Goodbye soldier

It has taken me a few weeks to write this entry, as it’s so hard, and unfair to loose someone you care about, and writing about their death isn’t an easy topic.

Over the last week I had so much anger come over me. I wasn’t sure what it was as the feeling felt unnatural, but I couldn’t help the erratic and high tempered emotions that over took me. I felt angry and sad because my dream of taking my grandfather back to Japan that he spoke so fondly of will never come true. I was angry for the fact that my grandfather won’t know if we will ever track down the descendants of the sword, and I was angry that he will never read my book about his life, nor spend another family gathering or Christmas with us.  

I felt a sense of selfishness for thinking these things, but I couldn’t help it. I just felt like I wanted to break and destroy anything and everything in sight - a glass, a plate or a window – just anything. I wanted to scream as loud as I could. I wanted to question the nurses and doctors who treated him in the beginning, and ask why he died. But every time I came close to breaking something or yelling at someone, in the back of my mind I knew it wasn’t going to change anything. I then did some research and read that there are five stages of grievance (shock, denial, anger, bargaining, and then depression). When I read this I felt a little at ease, not completely. But it was nice to understand why I was having these feelings and erratic mood swings, as I was able to start to control them a bit more.

My grandfather’s funeral was beautiful in every possible way you can imagine a funeral could be. The weather was a perfect spring day sitting around 25 degrees and few clouds in sight. The service was held at St Anne’s Anglican Church, in North Ryde, which is a gorgeous old heritage listed church, setup high on top of the hill, and in fact buried right next to the church are some famous Australian’s, Emily Barton (Banjo Paterson’s grandmother), Granny Smith (the creator of Granny Smith Apples) and several First Fleeters. The church couldn’t be any more fitting.

When I woke on the morning of the funeral it didn’t feel real. I felt like I was about to act in somebody else’s movie and play the part of a grieving granddaughter, as it couldn’t be true that my grandfather, Jack Prosser had passed away. However, when I saw my grandfather’s coffin it was real, and no way to escape it. I was standing in front of the church and became nostalgic. I had a flashback of the day I was at my uncle John's wedding two and half years ago. It was there that my grandfather shared me his story for the first time. We were together standing in the garden; the weather was exactly the same - perfect with not a cloud in sight. However, this time instead of him walking into my life, he was walking out.  As I felt tears about to flow out, I heard my name been yelled out. I turned to the right and smiled. My darling little cousin Jada-Blu called my name, she was laughing and dancing around the church and headstones, even in the saddest of places happiness can still be found. She asked me why I was crying. I wiped away my tears, and picked her up and gave her a great big cuddle. She didn’t understand what was happening, all she knew was it was time to say goodbye to Poppy.

It was the last time my grandfather laid before his family and friends. At the front of the church his coffin was placed, and over it draped the Australian flag with the native red Wattle and bottlebrush in the centre. His old army hat, service medals, and bayonet were also carefully positioned on the top of his coffin.

My Uncle John started his eulogy with ‘What do you say for a man who has lived an amazing 88 years! How do you fit 88 years into 5-10 minutes? It’s difficult but if you new Dad, it’s simple, just like he was”. And that’s exactly what he was, a simple ordinary man, but because he had so much passion, strength and desire to live life to the absolute fullest (even to the day of his death) he stood out from the rest. My grandfather’s fighting spirit always ran through his blood, this in turn helped him survive war on the frontline, and live an incredibly long life to raise a large and very unique loving family.

My little cousin Wil Prosser who is only ten, read a beautiful poem to everyone at the service. He was so brave and done an amazing job to read it, although he made everyone’s heart break into a thousand pieces when he cried reading it.

The love we have for Poppy
Will never fade away.
We’ll think of him, our special Poppy.
With each passing day.
The memories of his laughter,
His warm and loving smile,
His eyes so full of happiness,
His hear that of a child.
Memories are forever
Be they laughter or of tears,
Memories we will treasure
Through all the coming years.

We love you Poppy Jack.

To all the family and friends who came to my grandfather’s service to say goodbye, on behalf of his wife Joan, my two Uncle’s John & Grant, as well as my mother Terry, we would like to thank each and every one of you. Your presence was greatly appreciated. But most of all, to every single person who was lucky to know or meet him and share a part of his life, that is the greatest gift of all. And a special thank you for the beautiful friends that have shown endless support to all our family.

I guess all good things must come to an end sooner or later. The men of our family carried my grandfather high on top of their shoulders. The bagpipe then played all the way down the main street of Ryde and into the Field of Mars cemetery where my grandfather was laid to rest on top of his father, John Walter Prosser.

We all laid poppies on top of my grandfather’s coffin, and with the release of pigeons (my grandfather’s hobby and favorite bird) from his best friend Mick Marchment he was lowered and the ‘last post’ was played.

My darling grandfather, if you ever could hear me once more. I would like to say thank you for everything you shared with me, I hope I can tell your life as good, and as brilliant as you lived it. However, most importantly thank you for always making me and every one of your family and friends feel so special every time we saw you.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the western wind that blows,
I am the diamond glint on snow,
I am the sunlight on the desert plains,
I am the summer rains.
When you awake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, up lighting rush
Of birds circling in flight.
I am the southern stars that shine at night.
So do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there – I did not die.

I am never going to hold your hand again, but I will make sure I live by your advice. 
“Follow your dreams, as you never know where they will lead you” - Jack Prosser.

Tribute video to the life of John 'Jack' Prosser. A man who lived an incredible and exciting life - forever missed, but never forgotten. Thank you to my aunt Dy Prosser who created this beautiful account of his life, and to Jessica Lindsay who captured the most amazing portraits of him.