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Byron Shire
May 19, 2022

Here & Now #103: Life and death

Latest News

Storylines – Stop the rot and take action

Having spent a long time reflecting on the last 13 weeks since the floods devastated our region, many important issues have come to my attention – loss of homes, possessions, safety, schools suspended from flooding, chaos, death, loss of animals, extreme anxiety and desperation, and so much more.

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Lismore Council votes to workshop temporary dwellings

With so many prongs currently on the disaster response fork, it's hard to know if Lismore Council is robbing Peter to pay Pauline as voting on leapfrogging issues means there is a possibility that everyone could lose – or win.

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.




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  1. 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.

  2. 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.


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