I know I am getting old but since I turned 80 it seems to be happening much more quickly. I fear the spirit is still willing as ever but the flesh is just so weak.
I often think of you and how badly injured you were when that stupid car driver swung to the wrong side of the road and hit you outside your home way back when you were in your early seventies. You weren't expected to live, but you did. You weren't expected to walk again, but you did. Your right hip was so badly shattered they couldn't set it and you ended up with that leg several centimetres shorter than the other and yet you got around with the aid of your trusty walking sticks.
You eventually flew to Sydney to find out details about setting up a workshop for pensioners and the like and you came home and proceeded to set up such a place which is thriving still (Beehive Industries). We were all so proud they named Ruston House after you. You deserved the accolades that were spoken on the day the building was opened. If only you had lived to see it happen.
You were living on your own and yet you managed so well despite everything. Here I still have Phil with me and he is wonderful and so helpful but because I have problems getting around and even getting things done now I get so downhearted. I just wish I had some of your get up and go which never seemed to leave you no matter what.
I realise now how much pain you must have been in and yet you didn't complain, or at least not to us, and of course we, being so much younger then, didn't realise how bad it must have been for you at times. You were always such an independent person and never asked us to do very much for you and I feel I need to say how sorry I am that we didn't do more.
I badly need some of your strength of purpose so I can get on with things that are crying out to be done. I am sure we will get there eventually but progress seems oh, so slow.
I feel you are so close at times and I wish I could sit and have a quiet talk as we once did.
Love you as much now as I always did.