The eulogy

I have to catch a plane back to Sydney today so I will refrain from my review of Dad's magnificent funeral until I get back - or until Ash beats me to it. There have been many requests for a copy of Dad's eulogy so Here it is. Thanks to everyone who was part of yesterday. We were overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and heartfelt condolences.

How fitting it is to find ourselves here in this Cathedral – the place our parents were married, the place they renewed their vows some 40 years later, the place Dad loved to come to hear the choir.
When Dad got sick, we decided to chronicle his last few months on the Internet. Little did we realise that Geoff’s Little Gems would become a virtual eulogy to our father. It’s where so many of his friends spent time reading and contributing their own stories of Geoff.
We don’t want to dwell on the sadness or loss we feel because he wouldn’t want that. Dad was a man of celebration… and celebrate him we will.
We agonised how to tell you who dad was. We didn’t want to give you a biography of his life – too predicable, too contrived we could almost hear him say. So we decided to focus on the stuff of the man. The elements that fused together to make Geoffrey George Gibbs memorable. Dad was many things to many people. He was a father, a friend, a colleague, a teacher and an arts practitioner. He took each of these roles very seriously and it would be remiss of us not to highlight each for you here today.
When Dad got excited he would rub his hands together and shine sunbeams. This would happen when he greeted friends, over a plate of chockies or pewsey puffs, or when he was about to do something fun. On dad’s last trip to Sydney we sat together watching the original Broadway recording of Sweeney Todd.

Suddenly I’m 11 in New York watching Angela Lansbury singing” Nothing’s Going to Harm you not while I’m around.” Dad took my hand and gave it a little squeeze and we shared that shy moment when you know that a song reflects how you feel about each other. Geoffie was an actor, a friend, a teacher. But to us, his greatest role was that of being a husband to Carole, a father to Paige, Nathan and I, a father-in-law to Tash, good friend to Paul and grandfather to Otto and baby Ginger.

Our upbringing was warm, loving, spontaneous and often funny.
On family holidays we didn’t play eye-spy but name that musical. Years later this training actually assisted us to sweep the pool at pub trivia nights every time there was a Musical question. When we had birthday parties Dad would take the whole class to Godspell, or hired the reel to reel movie of The Sound of Music. We were so used to dad rehearsing lines that when our friends visited we would forget to tell them and they’d think he was mad. Our childhoods were full of music, dance, actors, laughter and imagination. Then Dad took us to America and provided an education that changed our lives and broadened our minds.

In our teenage years Dad was always looking out for us. His booming voice would convince suitors to wash the dishes whilst they were waiting to take us out. Once when I had a particularly painful break-up a large bunch of flowers arrived at the door. With a card saying “to my daughter a beautiful young lady who I am very proud of”. He loved driving us to exams. Locked in the car with no way out, Dad would start what we call the “champions speech” It would start with “you know that you are a champion”. Even today before I started this eulogy I heard his voice saying that phrase.

Dad loved mum. He loved her gentle nature, loyal support and ladylike elegance. He also loved her ability to be a great mother, organiser and friend. Together since they were eighteen, in their private times we would catch Dad giving mum a look with his gentle blue eyes that bathed her in the essence that is pure love. They did everything together, routine tasks were never dull, dad would take mum’s hand and make them adventures always ending in coffee and cake.

Dad taught us to be brave, live large, be creative, be generous, help others, stand by your convictions, laugh, cry and hug… but most of all, he taught us that we could make anything happen because he constantly did.

Dad was a devoted, loyal and generous friend. His circle of friends stretches across countries, continents, races, religions and cultural backgrounds. He maintained strong friendships that dated back as far as school through his mates Barry Maund and Bill Hicks – not to mention “the bridesmaids”. His mates from his days at Claremont Teacher College Murray Lake and Rod Underwood became devoted friends. His University buddies from Ohio State have followed him around the Globe. His arts comrades were both supportive and inspirational. Dad’s flotilla of doctor mates always ensured he was in the best hands. He made friends in moments and kept them for a lifetime. A testament to Dad’s reach is that the notices in the paper included entries from his favourite fish and chip shop and his pet food supplier. No matter who he was with, he always showed a genuine interest in their story and their lives. He went above and beyond to help friends in need but did so quietly without fuss or need for recognition. We often joked that our parents had a better social life than us and that is partly because Dad loved people. His merry band of dog walkers tell the story that before Dad, they would politely nod to each other in the park – since Geoff, they not only meet every morning but Dad had them going to the theatre. His love of life and people was infectious. Many a time we would be embarrassed by his antics – asking of a discount for Catholics, jumping the queue at restaurants in the States by saying the Australian Embassy had made the booking, holding the back of actors’ costumes just as they were about to make an entrance, writing 100s of anonymous postcards – some of a rather dubious nature – and sending them from the far flung places he and Mum would visit around the world. I know many of you were recipients of multiple postcards over the years. Ruben Kooperman even goes as far as carrying his around with him.
In his later years he would plan elaborate trips to exotic locales and invite his friends on the proviso that in the days, they were free to do as they will but the nights were his domain. This meant night after night of theatre – his one great love. His passion.
Those of you who have had the privilege to work with our father on stage will know what a talented artist Dad was. When Dad was younger – and at the hey day of the much missed National Theatre – dad would juggle a full time job as Head of Drama at Claremont Teachers College with treading the boards six times a week and being a father and husband. In his time, he played some remarkable roles – the ones he was most proud of were King Lear at Ohio State University, the title role in Essington Lewis I am Work – directed by his dear friend Aarne Neeme, and his last role as Tyrone Power in Long Days Journey Into Night, directed by fellow Kalgoorlie born and bred thespian – Ray Omedei.
Even if you weren’t fond of Dad’s performances, there was one role where you could not fault him. He was a remarkable audience member. If Dad laughed, others followed, when he clapped, it was like Zeus smacking the thunder clouds together. He could take a lukewarm crowd and turn them around just by being in the audience. The positive energy he projected was blinding. It a lesson we have learnt well and always approach theatre with the same interactive generosity. Nathan tells us that Geoff’s grandson Otto has the makings of a master clapper.
He was at times a controversial and outspoken critic of the arts. We’re sure many an actor shuddered when they knew Gibbsy was reviewing their work – as he did for the West Australian in later years. But he was also a champion of West Australian arts. He never subscribed to the idea that arts in this state should be mediocre or second rate. He measured talent universally not parochially. He went into battle for the Arts with politicians, financiers and funding bodies. He spearheaded the charge to reinvent the East Perth Power Station into a multipurpose cultural, arts and residential precinct – a battle that’s not over if he has anything to do with it. In the later part of his life, he worked tirelessly on behalf of the incredible Mr Handa and the International Foundation For Arts and Culture assisting artists with project funding. And then there’s the Academy.
Dad often said the one thing that he would like to be remembered as was a good teacher… and the Academy was his proudest achievement. Over the past few months 100s of well wishes have been pouring in from ex-students dotted around the globe. We’ve had messages from London, Russia, LA and New York. Past students have applauded his passion, his expertise, his management skills, and his discipline but one comment was reiterated again and again – his all encompassing hugs. Dad loved hugging people. His hugs were enfolding, joyous, heartfelt. Many a student has commented on how good they felt when Dad clasped them to his chest and squeezed the air out of them – it was the best review he could give.
He was a big believer in employing the best of the best at the Academy. Many a bright light was enticed Westward by Dad to take up teaching roles. Dear friends like Aarne Neeme and John Milson took up the challenge. Others followed that became dear friends and pivotal players in Dad’s plan to make the Academy the number one performing arts school in Australia. There were many vintage crops that came out of the Academy – both on the acting and teaching side.
Two standouts that soon became firm fixtures at our dinner table were Lisle Jones and Richard Gill. Dad loved these guy’s. Lisle was his trusted lieutenant and Richard, was Dad’s colleague, fellow Dean, co-conspirator and friend. They shared a life long love of the arts and each other. When Dad found out he was sick, he said the hardest person to tell was Lisle. Such was his devotion to him. And in the final week of Dad’s life, Richard called daily. We’d hold the phone to Dad’s ear and we could hear Richard singing light opera down the line.
Dad has received many accolades and awards over the years but none made him as proud as his Order of Australia AM. It was recognition for his contribution to the arts but it also represented the efforts of his friends and colleagues who made it happen. And that’s the real recognition that counted for him. Dad survived long enough to receive word of one final acknowledgement. And I can tell you this news brought a smile to his face. So I’m happy to unofficially announce that the main theatre at The West Australian Academy of performing Arts is going to be renamed the Geoff Gibbs Theatre. How fitting it is to have a lasting reminder of the man at the place where he did his best work. The place he championed, the place he took from potential to powerhouse. The place where my kids will forever see their Grandfather’s name in lights.
When we were in the hospital just over a week ago, trying to make the decision whether Dad should stay or be brought home, a single white fantail dove, landed outside his window and walked up and down. We all saw it. It didn’t fly away. It simply moved out of view. It was the most beautiful sight and we took it as a sign that no matter what our decision was to be – Geoffrey George was being looked after. It also gave us the strength to bring dad home to end his time surrounded by his friends, family, dog and garden. The few days Dad had at home were never solemn, never silent – the house was filled with laughter, music, wine, shared meals and private moments. That’s how he would have wanted it. Some of you know the story of Dad’s final moments, but it bears repeating. He was surrounded by all of his family including the newest, youngest member, his beloved granddaughter, Ginger Lightly Monaghan Gibbs. Just before Dad took his last breath, tiny Ginger let out a giggling gurgle as if she’d been tickled. We like to think of that sound as Dad kissing her on the head as he moved on. Telling her as he always told us that it’ll be alright love. And it will be. Perhaps not today… but it will be because Dad always kept his promise.

Three days and counting

As this blog reaches it natural conclusion I'd like to thanks all those 100s of people who have contribted to it or sent cards, good thoughts and prayers our way. We have been dumbfounded by the sheer volume of kindness pouring out of our letterboxes and computers. Downstairs continues to look like a florist and mum has literally weeks of frozen goods in the fridge.

The past two days have been spent planning Dad's funeral. I have wrestled with the program for days - finally having a breakthrough at 6pm today. Nathan spent the day in an edit suite transfering videos onto DVDs to show at Dad's wake. Dad didn't like to talk of death, so we had no idea what he wanted for his funeral - but we are doing the best we can and I think he will be proud. Tomorrow, Nath and I must tackel the eulogy! The Dean of St Mary's Catherdal will be officiating. I talked to him today to ask about what readings were appropirate. He said (and I quote) "Geoff will have what I tell him to and he know that!" Ah, we couldn't have picked a better man!

I have promised the many people who can't get here Thursday to update this site with the synopsis of the day - no need to update Geoffy as I think he'll witness the goings on first hand from on high.

Young Morris puts pen to paper

Nathan's dear friend and my esteemed former colleague, Master Nathan Morris sent the our Nathan a letter today that charted his memories of Dad. Nath is a wonderful writer and the letter deserves a wider audience. We hope you enjoy it as much as we all did when Nathan G read it aloud.
Don't worry that you can't be with us Nathan M - this letter was as good as having you in the room. He loved your wit ( no malice, just mischief) and mind. Much love from all of us.

Geoff Gibbs was one of the first of my friend’s dad’s that I remember meeting. Imagine 1980, primary school in Perth – a sea of khaki 10 year olds in a stinking hot playground that represented the world. Flying High and Stir Crazy about to revolutionise our lives, Jona Lewie on the mono AWA, and the impending arrival of ‘the other Nathan’ from America was the talk of the school. I don’t know if we first became friends because we had the same name or for deeper reasons (probably not at age 10), or because you had the exotic back story of living overseas. But we hit it off pretty quickly and I soon recall being invited over to Florence Street and meeting the whole family: the big sisters (yuck! – apologies to Paige and Ashley), Carol and Geoff, welcoming from the first. Geoff seemed a giant, matched by his booming voice – the famous actor according to those in the know at school, so he was the first person of repute I can say that I’ve met. The other great thing about Geoff at the time was his managerial stint at the Captain Sterling, which though a bit young for free middies, we capitalised on in other ways. I think it was your 11th birthday and a visit to the pub was arranged: the tabletop space invader-type game set up in a private room for our sole usage. I remember your Dad lining up little towers of 20 cent pieces on the table top and thinking, ‘is there anything better than this? Open slather space invaders, all the coca cola you can drink…” How many dad’s in the world had that power? It all added to the mystique of your family I guess. In my parent’s record collection we had Moog Plays the Beatles and a few albums by the Kingston Trio. Yours seemed to be a vast collection of lps – Broadway musicals, Hollywood movie soundtracks, tons of albums that you probably didn’t think much of but to me were little windows into a world your Dad inhabited but which I was so unfamiliar with – the world of the performing arts. And photos of your time in America – the Corn Palace, amusement parks, the monuments and landmarks. Most vividly I seem to recall a photo of Geoff wearing a CSU toilet seat around his neck - which I guess was the style of the day in 1979 Columbus…
I seem to have spent countless hours at your house, riding over to South Perth from Shenton Park, a feat that seems inconceivable today…and Geoff always showing an interest in what I was doing (as indeed your whole family did) and I always felt so welcome, though there were some ‘incidents’ that are probably best left unsaid. Except for this one - when Pete and I were over one day and under your direction Nifty we were in your garden throwing eggs as high as we could into the air and trying to catch them whole…this exercise somehow ended up as a barrage of eggs bombarding the outside of Mrs Hulls’s abode (did this contribute to her early demise, or the demise of her pet budgie? An unproven hypothesis here). Suddenly out of nowhere Geoff appeared, and to this day I can remember him standing stock still in furious anger, assessing the scene, roaring… Pete and I sent home not long after, leaving you to the world of punishment owing to a 12 year old egg terrorist. And referring to that scene many times after over the years with you in great fits of laughter, but probably only funny to us.
And being invited to the theatre, an experience I had only had previously at a family dinner at Romano’s in 1979. Essington Lewis – Geoff Gibbs as the founder of BHP in a musical exploration of a big man in and beyond his lifetime. To this day the exhortation of “work is my life…life is my work” is a timely reminder of Geoff onstage. And how could I forget the ultimate combo – you Nifty and your dad bedazzling us in a play about god knows what – I think Merlin, with Geoff as Merlin of course. And then there were the other perks: the great river cruise I was invited to, with the cast from a play your dad was appearing in which included Manuel from Fawlty Towers (Andrew Sachs) – a softly spoken and boring Englishman I seem to recall - we were quietly shunted to the front of the boat with the other teenagers while the adults tucked into the Blue Nun and cocktail cheese, Geoff the only one to pop his head in to see how we were. But the currency this had back at school was weighty indeed.
And television – again in the eyes of a teenager to see your dad in the first world war trenches (A Fortunate Life ) was so fantastic…as was watching Zombie Brigade a few years later, fantastic though for different reasons. I hate using the expression ‘larger than life’ but your dad certainly inhabited a place that seemed to transcend the suburbs and people of my childhood – relative fame, overseas travel, on stage and on screen, all things I thought were fabulous.
And even through the wayward twenties your dad was not averse to quizzing me with great jocularity on any and all topics when I was at your house, mooching in the basement or idling near the Florian. We didn’t get in as much trouble then, but I’m not sure why…
And then at your wedding seeing Geoff in full flight – what a fantastic demonstration of humour and love, a natural onstage.
I think the last time I saw him was at Shannaz wedding – embarrassingly a long time ago now. Saying, “Look at you, with your beautiful wife and beautiful son, I’m so thrilled for you – see how far you’ve come since I last saw you” – which was the highlight of the day for me.
So Nifty I don’t have much else to say and you’re probably tired of reading, but without hyperbole I can say that in the award winning category of ‘Friends Parents’ Geoff stands on top of the heap and most of my memories of him are ones that generate great laughter, which is a rare distinction. I think that as with the birth of a child, the death of a loved one requires us to live a little less selfishly: we have to look inside ourselves to process what’s going on in the outer world, in our relationships with family and colleagues, - and with death I think our marks as a people will be how we cope with the pain and the grief. And I hope that you and Carol, Paige and Ashley can draw on the great and happy memories you have of Geoff to bring some light to the darkness created by his passing.

Geoff's last performance

Don't want to steal Ash's thunder but she's a bit crook today and people are asking about the funeral. It will be held next Thursday the 24th of August at 9:30am at St Mary's Cathedral followed by a short service at the Karrakatta Crematorium. All you Catholics will be delighted to know that it will be a full mass - the rest of you "Proddies" (as Dad was so fond of calling anyone that wasn't RC) will have to endure. The knees up will be back at our house.

I'll leave Ash to talk of the wonderful sentiments, flowers, food and booze that has been arriving almost hourly since Dad's passing.

I would like to acknowledge our places of work in Sydney - FoxAustralia, Toniq and MooterMedia for being so generous and considerate in placing our feelings above our work commitments. We are so very grateful for your understanding.

Geoffrey George Gibbs 25/11/1940 - 17/08/2006

At 10:05am this morning our darling father and loving husband passed away. He was surrounded by his entire family - including the youngest Gibbs, Ginger. It was a peaceful, silent passing. The only sound was Ginger's gurgles that we took as a sign of Dad transfering his energy to his beloved granddaughter. We remembered to open a door just before he passed so his spirit could soar. We are fairing remarkably well as we know Dad is far, far away cracking a bottle of champers with his parents and Auntie Wen and getting ready for the biggest funeral and wake this town has ever seen!

Florence Nightingale

Just a brief note of thanks to Jacqueline Shwenger for agreeing to move in with us for the duration of Dad's illness to provide her expertise as a registered nurse and loving friend. I don't think we would have been brave enough to bring Dad home if we didn't know that she would be there for him and us 24/7.

Her husband, Rolf is Dad's trusted doctor and dear, dear friend. He comes over every night to gauge dad's progress and the two of them go into a pow wow about the best treatments to keep dad comfortable and pain free. They have made our lives bearable and been straight with us from the start. They never sugarcoated Dad's prognosis which meant we could approach this final stage of his life with an genuine understanding of what he is going through and what it would take to look after him. For that I thank them. We are so grateful to Jacqueline for saying "if you're doing this, I am doing this too!" We are so deeply thankful that this amazing family has come into our lives and helped us realise Dad's last wish.

Sounds of life in other rooms

Today has been a challenging one. Dad is still hanging in there but it is because of the strength of his heart and not his body. We decided it would be a good idea to limit visitors to immediate family. This gave all of us time to spend with Dad, talking and stroking his arm and telling him how much he meant to us. It was a private day. A day spent figuring out how we were feeling. So many emotions pass through as you contemplate what the future of this family will be without the juggernaut that is Dad driving us forward. But he has taught us well and we will make him proud.

This evening was a time to laugh and share stories. We cooked a couple of chooks and opened a few bottles of wine. When the Silver Chain nurse came to administer to Dad, myself, Nath and Violet Carr went upstairs to give him some privacy. Nath is fond of a little flutter on the gee gees and dogs and has access to a TAB account so he and I started putting on $2 bets each way and watching Sky Racing to see if we'd won anything. It didn't take long for Violet to get in on the action and by the end of the night, we were up $60 and Violet was betting on dogs in Warnambol and horse races in South Africa.

Dad's old friends Janet and Jock Barker let us in on a story from their youth. They were moored off Rottnest Island on Jock's yacht when the unthinkable happened - the toilet conked out. Dad came to the rescue by producing a metal icecream container that allowed all those with a full bladder to relieve themselves. Dad then tightly resealed the lid and ceremoniously launched the good ship Wee Wee into the sea. Little did they know that a group of children lead by the Pied Piper of Rottnest - a pan pipe playing old goat called Uncle Arthur (who had his own column in The Sunday Times!) would spy 'the treasure' floating into shore and open it to see what Neptune had provided for the kiddies. So like Dad!

And in the middle of all this laughter and love, there he is listening to life and reminding us of why we love him like we do.

Wine, music, lamb shanks and memories

What a remarkable night. There has been a steady stream of family and loved ones here today - not to mention a truck load of florals! We sat down to a meal of Claire Connor's lamb shanks and lashings of red wine. Dad was part of the party and we all took turns being with him and talking to him. I think the Silver Chain nurse was a little surprised when she came to check on Dad. it was as if she had entered the tail end of a dinner party...or walked onto the set of a Woody Allen film. But we all know that this is how he would have wanted it. Surrounded by friends and family, chatting, laughing, sharing old stories and celebrating his life.

At present we are being entertained (yes entertained) by Dad's skin specialist (yes skin specialist), Roland Brand. He is a dear friend of Dad's and came with his wife Therese to see Dad. A gifted pianist, Roland mentioned that he never got to play for Dad. So with some encouragement, he took to the keys and played a wonderful classical medley for Dad. It was very moving. At the end of each piece, Dad opened his eyes as if to say thanks.

Music is everywhere at the moment. Each day, Dad's great friend, Richard Gill calls and sings selection of light opera into his ear. At the other end of the spectrum Otto has taken to our old piano with vigor and is banging out his own peculiar arrangement of Twinkle Twinkle.

And in the middle of all this life is Dad...shining... breathing... home.

The Constable Papers

Dad just received a veritable novel from one of his beloved ex-students, Mark Constable. I just read him bits of it, Mark and he smiled. It was a joy for me to read because the cast was so familiar although the stories were new. The thing that stood out was that you and many of his students will remember him as a teacher. Mum remarked that he would have loved that. For all his accomplishments, nothing gave him greater joy than seeing his students achieve and embrace the world like he did.

Mark and others made mention of Dad's hugs. How all encompassing and familial they were. This hug became a symbol of dad. He also used it as a teaching tool. There's many a grown man who has told me that he learnt how to hug because of Dad. His godson, Gavin even said he was going to pass on the knowledge to his own children. What a great legacy.

But back to Mark... Dad always had a soft spots for the larrakins. He took great delight in those who were cheeky enough to test without overstepping the mark. He loved the Constables (won't use the nickname on this PG rated blog), Mimicas and Shanahans of this world. They were the Neverland Boys and he Captain Hook who never quite caught them out but relished in trying.

He would have applauded your passion, Mark and the passion of all his students who continue to take his lessons with them.

Some one once said that Dad treated his students like his children and his children like his students. I don't know if that's true - I do think you all got away with a lot more. Think it would be better to say, his family didn't stop at myself and my siblings but it embraced 100s of his dearly loved students. He was so proud of you all.

Monday morning

Just brief entry to thank everyone for their kind thoughts, cards, flowers, emails and gifts. We are reeling with the speed at which Dad has succumb to this disease. Ash and mum have been staying at the hospital, Nath's been going home to his little family and I have been coming here to look after Buddy and catch people up on Dad's decline. Yesterday was a bad day - for us more than him I suspect. He spent most of it asleep. He did talk to his brother Michael and Goddaughter Helen in the morning. He had a number of visitors throughout the day which we had to turn away as Dad was so tired. Richard Gill called from Melbourne and sang Light Opera into his ear. Andrew Hale (who Dad thought was an exceptional actor) and his partner Renee - both of whom were in Long Day's Journey Into Night showed up with the most beautiful orchid and card. We told him you both came and he smiled. He was so proud of that performance and the cast. Mum and Dad's good friend and neighbour Trish arrived with the Boy From Oz CD. That elicited a smile too. It's amazing how important facial gestures and eye movements have become.

Today we need to ascertain if we can bring Dad home. He is getting weaker by the day so it is a massive decision that no one is looking forward to making. Everyone has an opinion on this decision but ultimately it's up to us to decide. We know it's what he wants but we don't want to move him if it causes him more distress.

I have taken great comfort in my friend and colleague Britt's words about her own father who recently passed away. From his bed he told his family he "loved hearing the sounds of the living around him. " We are all with Dad and he is never alone and anyone who knows us knows that a Gibbs has difficulty keeping quiet. So we will talk and talk and talk to him until he tells us "that's enough."

White Dove

My apologies for not posting anything yesterday but the last 48 hours have been tumultuous. Yesterday morning Dad has a seizure. The doctors were concerned that it was brought on by one of the tumours in his brain and that it may result in a stroke. But, true to form, Dad woke up and could move his limbs, toes and head. He could also still communicate by nodding and saying yes and no. Unfortunately, Dad's specialist believes that radio therapy at this stage would be of little use. They prepared us for the worst. But, he has a will that’s breathtaking. He is still refusing pain killers and is drinking fluids. We feared the worst earlier today after one of the interns alerted Dad to the fact that his treatment had ceased. Just as he had rallied earlier in the day, he seemed to go into a slump. We were being asked to make some literally life-altering decisions and none of us knew what we should be doing.
Enter the cavalry.
Cutting their holiday short, Dad's doctor and friend, Rolf and his intrepid wife Jacqueline stormed into the hospital. Within moments, Jacqueline had Dad communicating his wish to her - to go home. They then began to set the wheels in motion. Rolf got onto Dad's specialist and informed him that this was Dad's desire. The specialist was surprised dad was still communication, let alone drinking! He said that if that is what we wanted, he would try to assist in making it happen, but being the weekend, nothing could be done until Monday. But we communicated this plan to Dad and he has physically perked up. He wants to be home and we will try to make that happen. And even if time runs out - which it may - it means that we have given the old boy the hope he needs to fight on. It’s an audacious plan full of folly but in true Gibbs style we want Dad to go out with a bang.
We know this will be hard for all his friends to read, it is hard to write but we have a mission, us Gibbs' - A goal to get our father and husband back home where he will be surrounded by familiar sights and sounds. Where he will be cared for by his loved ones and professionals. Where he can finish his remarkable life with grace, peace and dignity.
While we were at the hospital today, a pure white dove with a perfect snow coloured fantail landed outside Dad's window. Nathan, Mum, Helen Carr and I all saw it. It stood there for a few moments and then walked out of sight. It was the most beautiful bird. I am not sure if some of you would agree but we took it as a sign. For the religious it meant that the Holy Spirit had come to show Dad the way. It also meant Dad would soon be in peace and free of pain. It was the most remarkable thing. Later in the day it returned. I believe it was to reinforce that Dad would be cared for but also to give Ash reassurance as she missed out in seeing it earlier. It gave me a great sense of calm. We know that Dad doesn't have long with us but he will soar when the time comes and that gives me great solace. Stay tuned for plans of the great escape!

Wednesday Update

First official pictures of the Gibbs grandparents and little baby Ginger - born 4th of August 2006. Dad promised he'd be around to cuddle his new grandchild and he was!

Today has been spent at the hospital. Dad is doing okay. He is scheduled to start radio (apologies to all the medics for calling it radiation!) therapy tomorrow. This should help to shrink the tumours in his brain. It may also help the lungs. He will remain in hospital until the end of the week at the earliest. At this stage, we ask that you refrain from visiting or calling him as he gets very tired and needs to rest a lot. The phone calls and emails keep flooding in at home and I am overwhelmed by how many people are concerned for Dad's wellbeing. He is truly loved. Please keep sending your prayers and power his way.

We have passed on messages to Dad from Uncle Mike, Barry, Katya, Leah and Gav, Barb and Mike Scott (Who dropped of a carton of their own vineyard's wine), Murray and Jay Lake (who dropped off their weekly care package!), Trish and Dot(the best neighbours in the world), Jeremy Levy, Reuben Kooperman (who has proofs of the photos he took with the sculptor for a potential bronze of the old boy in the future), Jackie and Geoff and Leonie Mirmikidis who dropped off some sweet treats which we took into the hospital to supplement what must be the most dire menu in the Southern Hemisphere. Thank God you don't go to hospital for the catering!

I know many people are shocked by the rapid changes in Dad - no one more than us. But know that he's in no pain and in the best hands. We haven't given up hope and nor should you.

Latest news

In the interest of keeping everyone informed of Dad's progress and because he would want us to be as honest as possible, I wanted to document what's been happening over the past week. As some of his friends may know, Dad has been having some trouble with his balance and motor skills- this is why the blogs have slowed down a bit - he is having a bit of trouble typing.

Monday, he went in for chemo and our worst fears were confirmed. The chemo doesn't seem to be working and the cancer has moved to his brain - resulting in a tumor. He has been admitted into hospital and will undergo radiation therapy to ease the pressure on the brain and hopefully give him back some mobility. They also intend to give the lungs some therapy too. He will be at Charles Gardiner for at least a week. At this stage, we are asking if you could give him some space as he needs some rest and treatment.

This is obviously an incredible change for people to accept - considering he was tapping away at these very keys just over a week ago but in his own words - cancer is a harsh mistress. The good news is that he's in no pain and we still get glimpses of the old Geoffy - especially when he is being nagged by Mum or commenting on the disgraceful muck passing for food at the hospital.

As Dad has been name dropping outrageously on this blog, I should continue the tradition. His friend Kenneth Murton in Canada is in regular correspondence and has his entire yoga group downward dogging and sending healing Dad's way. Michael, Linda and baby Hannah Goldschlager sent a lovely email pressing Dad to battle on. Lynne Woolfenden also sent a great email that I will now quote "Keep singing and flying Icarus and don't let the sun melt those lovely wings of yours." Hugh and Deb also sent an email expressing their love and prayers.

I have made a promise to Dad to keep everyone up to date with what's been going on and I will. Mum is holding up as best she can and we are all hoping and praying for a miracle.

The wedding confusion

Just wanted to clear up the confusion about Paul and my wedding. It seems that somewhere in this blog, Dad wrote that we were getting married on the 8th of August. We caught that error but not before it had gone out to the world. If I were getting married today, writing on Geoffie's blog would be down the list below getting my eye lashes permed. No... no wedding today or anytime soon. We're all focusing on Dad at the moment. He is fighting as hard as he can but it is taking it's toll. Hence the blog entries slowing down some what. I've put my hand up to fill everyone in on Dad's progress.

I am flying over to Perth today as Nathan has to be back in Sydney on Monday after spending more than six weeks over there. I am so proud of him. Not only has he been looking after Tash and his two children but he has been there every day for mum and dad. I don't think they could have got through all this without his constant support and love. Now it's my turn to take over. Ash will also be flying back this weekend to spend time with Dad. We are all very grateful to the Kagis for giving us a place to stay when we need it. They are great friends to all of us. Stay tuned.

Grandchild Number Two

Yesterday at just after 3pm, Tash gave birth to a baby girl at St John of God Subiaco. As always, the naming was nearly as anticipated as the birth. And how do you follow Otto Joseph Gibbs? With Ginger Lightly Gibbs, of course!

The Gibbs and Monghan clans descended on mass to get their first cuddle with Ginger. As most of you know, Otto is a mini Nathan and from all reports, Ginger is a mini Tash with dark curly hair. The occasion was made more joyous because Dad was there in the thick of it. He is so delighted in having a beautiful little granddaugter. Ash serentipitously flew to Perth yesterday so I am the lone Gibbs left to document the event from afar. We are all so grateful that Dad has had the determination and fight to see and hold his granddaughter - nothing can be more life fullfilling than that. Photos to follow.