Here & Now #103: Life and death

Image S Sorrensen

Image S Sorrensen

S Sorrensen

My place. Friday, 4.10pm

In a freshly dug hole at my feet is a young wallaby. Dead. It’s a female with a tiny joey still latched onto the nipple in her pouch. It too is dead.

I’m leaning on my shovel. And sweating. It’s hard work digging a grave. The sun, curious about my work, peeks into the hole and glints off a still-open wallaby eye.

If this was a movie, and the wallaby was my wife, or my best friend, or a valiant innocent, I would reach down and close those eyes with two fingers. I would curse death. I would rail against the unfairness of one so young dying. Then, if the movie was American, I’d turn abruptly away to go do revenge things.

But I don’t. This isn’t a movie. This is life. And you cannot do life properly without realising everything dies. Life is death.

(Okay. That just came out. Sure, it sounds like twaddle from a middle-aged Byron bloke with a ponytail, bald spot and open vest over bare chest. But, it could be true.)

Even though it upset me to see the dead wallaby in my driveway, I’m not crying. I’m not contemplating a righteous revenge or a manly drinking binge. (I mean, I don’t own a gun, and even if I did, how do you shoot a tick?)

I’m not doing anything. There’s a stillness…

Has the wind stopped? Have the birds taken a minute’s silence? I lift my eyes. Even the sun, committed to a meeting with the purpling western range, seems to have stopped for a sec.

In this stillness I confront my fear of dying. I confront my anger towards to the ignorant who take the lives of others.

Around me, death is calling out to life. Around me, life is answering. This death has cut to my living bit, slicing through the religious and social conditionings that, by keeping death at bay, have kept life away as well.

This wee wallaby has died and the whole valley knows it. The wriggly gum bows its head and a crow calls. The soil reaches up between my toes and holds me.

I never realised.

Not far away, a male wallaby stands and looks at me, a blade of grass in its mouth. I wonder if he was her mate? I wonder if he knows what’s going on?

Of course he does.

I’m the one who doesn’t know what’s going on. I’m the one who lives in constant fear of death, distracted by busyness, scared of quiet because of what it will say. I’m the one raised blind in a world of light. I’m the one with an iPhone in each ear, deafened to death’s silence.

I’m the one with a tear welling. Now I know: Death is what makes life sacred.

I want to go inside. I want to go inside my shack under the cliffs at the end of the world and turn on the radio (deaths in Nepal, Indonesia, the Somme). I want to check my emails. I want a glass of wine.

But the wallaby at my feet keeps me here.

For once, I belong exactly where I am. The sun rubs my neck. The silence hugs me. I smell the freshly turned soil.

I am alive, at home, and properly sad. I, like the trees and the crow and the sun, acknowledge death and grieve in the silence it creates. All death is felt; is shared.

I never realised. This makes life sacrosanct.

I slide the shovel under the pile of dirt and flick the soil onto the dead wallaby. Near the hole, a potted macadamia awaits its planting.

We must never waste a life. No-one’s, ever.




3 responses to “Here & Now #103: Life and death”

  1. cleis says:

    I love how you express so simply and directly how it is for you and for so many of us .Thanks

  2. menkit says:

    How did this wallaby die? Hit by car? Attacked by dog? Shot by hoon? These are the most common causes of death for our macropods. How does he know a tick killed him? I have seen wallabies covered in ticks even paralysis ticks. They become immune to them to some extent. I agree no matter what its a very sad situation and I always grieve for the dead who must now leave this world not of their volition. My point is that there is so much cruelty directed to wildlife it’s important to at least report it to wildlife groups or police in case of shooting. Thanks for taking a moment to think of the animals whose lives matter too them as much as ours do to us.

  3. amanda Furze says:

    Oh dear S……. you have such a way with words. This piece is especially beautiful…. and poignant. May we always remember life IS sacrosanct…….. and so is death.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


Become a supporter of The Echo

A note from the editorial team

Some of The Echo’s editorial team: journalists Paul Bibby and Aslan Shand, editor Hans Lovejoy, photographer Jeff Dawson and Mandy Nolan

The Echo has never underestimated the intelligence and passion of its readers. In a world of corporate banality and predictability, The Echo has worked hard for more than 30 years to help keep Byron and the north coast unique with quality local journalism and creative ideas. We think this area needs more voices, reasoned analysis and ideas than just those provided by News Corp, lifestyle mags, Facebook groups and corporate newsletters.

The Echo is one hundred per cent locally owned and one hundred per cent independent. As you have probably gathered from what is happening in the media industry, it is not cheap to produce a weekly newspaper and a daily online news service of any quality.

We have always relied entirely on advertising to fund our operations, but often loyal readers who value our local, independent journalism have asked how they could help ensure our survival.

Any support you can provide to The Echo will make an enormous difference. You can make a one-off contribution or a monthly one. With your help, we can continue to support a better informed local community and a healthier democracy for another 30 years.”

Echonetdaily is made possible by the support of all of our advertisers.