Loss

Amongst the joy, we now have the discernible pain of loss. Earlier in the history of this blog I referred to my mate who was always there with the right thing to say. Well his name was Patrick Phillis. He was born on the 12 of February 1972, almost a month before me. A fact I always had the pleasure of reminding him off. I have some very true dear friends in my life and I love them all immeasurably. But he was my mate. My straight mate who loved and accepted me for who I was.

Sadly my mate died unexpectedly at around 730pm on Saturday the 14th August just North of Waroona when his car left the road and rolled. Patrick died at the scene. He had just left us at 6pm from our house in Balingup where we were working on our house there. He had been working on his house in Bridgetown and was returning to Perth to pick up his two sons and then head on home. We both knew given history that he may well die young, but never expected it to be at the age of 38. His Dad was killed years earlier on the mines in Kambalda on the 18th of August. A week that all of us will now remember with even greater sorrow.

I introduced Patrick to his amazing wife Lorissa when he came to stay with me at the Nurses Quarters (Anstey House) at SCGH. They would later hook up at my 21st and then the rest is history. Two stupendous boys, James and Thomas, who Vince and I have had the pleasure of watching grow. The only real blue Patrick and I had was when he found out that I had said in passing (and out of context) that he was not good enough for Lorissa. However this statement would come out of the closet again just after the birth of their second son, Thomas. His arrival was marked with uncertain drama which then unfolded during the first months of his life. Patrick was awe struck at Lorissa's strength and resolve and he mentioned on one of our visits to Bridgetown where they lived at the time, that maybe I had been right all along. I know that it will be that strength and resolve that will hold his remaining loved ones together.

Needless to say their are so many memories, cubs, scouts (Gummerooka), cadets (Northam), Esperance, daily school bus trips, Sylvester's nightclub and family holidays. I could go on to write a small novel about our lives. The pain comes from the fact that there were supposed to be so many more. I was supposed to be able to go on tapping into that fountain of knowledge that he held so very deep. I have always called him the only redneck I knew with culture. I am going to miss our lunch time man dates to watch WASO. Discussions (sometimes slightly heated) over politics. His patriotism and love for this country.

Patrick never liked the idea of Facebook and other social networks. But I know that he followed this blog and would prompt me when I had not written anything for a couple of days. It is my belief that it was his way of showing his unwavering support for me and my family, especially for the new members that are on the way. Some of his values swung strongly from the right, but when it came to Vince and I he was more to the left than us.

I loved him and will always miss him. My mate.

"The greatest pleasure I have ever known is when my eyes meet the eyes of a mate over the top of two foaming glasses of beer" - Henry Lawson. Except in Patricks case it was always Turkey and real coke. Not that Zero or Diet shit and definitely not from a tap. From the bottle (preferably glass if available) or nothing.