My tribute
to Sam
Here I sit, pondering how one is to encapsulate into
words what Sam meant to myself and to so many others. With the eve
of Sam’s time of passing anniversary only a week away, I force
myself to attempt this epic task. My dread is not through lack of
wanting or thought but more through fear that the words I write
will do an injustice to our dear Sam who meant so many things to
so many people.
I hope some of these stories will make you laugh
in memory of Sam. I know she would like it to be so.
Had for example the roles been reversed and it was
Sam trying to put pen to paper I know she would have the ink flowing
onto Nepalese hand made paper like no tomorrow. One of her many
talents was the ability to write the funniest and most eloquent
letters. Gilly has shown she could write a speech to be made to
the Old Girls Association on her way into school. Things that would
take most people hours to prepare she could churn out in a heartbeat.
So, Sammy. Here was a girl who adored the country
life, who loved nothing more than to wake up on a high country farm
and “going for a walk in wellies and Swandri – ooohhhh
the country life” she once wrote in a letter to me. Equally,
here was a girl who loved the cosmopolitan buzz of Melbourne city
who would agonise over the purchase of a $400- pair of shoes.
I remember during our teenage years one afternoon
we were milling about up at Totoranui during our summer holidays.
Sam, who seemed blissfully ignorant of all the teenage “do’s
and don’ts” happily put on some Mozart concerto. There
was an exclaim of horror from the crowd at this intrusion into our
teenage insecurities and potential threat to our ‘cool’
status. Such was Sam’s confidence this all washed over here
completely.
Let me remind you of Sammy time. More often than
not (when Sam was on her way somewhere) her attention would wander
to something much more interesting, or she would be absorbed in
something so completely she would lose track of time. This would
result in her being late, or as it was known, on Sammy time. Somehow
she managed to do this in a way that was completely forgivable.
I recall her story of her trip across too the wedding of Nic Butler.
She left Worlingham, Cust North Canterbury headed for Tai Tapu,
a trip normally expected to take about 50 minutes to an hour. Sam
left home only 30 minutes before the wedding was due to start and
sped across the Canterbury Plains at the speed of lightening to
get there just before the wedding party - of course!
Somehow Sam always seems to transcend the boring
realities of life. Things such as parking tickets, overdue library
books, phone bills and speeding tickets never really registered
in Sam’s world. They were the trivia of the world that were
really just not called for at all.
During Sam’s illness she displayed strength,
bravery and selflessness that few are capable of. She used her intelligence
and unfaltering positive nature to lead her through the most scary
and difficult times. She dealt with cruel blows with a calm realism
and low key manner, always preferring to focus more on the good
fortunes of others. Her selflessness was so extreme at times it
was unhealthy. I remember she always had so many visitors, cards,
phone calls etc…it was a full time job for her just keeping
up with it all.
Her illness never seemed to make her weaker, only
stronger. Even when her body may have failed, her spirit and resolve
to get better would grow.
This was a girl who was so determined to go to her
dear friend Sarah Buxton’s wedding that she timed her Chemo
therapy around the wedding. One day she was having treatment, and
only a matter of days later she was being bridesmaid for her friend
as though it was the most natural thing in the world. While there
she was to deliver the most brilliant speech that left everyone
completely spellbound.
Suffice to say, before I babble on too long, that
Sammy was one of those people that put life back into life. She
saw our complex world with a clarity that most of us lack.
She was so unique but never appeared to realise it
or acknowledge that this was so.
So, it only seems like yesterday that I had a note
in my diary to call Sam at the hospital on extension 89259, wondering
when was a good time to call that she might have time to chat.
But as Sammy would never want any of us to live in
the past we must all carry on in the future as she would have wanted
us to.
I swear I will write on hand made Nepalese paper
more often!
As she herself often said,
“Yesterday is history
Tomorrow is a mystery
Today is a gift, that’s why they call it the present!”
And finally a word to Sam. Thanks for being Sam.
Lucy Gould
July 2004
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