EVERY WORD, EVERY ACTION, EVERY DAY COUNTS
We are judged by our deeds and Ken Dinsmore set a fine example through a life well lived, maybe one that could be taken on board by our nation’s leaders
IT was not the Prime Minister’s finest moment. Slightly sweaty, very defensive, highly uncomfortable, I watched as Scott Morrison was grilled by journalist Tracy Grimshaw over his handling – or mishandling – of allegations of rape, harassment and sexism in his own (Parliament) House.
And I wondered … is this really the way he wants to live his life?
As a professed devout Christian, if Mr Morrison’s Maker calls him home tomorrow, is this how he would choose to be remembered?
Are his words and actions, or lack thereof, those upon which he wishes to be judged? And judged not just by his earthly constituents, but his own Higher Power.
To be clear, I don’t think ScoMo is in danger of eternal damnation, if such a thing exists, but his management of these scandals is a reminder that every word, every action and every day counts – as a politician and as a person.
Forgive me for being so dramatically philosophical, but we’ve been dealing with some big questions in our house over the last couple of weeks.
Because on March 8, as I was preparing to attend an International Women’s Day event, there was a knock on my door. It was my nephew, who is also my neighbour, with his eyes red and his hands shaking. He’d come to tell me that the police were at his house because his father – my brother-in-law, Ken – had been found deceased.
Ken, who was babysitting my children just two nights before. Ken, who was building a new deck for his family just the day prior. Ken, who was driving to deliver a bed for his wife when it happened.
Driving down the Gold Coast Hwy, we don’t know exactly what occurred, but something caused Ken to pull over, where he then suffered a brain aneurysm and passed away.
There was no warning sign, no chance of preparation – for himself, nor any of us. Ken was here. And then he was gone.
But what a legacy he has left behind,
Those three days leading up to his last are symbolic of all those that came before – a life spent working in service for others. And always, always, with a smile – because Ken was the epitome of kind and gentle.
I’ve never experienced a sudden death before. Though I’ve lost many close to me, including my own father when I was just a teenager, there was always time to say goodbye. There was time to right the wrongs and to make peace before they were at peace.
We were granted none of that with Ken. But, because he was Ken, we didn’t need it.
My last moments with him were in the wee hours of a Sunday morning, as my husband and I returned home from a rare boozy night out.
There sat Ken on our couch, quietly watching TV as his wife Jacinta snoozed on his shoulder.
We thanked them profusely and apologised for being so late, saying again how truly wonderful it is to have close family living across the street – and not just for the free babysitting.
Ken beamed his smile and said they’d had a great night, and what fun he had with the kids – they’d played tennis on the street, talked about going to the beach the next day and he’d happily suffered a series of practical jokes played upon him.
Days later, as my son grappled with this loss, he told me his great comfort was the last conversation he’d had with Ken, how on that Saturday night he was asking Ken all about his life (with special focus on 1970s haircuts and moustaches) and they’d
had a long and deep (for a 13year-old) chat.
Mortality is a tough concept for anyone to understand, but especially children. And my own are struggling.
How lucky am I then, to have Ken as the example to show them of not just how to live but how to die. It didn’t matter when his time was up, the integrity of his words and actions meant he was always ready – even if we weren’t. He embodied the idea of living each day as if it’s the last.
He savoured the goodness
of life, big and small – in sport, in travel, in his garden, in his family. And when he said his last goodbye that Monday morning, it was with a smile on his face and in service to others. His last day was the same as every other. There was no need for reparations, for apologies … just our own want for him to still be here.
The world is a poorer place without Ken it it. But perhaps, at the end of his days, his life could be a lesson not just to my children, but to our leaders. Every word, every action, every day counts.