The great white warrior.
On July 14th 2011. My father took his life. He gave up his will to live when the doctors told him he would have to carry around an oxygen tank with him.
Around 2pm At fremantle hospital when I was at the cinema with my friends celebrating my 17th birthday He unplugged his life support machines and walked to the bathroom. He had only undergone a tripple bypass a week or so earlier before he was induced into a coma after waking up after his surgery violent trying to remove his tubes.
When he came back he was breathing heavy and gasping for air. The other man in his room told him to plug back in or he would be seriously hurt. He pressed the emergency button but wasn’t considered an emergency patient so no nurse came.
My father then laid down still on his bed until he stopped breathing. I’ve been told they tried for an hour to rescusitate him.
For the next few weeks everyone told me how he would cry because he thought his daughter hated him. Mum told me that when Our house phone rang his mobile it played “sweet child of mine” by Bon Jovi.
When we laid him to rest. He was painted red and white, naked in his casket with different Native American emblems that represented things important to him. A blue butterfly made out of blue birds feathers for his parter. His blue butterfly. Hundreds of feathers. Eagles feet. A pouch containing mine, my brothers, his partners and his dogs hair. And my tigers eye to protect him in the afterlife.
My dad is called the great white warrior. Because he was a white man who connected with nature and the native americans beliefs. He said he saw god when he was bashed by in indigenous mob when I was little. He went on to forgive the man who had put his foot to his skull. He never killed after that unless it benifited someone. he only hunted for food.
I was told he would wake up Willa at three am and make her dance with him around the fire. He would get naked and do a spear dance.
My father was a great white warrior. And because of him my whole life has changed. I miss him so much. But In death I have learnt forgivness for all the times he hurt me. I have not once hurt myself since he left. I have not once thought of suicide as a viable option to solve my pain.
My father lived his life every day like a party boy. On the choof. With mates. Connecting with nature and his roots. He died so young but everyone close to him says its a life not wasted when he was doing what he loved.
He has inspired me to try and live my life day by day and do the things I love more and more.
He was a great white warrior.
And will live forever in the wind, and in the trees and in the river stream.
