Personal pools of inadequacy became both deeper and wider as
plaudits were piled upon the life of the late Simon Furphy.
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| This rather special portrait of Simon Furphy was on show at the recent celebration of his life on the banks of the Sevens Creeks at Arcadia. |
Funerals are rarely places of criticism or doubt and so to
hear such laudable talk of a fellow who for 60 years had been an intimate
player in Shepparton’s practical and social life should not have surprised.
No, the praise was not a surprise, but what did catch me
unprepared was how Simon’s honesty and passion for life left me feeling like I
had not really had a “crack”, how I had been less than an ideal husband, father
and friend, and how I had failed to use my skills, whatever they might be, to
make this a better place.
From all accounts Simon lived his life as if the glass was
half full and even in the final days of his struggle with bowel cancer, he was,
according to family and friends, fiercely optimistic, illustrating to the end a
signature trait.
Hundreds of family and friends recently gathered on the
banks of the Sevens Creek, beneath shady gum trees, at the Arcadia property of
his brother and sister-in-law, Andrew and Frederica to recognise and celebrate
the former Shepparton solicitor, through music and story.
Simon had been a diligent fellow, but also, so we were told
at his “celebration”, of his ease in acquiring friends and his curious penchant
for striking alliances that brought personal benefits or enriched whatever
group he was with.
No matter how jolly people may be, funerals, or a celebration
in Simon’s case can be less than uplifting for even though we might all still
be alive, and that of itself is cause for joy, there is a sombre sense about
the whole affair.
Listening to the wonderful optimistic, upbeat, sociality and
enthusiasm Simon brought to life ignited reflection upon what it is to be
human.
Unquestionable Simon, as with the rest of us, had his
failings and as suggested by author Isaiah Berlin, was built from the same
“crooked timbers of humanity”, just as we are.
Ironically, just about the time we gathered on the banks of
the Sevens Creek to listen to music and tells stories about Simon, and
celebrate his life, a book about our denial of death had slid into view.
We all live with the implicit understanding that death
awaits us and so are driven to sometimes bizarre ends to achieve imagined
immortality and frequently those efforts manifest themselves in less than
kindly ways.
Strip away the façade that is modern life and revealed are
the reasons why men hurl themselves over parapets to certain death, why we
exhaust ourselves acquiring what we want, rather than need and why we are
victims of a surfeit of emotion.
And yes, it was a celebration, and yes, if I perceive Simon
as portrayed, it was sad we kicked up our heels without him.
