Footprints

Yesterday Penny and I visited Rochester in country Victoria for a memorial service.  It was to remember Penny's brother Geoff, who passed away during the first lock down that we had here last year.  Because of this all who knew him were forced to grieve without others to help them through the process. 

The Geoff that I knew was an alcoholic, constantly in and out of rehabilitation and the footprints that I knew of him was the pile of discarded openers from beer cans on the chair near where he used to love to sit.

What I learnt at the memorial was that Geoff, was a teacher, poet, writer, musician and inspiration to many students that were in his care.  Nothing at all like I imagined.  The family buried his ashes in the roots of the apricot tree that he loved to sit under on warm summer evenings.  The real footprints he leaves behind are his children and the people that they have become.

In recent years I have been to a couple of funerals of significant friends and I must say that I much prefer this memorial service way of celebrating the life of those that are departed.  One year is enough time for people to remember the positive things about the person and the footprints that they leave behind

Vale Geoff,  sorry I did not take the time to get to know you better

Footprints echoes of a life well lived

Geoff's daughter Rebecca in a reflective moment under the Apricot tree
where his ashes now reside

Stuffed toys in his children's bedroom.  Untouched since they left home more than 15 years ago