The hardest thing about celebrating the life of Jack Damen is thinking of all the discussions we never got to have. Thinking of all the questions I wanted to ask him. Jack was, after all, the man that taught my brothers and I how to be men. Now that we’re here in our thirties, what is life like after this. Without your father. Without your mentor. Without your oldest friend.
Some questions I think I already know the answer to. How did you do deal with hardship? How do you deal with losing your family? Jack taught me that the only way to overcome the overwhelming darkness of life’s hardest moments is to laugh at them. You might still feel pain. You might still cry. But you will come through it at the end, sometimes with a smile on your face. I won’t give you all the goriest details of the time I was literally closest to Dad, but it was at a time where I felt great sadness. Sharing that story with my Mum and Reuben allowed me to laugh: even when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball, cry and scrub my right shoulder until it sparkled.
Even those lesser trials -- be it slogging away at work, cleaning the shower, or the general mundanity of life -- Dad taught me to laugh. At everything. Whether it was with a non-sensical little ditty, or singing a jingle with a funny voice. Dad’s answer to hardship was laughter. I feel like I’ve made it mine too.
I would also like to ask Dad how he had the energy to care so deeply for his family, his house, and for every living creature that passed through the threshold. When people reached out to me following Jack’s passing, his friends and family would say that Jack made them laugh and that he was a very sensitive soul. I saw this first hand -- whether it be Dad overfeeding the dogs, or enchanting a pack of magpies who attended our house daily for what felt like 2 years -- Jack cared so much for the natural world, and the creatures within it. Dad would drop everything if he saw an animal in distress. He rescued many an injured bird within a 5 kilometre square radius of 416 Robinson Road, Geebung. Dad would welcome our friends into his house for days, sometimes weeks, at a time; never asking for details, or demanding anything for the privilege. He cared for all creatures, great and small, and still worked a grueling job for what felt like 10-16 hours a day. I don’t know how he found the love and the energy to do it. But he did.
Dad, how did you find the energy?
The second hardest thing about celebrating Jack’s life is remembering how his ceaseless care and energy was claimed over time by Parkinson’s Disease and Dementia. While the diseases were cruel, Dad still held true to the answers he gave us. He could light up the room with his smile and cheeky laugh, and he still cared about living things be they real or imagined. No time was this more evident when Reuben and I went to retrieve Dad from Sydney after an in-flight incident. Even though the disease made Dad fear for his life, he still tried to feed the animal in the people mover we rode home in. It doesn’t matter that the animal was an air conditioning vent in this case. The answer was the same.
Finally, I would like to thank everyone who was involved in Dad’s care, particularly in Dad’s final years. I would like to thank my Mum who took care of Dad with grace and the utmost sense of commitment. I would like to thank my wife, Carly who supported me throughout Dad’s decline and passing and who cared for Dad dearly. I would like to thank my brothers, Beau and Reuben for helping me laugh in spite of the greatest loss of my life. I would like to thank my friends and family who made the time to see Jack and made him feel loved. I would also like to thank my colleagues and friends who have sent messages of condolence, and who have helped make this process bearable.
Care for each other, care for the land and the animals, and laugh when you can.
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