They had a big screen up in the middle with lots of photos of Moma when she was younger. I guess they got those from my father.
My father did give a speech. He was the first person to speak (apart from the funeral director and the chaplain). He said some quite nice things about Moma, and about how much she had loved me. That’s not quite what he was saying a few days ago to Lauren about her, so it didn’t really make me feel anything other than cold.
Mr Kavanagh got up to speak next. I was supposed to be the last speaker. I had written a speech, but I was so nervous I wasn’t sure I would be able to say it.
Mr K said lots of really beautiful things, and he said them so beautifully. I wish I could remember what he said. I would ask him for a copy of his speech, but he didn’t use one. He just said things from his head.
Then it was my turn, but my knees were shaking so much that I couldn’t walk. I managed to stand up and just stood there in front of my seat, leaning back on it with my legs so that I wouldn’t fall over.
“You can do this,” Lauren whispered to me, but I wasn’t sure I could.
I just kept standing there. It seemed to be going on for a very long time.
“Get up there, Egan,” My father said in quite a cross voice, although he was whispering.
It was getting really embarrassing: for me; for the chaplain who kept waving for me to come up; for my father; for everybody.
Then I felt someone take my arm on the other side and when I turned to look, J.T. was standing there. I didn’t even know he was coming to the funeral. He put his arm around my shoulders and together the two of us somehow walked up onto the stage where the microphone was. I wasn’t sure if my voice would work properly either.
I unfolded my notes and held onto the lectern so I wouldn’t fall down. J.T. took a step backwards.
I looked out into the crowd of people, and halfway down the aisle, standing, I saw him. Little Allan. Behind him was Mohawk wearing a suit that fit him so badly it was just about falling on the floor. It really looked funny with his apache haircut. Behind the two of them were Junior and Regina.
Little Allan gave me a thumbs up sign, and Regina gave me a proper smile, not just a funeral face smile and suddenly everything seemed okay.
I started my speech and everybody looked sympathetic and they all laughed really loudly at my funny story about Moma.
Then J.T. helped me off the stage, and Lauren got everybody to shuffle along a bit so that he could sit next to me.
(I mentioned Lauren in my speech and she burst into tears. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.)
That’s all there really is to say about the funeral except for one thing.
When it was all over, we were the first to leave, following the casket, which was carried by my father and a group of rugby friends of his that I didn’t know. I felt it was sad that my mother was carried to her rest by strangers, but I didn’t say anything, I just walked along behind the casket with Regina, and Lauren and Mr K.
When we came out of the chapel, I expected to see a few extra people who hadn’t been able to fit inside.
That was true in a way.
There were people standing in every direction as far as I could see. They had filled the area around the chapel, and jam-packed the car park. They were standing in amongst the gravesites in every direction. If you have ever seen a picture of a rock concert crowd, that’s what it looked like. I thought there must be a million people there, although Lauren told me later that there were only about seven thousand.
I told her I thought it was sad, because they didn’t really know Moma.
But she said it was nice, because, even though they didn’t know her, they still came to honour her.
She is right. I think Lauren is very wise.
And that was the funeral of my mother.
Moana Ruth Tucker.
Rest in Peace, Moma.
Egan’s Funeral Speech for his mother
My name is Egan Tucker and my mother was everything to me.
Her name was Moana, but when I was a baby I called her mama and somewhere along the way that became Moma and that is what it was ever since.
My Moma loved me. I know that truer than the stars in the sky. She gave up her whole life for me.
Whatever her reasons, right or wrong, what she did, she did out of love. She raised me, she cared for me. She taught me – and not just school stuff, she taught me about the forest, and the plants and the birds and the animals, and she taught me about the world, so I would be able to survive in it when I finally got out of the forest.
And I did come out of the forest. Much sooner than we expected. And the things Moma taught me have enabled me to survive in this strange new world I have found myself in.
My new mum, Lauren, said I should tell you some stories about my mother, and what it was like to live with her.
Well, one thing I can tell you about is New Year’s Eve. Moma said that in the outside world, on New Year’s Eve, they had fireworks displays. She told me they were explosions of light and colour in the sky. But we didn’t have fireworks displays in the forest so every New Year’s Eve we would go down to the waterhole where you can see a lot of the sky, and we would lie on our backs on a flat rock. And we would look out for shooting stars. We always saw at least two or three. That was our fireworks display.
Speaking of explosions, Moma was the best farter in the forest! We called farts ‘number threes’. We had a rule in the hut, and that was if you let one go, you had to blame the dog. If you farted and you didn’t say ‘Crackerjack!’ then the other person was allowed to tickle you.
One time Moma forgot to say it, so I started to tickle her and she started laughing, and the laughing made her fart more, but she couldn’t say Crackerjack because she was laughing so much, so I kept tickling and she kept farting and I was laughing so hard that I farted, and then she started tickling me!
We didn’t have TV or the Internet, but I guess we made our own entertainment in the forest.
My Moma gave me a gift twice a year. Once on my birthday, and once at Christmas. They were simple gifts by outside world standards: a block of chocolate, a second-hand book. But they meant everything to me.
And the real gifts she gave me were not just on two special days. They were year round. The gift of knowing how to live a good life. And the gift of love.
March 24th
My father is in a really foul mood. He has been ever since the funeral.
At first I just thought he was angry about being wrong about the number of people who showed up. But I think there is more to it than that.
I think he is angry because my mother, his ex-wife, got so much attention and adoration yesterday.
I think that made him feel small. He is a big man. He doesn’t like to feel small.
He was very careful not to take it out on me or Lauren today. Me, because it was the day after the funeral, and Lauren because it would seem stupid if he got angry with her just because she was right.
But he almost took it out on some reporters who came to our house today. They wanted to ask me some questions. I thought my father was going to hit them. He yelled at them to give me some space, and how dare they intrude on the day after the funeral.
I really thought it was going to turn ugly, so even though I really, really didn’t want to talk to them, I said I would.
My father still said no, but I said it was fine, and went into the living room with the reporters, while he went off upstairs in a really foul mood.
The main thing the reporters asked, apart from how did I feel (stupid question), was what I thought about the boys who had been arrested for killing Moma and burying her body in the forest.
They are due in court today, which is why the reporters were so keen to talk to me today.
I said I forgave them for what they did.
; They were quite surprised.
I explained about Moma’s code #10: ‘Forgive others for what they do to you. Not for their sake but for yours.’
They all wrote that down and then scurried away in their cars because the court hearing was going to start soon.
Moma’s Code #10
Forgive people when they do bad stuff to you.
They will. Not everyone lives by a code of honour.
Forgive them, not for their sake, but for yours. It will eat you up inside otherwise.
Thought for the day:
My opinion of news reporters has not improved.
Word of the day:
FORGIVENESS
It’s the most important word today.
March 26th
How can I say this politely?
There are some very unkind people in the world.
My Facebook page has over fifteen million likes, but today I found out about posts and comments.
People I don’t know can leave posts on my page and other people can comment on them. I can’t do anything about this because I didn’t set up the page in the first place.
They say some crazy, horrible, unbelievable things. Like this:
•It’s crap. This ‘code’ is just a bunch of stuff stolen from self-help books. So sad I wasted four minutes of my day on this. #Iwantmytimeback
•You look like a girl and your probly gay, bitch. Just sayin.
•Fake. Completely fake. He grew up in Sydney, I went to school with him. This whole thing is just a cheap publicity stunt. #Faker #Fraud
•Fake. He’s that acter who was in The Walking Dead. I forget which epasode. His branes got eaten. I wish someone would eat his branes now. #Fake
•This whole thing just creeps me out. #creepy
•I hate this dude. I don’t even know why. I just hate him and all he stands for. #isthatwrong?
And the most horrible one of all:
•Horny 15-year-old kid stuck in a forest and there was only one bit of poontang around. Guess where he got his! #DuellingBanjos
Lauren says to ignore the comments. They come from trolls who live on the Internet. She says for every troll there are a million people who appreciate what I am doing.
Thought for the day:
What am I doing? I’m not doing anything!
Word of the day:
TROLL
People who have such pitiful lives that they try to drag everybody else down with them.
(This is not what it says in the dictionary, but it is what Lauren told me and I think she must be right.)
March 27th
Some days I write my diary so I have a record of what happened. Other days I write it to sort out my feelings. And other days I write because it releases anger and sadness and frustration to pour it all out onto paper.
Today is the third kind.
My father has been in a foul mood since the funeral. Maybe he is also a bit jealous of all the attention I am getting.
Today we went out to the mall. That’s where they put all the shops in one place, so people won’t have to walk too far so they can save their energy for their treadmills.
We had lunch in a little café where my father and Lauren both had Italian coffees from a big metal machine. I had orange juice, which may be my new favourite thing. Sometimes Moma would buy oranges from the store, but I have never tasted just the juice by itself. (I wonder what they do with the rest of the orange. That seems like a waste to me. Maybe orange juice is not one of my favourite things.)
I am digressing. Probably because I am reluctant to write about what really happened today. I know I need to. But I don’t want to.
Then we went shopping. My father doesn’t like shopping much so he mostly sat on little sofas in the middle of the mall with the other husbands who don’t like shopping much.
Lauren said I needed some new shoes, so we were in a shoe shop.
I didn’t need new shoes. I hardly ever wear shoes. The only shoes I own are my funeral shoes and Lauren says I need sports shoes. I suppose that is so I can wear them when I am on the treadmill.
I only agreed to this because I really like Lauren.
I could see my father sitting outside on the sofa as I was sitting inside the shop on a little seat trying on shoes made by a company called Nike.
I think Lauren sensed that I don’t like wearing shoes, because the next thing we tried were called Toe Shoes. They were like shoes but had five toes.
I have never laughed so hard in my life. (Actually I have, but that is an expression they use a lot here.)
While we were trying on the Toe Shoes, I saw some people come up to my father outside. They had paper and pens and wanted his autograph.
He was a very famous rugby player and I was glad after all the attention I had been getting to see him getting some. I thought it might put him in a better mood.
More and more people kept coming up to him, and he kept smiling and signing, but I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t happy.
Then a lady who was trying on some high heel shoes in the same shop asked the shop assistant, “Who is that out there, is he famous?”
The shop assistant said, “Yes. That’s Bush Tucker’s dad.”
No wonder my father looked sour.
When we got home, Crackerjack came running up to meet us. He must have got out under the backyard fence again. He had bunny in his mouth and was bringing it to show us, as he always does.
He came running up to the car as we drove down the long driveway and my father had to drive around him to avoid hitting him. Then he bounded along behind, happy to see us back.
He must have seen me through the window, because as soon as the car stopped he jumped up on the car door, scratching madly at it, trying to get in to see me.
“Get him to stop it, he’ll scratch the car,” my father said.
“Stop it, Jack,” I said. “I can’t open the door while you’re doing that.”
He wouldn’t stop, so eventually I just opened it anyway.
Jack jumped up on me then, trying to lick me, but he couldn’t because he still had bunny in his mouth. Stupid dog.
Then Lauren got out and said something strange. “Take the dog around the back.”
“He’s just happy to see me,” I said, laughing.
“Take him around the back, now,” she said, and she was really serious.
I was just starting to do it when my father came around my side of the car. He shut my car door which I hadn’t had a chance to shut yet. He stared at it, without saying anything.
I looked at the door. There were scratch marks all over it from Jack’s nails, which probably need cutting. They never needed cutting in the bush, because he wore them down running everywhere. But here he sleeps a lot of the time and doesn’t get as much exercise.
My father was breathing in and out loudly and I thought I had better get Jack around the back like Lauren had said.
I grabbed him by the collar and started to walk him away, but my father came storming after him and grabbed the bunny out of his mouth.
Nobody takes bunny away from Jack. Not even me.
“It’s just surface scratches, Ray,” Lauren was saying. “Just scratches.”
Jack started growling and barking and jumping up trying to get at bunny, but my father was holding it up out of his reach.
“They’ll polish out,” Lauren said. “It’s nothing!”
Then Jack started snarling and I grabbed his collar and held on tight but he shook his head like a mad dog and broke my grip and then he went for my father.
He was snarling and snapping and trying to bite my father’s ankles, but my father swung a big kick that caught Jack under the jaw and there was a cracking sound and my dog went up in the air and over on his back and just lay there, whimpering.
/> I screamed and ran to him.
My father threw bunny in the pond and went storming off into the house.
Lauren knelt down beside me and said, “Lift him up really carefully and we’ll take him to the vet.”
Then she went to get her car and we laid Jack down on the back seat and I sat next to him and held him and prayed to Jesus (even though he has never helped me before) and we drove to the vet.
Jack is still there now.
The vet examined him and then gave him something to make him sleep and said they will know more in the morning.
I hope he will be okay.
I wasn’t going to eat any dinner, but Lauren brought some up to me in my room. I ate a bit of it to please her.
My father came up to see me after dinner, but I wouldn’t unlock the door.
He said through the door that he was really sorry.
I forgive him.
But only because that’s one of Moma’s rules.
March 28th
The vet rang. Jack is going to be okay. He has fractured his neck, but there is no spinal cord damage and he has to wear a neck brace for a few weeks, but he will be all right.
Thank you Jesus. (Finally.)
Although I have forgiven my father, I still don’t want to talk to him, so I am waiting for him to go out before I go down for breakfast.
I found out how Jack got out of the back yard too. He dug a really big hole in the flower garden and got under the fence that way.
I am writing a new story. Just to take my mind off things. It does not involve a boy wizard.
It is nearly lunchtime. My father has finally gone out. I heard him slamming the car door.
Lauren came up and knocked on my door so I opened it.
She looked like she had been crying. A lot. She gave me a kiss on the forehead then a really long hug. We can go to pick up Crackerjack after lunch.
Shooting Stars Page 19
