All School by NW

In January my family and I said goodbye to our dad Matt. He was suffering from Multiple Systems Atrophy (MSA), a rare neuro-degenerative illness with no cure. MSA is like a spider tucking you into a bed of web. You’re stuck. You can do some things. Watch the footy, play the quiz on the radio… but you can’t move. The spider is saving you for later. Having MSA meant Dad had the option to leave our world through a new process called Voluntary Assisted Dying (VAD). Fuck the spider.

It’s easy for outsiders to stigmatise VAD. Those who go through it can no longer advocate for it—they’re dead. VAD’s still illegal in the Northern Territory and for now, in the ACT. Dad was one of Australia’s first recipients of the procedure in his home state of NSW, making him a pioneer VAD explorer. An astronaut to me.

With Matt on this journey, our family started to notice strange synchronicities, auspicious moments. My sibling Maile and I believed these were worthy of a show. We wanted to share our positive experience of VAD, not only to bring awareness to it, but to practice working together, using our hands and sharing space.

For the special event Mum, Jakira (Mum’s carer, and Dad’s, a bloody legend and now a family member) and our brother Patrick came down to Tasmania from Newcastle. A loving audience became the show. Phone torches made dancing shadows of the ant bonbons. There was a body percussion troupe. A trombone appeared. A wok hit with a wooden spoon. Mango lanterns lit with Banda candles, the warmest of flames. Chris Bury built a custom ramp so Mumma Kaz (who has MND) could lead the bubbling brigade in her wheelchair.

The parade went from gallery to the carpark through a human tunnel. Those bloody Ingalls performed a special song on the back of Chris’ ute and Good Grief artists Lych and Wes, simulating fireworks, twirled fire sticks and even breathed flame. Then Brother Pat fed everyone Dad’s famous curried sausages served with homemade chutney. Yum.

The chut was made from the ghost mangoes that miraculously fruited from the tree in the backyard when the decision to go ahead with VAD was made clear, and which ripened for a massive mango feast for Dad’s final week. Magic, because that tree had never produced mangoes before. Perfect because when you have MSA you can’t really swallow many foods, but mango is sweet and slimy and doesn’t need chewing. Maile manifested mango lanterns from the memory.

It’s as if the moment Dad made his date, his time, a conscious decision, a deal… the veil that separates us from the other world became thin, and magic matter made its way into the house.

Ants. Millions of ants came to visit to rummage through Dad’s undie drawer, where USBs hid in socks. They didn’t go for honey or sugar, or food in the kitchen. We joked that they were our ant(cestors). Without their help we wouldn’t have found the treasure in the USBs. The ants gave Dad the opportunity to give live commentary to the secret content that lay within them.

Another unusual aspect of VAD is that you get to choose your exit outfit. Dad opted for his fav shirt, a band shirt he got from the op shop. The band is called Helmet, and the cartoon image on the shirt is of a man in a brown suit shaking hands with a tiny green alien. Doing a deal of some kind. An agreement. An arrangement. An attire to say the least. I rendered this tee image into paper machete statues as a sort of salute to the situation.

Dad’s very last moment was marked by Martians further more. The family were all about the kitchen, a sunny day, jolly sounds of bird-life, mangoes everywhere, the smells, Callum playing guitar, waiting. Maile did her impersonation from Men in Black. The scene where a huge alien bug, inhabiting the body of a man named Edgar, approaches the morgue reception. Maile mimics him jerkily: “A man came in here earlier. A dead man. He was a very dear friend of mine. I believe he had an animal with him. A PET CAT. It means the world to me. I’d like to have it back.” She killed it. In the movie the cat has a marble-sized galaxy of significance dangling from it’s collar. In real life it was so funny, and our dad died laughing. He really did. We were there.