can’t quite make it out. This bed is not very comfortable. Why are hospital beds so narrow? And why can’t the mattress envelop me like my normal bed? Why, when we are at our sickest, let alone when we are dying, do we have to sleep in uncomfortable, tiny beds where we can’t even roll over without doing multiple manoeuvres? I don’t mean to complain. Like I said, I’m home which is where I want to be. Millie is snuggled on my feet – she’s been the best dog. She’ll be a help to Dave when I’m gone and the kids are back to their lives and their families. Dave will feel it worst. We’ve been together for so long. Forty plus years. It’ll be a big hole. Millie will help to fill a little bit of it. The grandkids will help too – you just can’t help but smile when they squish their gorgeousness into you. I was really angry that my time with them was going to be cut short but the anger was spoiling the time I had left so I tried to let it go. I hope the grandies won’t forget me too quickly. They have been the joy of my life. My kids too. And Dave. Nothing else I have done in my life comes close to the treasure of my family. Everyone says that…that when you’re on your deathbed, you wish that you had spent more time with your family, not more time working. Well, now that I’m literally lying in my deathbed, I can add my voice to the chorus. Love more, live more because, one day, it’s all gone. All over. Caput. The world continues to turn but you’re not in it any more. There’s that shape again. It’s hovering over me. It’s snuffed out the light. My light.