Liana

My cousin Liana died on Wednesday after a brief battle with a rare type of cancer. She turned 42 on May 7th. I have faced many deaths over the past years of people close to me, but this one was different…

Liana was the life and soul of every gathering. Short and stout, she had a cheeky smile and the most wicked sense of humour. Like the rest of our family, she would notice that one thing about someone that would have us laughing like naughty schoolchildren in a church service. Like all of us, she adored animals. Her dogs were her children in the home. (The last time I visited, one of the dogs stole my sock and buried it somewhere in the garden. We all agreed that this was just normal behaviour—something our kids would do.)

In her work, Liana trained young, new farmers. She was passionate about her work and uplifting others. She loved fishing. At every family gathering, Liana was always the first to suggest a round of shooters. Full of life, laughter, and mischief.

We discussed getting her affairs in order and setting up an advance directive. I knew her time was limited, yet I didn’t realise it would be that brief. When I received the message last Wednesday saying that she had transitioned, it felt as if someone had kicked me in the gut—a deep, throbbing pain right at the core of my stomach. Such a beautiful, meaningful life cut so short. The grief of a mother, a father, and two brothers is unthinkable—her beloved partner. If I feel this way, I cannot imagine what they must feel…

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

She was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W H Auden

For me, this is one of the strangest feelings in light of death—the way the world just carries on. Traffic, people going to work, dogs barking. When my mother died, I wanted to scream that the world must stop, that there should be global silence, that no one is allowed on the streets to carry on with their business as usual. Did they not know that my mother is dead?

And here I am back at my desk, answering emails, checking Facebook, and cuddling with my cat. All the while, Liana is dead.