When I was told of Julie`s accident, I spent some time thinking about the what ifs, what if I had gone home at lunchtime, what if she had run another route (she had loads to choose from). But, after a couple of days, I realised that I had missed some. What if I had never used dating direct and seen an intriguing photo of a small blond lady running? What if I had not decided to make contact and meet her?
I would not have gone skiing in Andorra with the girls and got lost at midnight, having driven 260km in the wrong direction. Julie`s solution to that problem, was to amuse the girls by dancing on the ceiling of the hire car until the girls fell asleep and we arrived tired, but still happy at 3am. And we would not have shared the best time ever in Gambia together, when despite me throwing myself out of the Jacuzzi 20minutes after arriving; we had a beautiful holiday never out of each other’s company.
We often used to joke at home about Julie being the shortest, a fact not lost on Julie, but in reality she always towered above us all with her love and determination to meet any challenge, doing her very best for those she loved and cared for.
If Julie ever sat down and relaxed at home, it was always a significant event noted by the rest of us. She was always planning and doing things to make our lives the best she could, from planning our futures or simply making sure people had clean clothes for school.
As I think you all know, Julie loved her running, second only to her family and passed on that love to many of us here. She would never let you say,” no I can`t”, and would tell you,” yes you can” over and over until you believed it and did!
Despite her tragic death, I consider myself to be, without doubt, the luckiest man on this planet. I have met my soul mate and shared Julie`s love for 4 years. We filled this time with a lifetime of memories and she will always be with me. So much of who I am now, is Julie.
She would make me feel ten feet tall every-time we went anywhere together, her smile and those lovely blue eyes lighting up the room around us.
Julie`s loss is devastating for all of us, but in leaving us, she has set us another challenge, to try to match up to her love of life, its challenges and the people around us, and drive ourselves to be half as good as her.
I miss you Gorgeous, love you!
Chris
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Kevin's Words to Julie
When I sat down to write about Julie, I realized that more than anything there were things that I wanted to say to Julie.
One thing in particular stands out. Julie – I am so very proud of you.
You lived your life with passion and with a determination to be happy.
You have left behind people that love you very much and who will miss you terribly, but you have left them much the richer for having known and loved you.
Your life was too short but it was a life well lived!
One thing in particular stands out. Julie – I am so very proud of you.
You lived your life with passion and with a determination to be happy.
You have left behind people that love you very much and who will miss you terribly, but you have left them much the richer for having known and loved you.
Your life was too short but it was a life well lived!
Stephanie's Eulogy
I would like to start by adding my thanks to everyone for coming. Julie would be so honoured to see so many friends and colleagues here and she would think it was absolutely the ants pants that her far flung family has congregated all in one place. I know she would also be extremely pissed off that she couldn’t be here to share this time....but Julie, you aren’t alone, I think we are all pretty pissed off that you aren’t here!
My job today seems a ridiculous one. To somehow sum up in 5 minutes the life of someone who meant so many different things to each of us in this room. I fear these memories will be very Stephanie-centric – but hopefully you will all recognise some of the Julie that each of you knows.
For those of us who have known Julie the longest, I feel we would all agree that there were two Julies. I’ve struggled for the right analogy and I think the closest I can come to is that of the caterpillar that becomes a butterfly.
The little girl Julie was soft, gentle and unhurried just like that fluffy caterpillar. The grown up, butterfly Julie was oh so beautiful, and independent and she flew on the wind – whether running marathons, riding her motorbike or driving her beloved sports cars. Like the caterpillar and the butterfly the two Julies looked so completely different, yet at the core there was always that same DNA – that same basic something that was Julie.
There aren’t many of us here today that really knew the gentle, fluffy caterpillar that was Julie the little girl. I must admit that even I don’t feel the best qualified to bring that Julie to life for you. Let’s face it – she was my little sister and at that age probably rated in the top 10 most insignificant things in my life.
I am pretty sure that Julie was God’s way of making it up to my mother for giving her a first child that was such a complete pain in the ass. Julie as a little girl was practically a saint in comparison to her big sister.
Julie was incredibly easy going and even tempered. I’m embarrassed to say that I was demanding and downright difficult. If I was sent to my room for some misdemeanour I made it my business to scream wildly until my mother could stand it no more and I would be released. By contrast, on the odd occasion when Julie did something bad enough to warrant being sent to her room, within about 2 minutes she would have completely forgotten that she was being punished and you would hear her singing quietly to herself and playing with her dolls. She really was every mother’s dream.
She was also helpful. Julie would be the one to offer to set the table without being asked. Julie would know when someone was upset and be the first to offer a cuddle. In fact, Julie was so helpful that at one point she was discovered by our babysitter in the bathroom with Kevin (our younger brother) teaching him how to pee standing up. “No, no hold it this way.” “Aim a little higher” “Stand with your legs slightly apart”. I’m not sure if Kevin is quite aware of how much he owes to his sister on this score.
The little girl Julie was also very sensitive and easily hurt. It has to be said that I was incredibly mean to Julie when we were young – she was such an easy target and I was forever making her cry. At the time I thought she was a complete wimp and used to get really angry that she refused to stand up to me.
Well, things were to change – because grown-up Julie was certainly no wimp, and she had no problem standing up to me at all. I can’t remember where we were or even what we were talking about, but I can vividly remember the shock I felt when she turned to me one day and said “Stephanie, that is absolute bollocks”. Ever since then she has taken no crap from me...or anyone else for that matter.
And somehow that little girl who was happy to spend hours in her room became the woman who had a zest for life, a certain fearlessness and a love of speed. Only last July Julie took me out on her new motorbike for what she advertised as a “short” and “slow” ride. I have never been so terrified in my life – and yet for Julie you could see the exhilaration and the pure joy of being alive.
Julie the woman and mother wasn’t quite so easy going as the child. She was fiercely protective of her beloved girls Emma and Lucy. Instead of becoming a kindergarten teacher – which had seemed the obvious job for the shy gentle cuddly Julie of our childhood – she became a highly successful, competitive and pretty tough sales professional. And she fought tooth and nail, through some often very difficult times, to get what she wanted out of life for herself and her girls. It seems so bittersweet to know that after all that fighting Julie had found so much of what she wanted in life. She had found a soulmate in Chris, she was spending more and more time her girls, Emma, Lucy and now Holly and they were building a home that was so incredibly marked with the “culture of Julie”.
Despite the outside differences between Julie the little girl and Julie the woman, just like that caterpillar and the butterfly at the core there was always a basic DNA that was Julie. Somehow at the very core of Julie was an incredibly strong understanding of the importance of family.
Julie always opened her home to family and welcomed them with open arms – even when it was inconvenient.
Julie always cried at the airport when you left – and the tears were real.
When my grandmother was dying she flew all the way to Victoria to visit her even though she hardly knew her.
She had a fierce sense of the importance of family rituals and worked hard to create special rituals for her own family. We got to share in one of these the other day when we discovered that our Christmas turkey had been given a name and that proceedings were opened with a toast to Melvin the turkey.
Julie was instrumental in arranging to reunite her beloved Chris with his brother, from whom he had been estranged for 15 years.....because she knew that family needs to stick together.
She always remembered birthdays and she was incredibly loyal about sending presents to the far corners of the earth every Christmas. Sometimes the presents were a bit strange....like the year she sent me edible underpants, or the his and her pigs she sent to me and Dennis or the miniature vacuum cleaner in the shape of a cow. But one knew she had always thought of you.
I distinctly remember going for a walk with Julie at Christmas time in Clifton Hampden 15 years ago, with Emma in a carrier on my back, and Julie telling me that whatever else happened for her in her life she had what she really really wanted, her very own family.
Tomorrow will be New Years Eve so I imagine many of you have been thinking about your new year resolutions. I would like to suggest three possible resolutions that you could make to honour Julie – both the little girl and the woman.
Resolution no 1: I will eat more salad in 2010. Julie pretty much had an exclusive diet of salad, and I’m not suggesting you go quite this far. But I think Julie would like the idea of people adding vegetables and fibre to their diet in her honour.
Resolution no 2: I will go to at least one party in 2010 and have a roaring good time. Julie loved a party and I know she would love it if her family and friends could quietly raise a glass to her during a really fun get-together.
Resolution no 3: I will reach out and do something kind for someone in my family in 2010. If you only do one thing this year, this is the one that I think would do Julie the greatest honour. For Julie, nothing was ever as important as family. For this reason, and because Julie’s death must remind us all how brief and precious life is, I hope that all of us can make this next year one in which we forgive our family of their weaknesses, call our parents more often, give more hugs, and always remember that your little sister is a lot more important than she may seem.
My job today seems a ridiculous one. To somehow sum up in 5 minutes the life of someone who meant so many different things to each of us in this room. I fear these memories will be very Stephanie-centric – but hopefully you will all recognise some of the Julie that each of you knows.
For those of us who have known Julie the longest, I feel we would all agree that there were two Julies. I’ve struggled for the right analogy and I think the closest I can come to is that of the caterpillar that becomes a butterfly.
The little girl Julie was soft, gentle and unhurried just like that fluffy caterpillar. The grown up, butterfly Julie was oh so beautiful, and independent and she flew on the wind – whether running marathons, riding her motorbike or driving her beloved sports cars. Like the caterpillar and the butterfly the two Julies looked so completely different, yet at the core there was always that same DNA – that same basic something that was Julie.
There aren’t many of us here today that really knew the gentle, fluffy caterpillar that was Julie the little girl. I must admit that even I don’t feel the best qualified to bring that Julie to life for you. Let’s face it – she was my little sister and at that age probably rated in the top 10 most insignificant things in my life.
I am pretty sure that Julie was God’s way of making it up to my mother for giving her a first child that was such a complete pain in the ass. Julie as a little girl was practically a saint in comparison to her big sister.
Julie was incredibly easy going and even tempered. I’m embarrassed to say that I was demanding and downright difficult. If I was sent to my room for some misdemeanour I made it my business to scream wildly until my mother could stand it no more and I would be released. By contrast, on the odd occasion when Julie did something bad enough to warrant being sent to her room, within about 2 minutes she would have completely forgotten that she was being punished and you would hear her singing quietly to herself and playing with her dolls. She really was every mother’s dream.
She was also helpful. Julie would be the one to offer to set the table without being asked. Julie would know when someone was upset and be the first to offer a cuddle. In fact, Julie was so helpful that at one point she was discovered by our babysitter in the bathroom with Kevin (our younger brother) teaching him how to pee standing up. “No, no hold it this way.” “Aim a little higher” “Stand with your legs slightly apart”. I’m not sure if Kevin is quite aware of how much he owes to his sister on this score.
The little girl Julie was also very sensitive and easily hurt. It has to be said that I was incredibly mean to Julie when we were young – she was such an easy target and I was forever making her cry. At the time I thought she was a complete wimp and used to get really angry that she refused to stand up to me.
Well, things were to change – because grown-up Julie was certainly no wimp, and she had no problem standing up to me at all. I can’t remember where we were or even what we were talking about, but I can vividly remember the shock I felt when she turned to me one day and said “Stephanie, that is absolute bollocks”. Ever since then she has taken no crap from me...or anyone else for that matter.
And somehow that little girl who was happy to spend hours in her room became the woman who had a zest for life, a certain fearlessness and a love of speed. Only last July Julie took me out on her new motorbike for what she advertised as a “short” and “slow” ride. I have never been so terrified in my life – and yet for Julie you could see the exhilaration and the pure joy of being alive.
Julie the woman and mother wasn’t quite so easy going as the child. She was fiercely protective of her beloved girls Emma and Lucy. Instead of becoming a kindergarten teacher – which had seemed the obvious job for the shy gentle cuddly Julie of our childhood – she became a highly successful, competitive and pretty tough sales professional. And she fought tooth and nail, through some often very difficult times, to get what she wanted out of life for herself and her girls. It seems so bittersweet to know that after all that fighting Julie had found so much of what she wanted in life. She had found a soulmate in Chris, she was spending more and more time her girls, Emma, Lucy and now Holly and they were building a home that was so incredibly marked with the “culture of Julie”.
Despite the outside differences between Julie the little girl and Julie the woman, just like that caterpillar and the butterfly at the core there was always a basic DNA that was Julie. Somehow at the very core of Julie was an incredibly strong understanding of the importance of family.
Julie always opened her home to family and welcomed them with open arms – even when it was inconvenient.
Julie always cried at the airport when you left – and the tears were real.
When my grandmother was dying she flew all the way to Victoria to visit her even though she hardly knew her.
She had a fierce sense of the importance of family rituals and worked hard to create special rituals for her own family. We got to share in one of these the other day when we discovered that our Christmas turkey had been given a name and that proceedings were opened with a toast to Melvin the turkey.
Julie was instrumental in arranging to reunite her beloved Chris with his brother, from whom he had been estranged for 15 years.....because she knew that family needs to stick together.
She always remembered birthdays and she was incredibly loyal about sending presents to the far corners of the earth every Christmas. Sometimes the presents were a bit strange....like the year she sent me edible underpants, or the his and her pigs she sent to me and Dennis or the miniature vacuum cleaner in the shape of a cow. But one knew she had always thought of you.
I distinctly remember going for a walk with Julie at Christmas time in Clifton Hampden 15 years ago, with Emma in a carrier on my back, and Julie telling me that whatever else happened for her in her life she had what she really really wanted, her very own family.
Tomorrow will be New Years Eve so I imagine many of you have been thinking about your new year resolutions. I would like to suggest three possible resolutions that you could make to honour Julie – both the little girl and the woman.
Resolution no 1: I will eat more salad in 2010. Julie pretty much had an exclusive diet of salad, and I’m not suggesting you go quite this far. But I think Julie would like the idea of people adding vegetables and fibre to their diet in her honour.
Resolution no 2: I will go to at least one party in 2010 and have a roaring good time. Julie loved a party and I know she would love it if her family and friends could quietly raise a glass to her during a really fun get-together.
Resolution no 3: I will reach out and do something kind for someone in my family in 2010. If you only do one thing this year, this is the one that I think would do Julie the greatest honour. For Julie, nothing was ever as important as family. For this reason, and because Julie’s death must remind us all how brief and precious life is, I hope that all of us can make this next year one in which we forgive our family of their weaknesses, call our parents more often, give more hugs, and always remember that your little sister is a lot more important than she may seem.
Emma's Poem
Four Candles for You
by Unknown
The first candle represents our grief.
The pain of losing you is intense.
It reminds us of the depth of our love for you.
This second candle represents our courage.
To confront our sorrow,
To comfort each other,
To change our lives.
This third candle we light in your memory.
For the times we laughed,
The times we cried,
The times we were angry with each other,
The silly things you did,
The caring and joy you gave us.
This fourth candle we light for our love.
We light this candle that your light will always shine.
As we share this day to celebrate your life
with our family and friends.
We cherish the special place in our hearts
that will always be reserved for you.
We thank you for the gift
your living brought to each of us.
We love you.
We remember you.
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