Mixed Media on wood, ready to hang.

Signed on the front.

portrait of my uncle in hospital, now passed and I hope at rest . A hard picture to paint though I felt compelled as I often think of him. A good man and wish he were still here.
…
I remember you walking me to the beach. Coolangatta in 1983.
The wind a gale. Sand in my eyes. You picked me up and carried me back to the unit.
I remember my eighth birthday. Home from school you gave me a pair of headphones for my cassette stereo. I blasted my eardrums to the sounds of Paradise City. Ears ringing I rode off to camp up behind Grandchester State School. Our tent and the next stayed up all night smoking dried grass rolled in newspaper, so cool. The Principal let us into the school library at 2 am to watch Rage top-100 countdown. I came home and told you all about it.
I remember you giving me the carpenters box full of tools for Christmas. I built myself a rickety coffee table. I wanted to be a carpenter like you. After all, you helped build Canberra’s Parliament House. Who was a better teacher?
I remember waiting for the 6pm rail-motor come into Grandchester every Friday afternoon, hoping to see you through Nan’s binoculars get off. If you did, I knew we’d have a good weekend of building stuff. Doing fixit jobs up at the Grandchester Pub for the Publican. I was your sidekick. After I’d scrounge around under the pub and the bins for glass Mcmahons soft drink bottles. Each one returned twenty-five cents in my pocket. I knew I’d get rich one day.
I remember you helping me build the vegetable garden in the backyard. We had all the tomatoes, watermelons, pumpkins, cucumbers and carrots we could eat.
I remember you introducing me to Camel Jack. Every weekend we’d ride Shifta and Donut the camels for walks to graze. Donut trampelled me but nothing was broken.
I remember you refereeing our home rugby games at the house with a Rabbitohs football. You caught the ball coming your way and snapped your little finger. Right angle to the knuckle I wanted to be sick. It didn’t seem to bother you.
I remember you bringing around VHS movies to watch every Friday. Till midnight we’d stay up, Tales of the Darkside and Clint Eastwood Action flicks we’d watch then sit out on the porch with Nan and talk till the early hours about anything and everything as we watched the lightning in the west.
A cubby house you built me. A house it was, built in a year and six months in the back paddock.to the sounds of power tools and Slim Dusty on the cassette deck talking pubs with no beer. That’d remind me to go get you another XXXX tallie.
Fishing on the Clontarf jetty. Just like when you’d take me fishing for catfish in the Western Creek behind the Grandchester Train Station. Catch them and put them back.You never got angry. Always patient. Always good for a chat. Always a good teacher.
I remember you liked your tea. Warm with milk. One sugar. Then over a coffee you told me you were sick.
I could see it but I couldn’t tell. Later you told me it was terminal, after I’d gone home and over the phone. Still I didn’t want to believe. The good guys live forever.
The treatment didn’t work and then I could see.
I remember getting in my car after work, stuck in traffic on Milton Road. Canberra Raiders we’re playing at Suncorp Stadium. It was like Brisbane traffic always is, a mess.
Eventually I got to Redcliffe Hospital.
I made you a cup of tea, just how you liked it.
Through the fog still you knew who I was, tired as you were.
Strong enough to make a Rabbitohs joke.
The Nurse came and gave you your meds.
And you dozed off to sleep.
I said rest up and I’ll see you again,
But I never did.
You passed away the next morning.
That cup of tea is always still there.