often totally avoiding it. Some men build a fortress around their feelings. The pain of loss is just as intense for men as for women, but society praises those men who ‘hold up well’, who maintain a ‘stiff upper lip’, who adopt the strong, silent stance we are supposed to display. The belief that pain can be overcome by biting your lip is tied to the fear that it is the only thing that can be done, short of letting down the guard and expressing true feeling, as if the stoic mask provides some protection. On the contrary, instead of shielding against pain, the mask hurts. In hiding pain from others, it has to be carried silently and alone.
Expressing emotion in our own way helps the process of healing. To suppress one’s grief and send it underground can be destructive as it can emerge in unexpected ways. In the words of Shakespeare:
Bid sorrow speak; the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macbeth, IV, iii
I know I can’t tell anyone how to grieve or how to emerge from their grief. Each of us is unique and has to find our own way and in our own time. There is no timetable to tell us how long it will take. However, the lessons I have learned after my wife’s suicide may help others to understand their own grief. We had no choice in the tragedy, but we do have a choice in how we respond to it. One important lesson is that there is hope in the worst of situations.
Thirdly, through this book, I would like to thank all those people who helped to ease my anguish. Where would I be without the support of my family and many friends? I am also grateful to the many people I met along the way. Some names I have changed. I have attempted to recreate the many conversations that took place during the period of my story and, although I may not have remembered the exact words, I have endeavoured to record the sentiments expressed. In particular, I would like to thank those friends who have allowed me to reprint their letters. Their letters of support are just a sample of the many I received describing the beautiful person that was Maris.
There is nothing I would not do to have Maris back. I dedicate this book to her memory. She encouraged me to persevere. Her spirit continues to inspire me.
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Chapter 1
I decided I’d try my luck at the Heidelberg Town Hall. The band was good, thumping away vigorously, its steady beat ensuring the floor was always crowded. The night looked bright and promising. The band started up a fox trot. More couples began moving to the floor. There were plenty of girls standing at the edge, waiting for the man of their dreams. Some chatted in groups, giggling together, finding safety in numbers. Others, perhaps more adventurous, were on their own. I looked among them for a suitable partner.
There she was, a tall, slim, dark haired, attractive girl on her own. She stood out from the rest. I couldn’t exactly say why. She just stood out. Perhaps she was taller than most. But she was knocking back boy after boy.
‘I’ll give her a go,’ I muttered to myself.
I edged my way around the floor, running the gauntlet of the more adventurous couples flaunting their style with wide ranging flourish.
‘Would you care to have this dance?’
She looked at me closely, hesitated for a moment then accepted.
We were awkward at first and danced in silence as we became used to each other. She did not have much to say. It could have been shyness or maybe she was sizing me up. I made the conversation and asked the questions. She told me her name was Maris. She was 21. She had just commenced her Midwifery Certificate, having completed her general nursing training at Mooroopna Base Hospital in central Victoria. This was her first Saturday night dance in the big smoke. I told her my name was Noel, that I was 26, studying psychology at the University of Melbourne and working as a psychologist and guidance officer with the Victorian Education Department.
‘I noticed you were knocking back a few blokes,’ I said to her.
‘I was waiting for the fellow who had taken me out for a drink at the milk bar to return from moving his car, but by the time you arrived, I decided I’d been stood up.’
We laughed and she seemed to relax. We danced for the remainder of the evening. In fact, you could say I clung to her in case the fellow had returned from shifting his car and wanted to claim her. We got on famously, I thought. After the dance I took her to coffee in South Yarra then home to St Vincent’s Hospital nurses’ quarters.
‘I’ve taken a shine to that sheila,’ I told a mate over a beer. ‘I think I could marry her.’
‘What do you like about her?’
‘She’s seems straightforward and genuine. She’s fresh and unsophisticated, not like the girls at uni.’
I found out much later that Maris had a different view.
‘I’m not going out with that bloke again,’ she had said to one of her fellow nurses.
‘Why is that?’
‘He questions things too much; he’s too cynical for me.’
I guess I must have improved and eventually came up to scratch. One night some months later we were parked, cosy in my orange VW beetle, facing St Kilda Beach. The sea was gentle, the waves barely lapping the sand. The moonlight glinted in the water. Our arms were around each other. Was there a better time? I looked across and whispered, ‘Maris, will you marry me?’
She whispered back to me, ‘I couldn’t think of anything nicer.’
Chapter 2
In October, 2004 Maris and I were living on Sydney’s northern beaches, in the midst of urban bushland. Leafy Frenchs Forest is a beautiful area.
Kookaburras woke us with their pre-dawn laughter, galahs and cockatoos made their racket daily. Our two story house overlooked national park and was large enough to raise four children. Built on a steep slope, sixty steps from the front door to the street, its garden wound around the rocks and offered peace and solitude from our busy lives. Maris loved her garden and tended it carefully.
She loved our four children. I loved them, too, but I could see she felt something more. They were her purpose. Like many families, ours was scattered, and it was not often that we saw everyone together, but, for the first time in four years, our children and their partners were all in Sydney.
The family was gathering for Stephen’s wedding on November 6th. Stephen, our older son, had been married before. We witnessed the break-up
