Rita Parkinson | Activist / Grandmother
What is death?
From my earliest memories, I've always felt a sense of grief. Having immigrated from Venice to Australia at the age of one, the feeling of separation and distance from extended family, roots and culture gave me a constant feeling of melancholy and extreme sadness—loneliness and fear. Years later I'd travel to visit family. Every goodbye brought on feelings of immense sadness and loss. I had experienced these feelings from early childhood but couldn't articulate them.
In 1993 my ex-husband and father of my three children suicided. The overwhelming feeling of finality and emptiness was immense. Then in 2012 my father passed away from cancer. I was present when he took his last breath. It was peaceful and gentle. My first thought at the time was "his mother was present for his first breath and I was for his last".
Somehow his death had connected me to his mother, my grandmother, and my birthplace, as if his death had bridged a lifetime of gaps. I was also experiencing the same feelings I had as a child. At the age of 53 I understood that what I was experiencing as a young child into adulthood was grief because the feelings were the same. To me death is a permanent and distant separation, what I've felt all my life.
What happens when we die?
I was born Catholic and practiced my faith. Not getting answers to so many questions and the emerging truths about sexual abuse within the church I left. Then I found comfort in the Jehovah’s Witnesses until one of my children was molested and I was expulsed for reporting it to the police. Needless to say, I left.
Death is an inevitable journey we all make. Every belief system and religion tries to explain the afterlife, some with certainty, others with hope. Some believe and find comfort. I still don't know. I don't fear death itself, I just feel sad that at some point I'll miss out on the joys of my family and loved ones, just like I missed out on all the big and little things with my family in Venice. My daughter calls it FOMO (fear of missing out), and it is as simple as that.
I have chosen to focus on life because my life impacts on everyone I come in contact with, life is action and certain. Death is inevitable and solo. I guess in the end we'll all find out the answer. Until then I will live my life being the best human I can be, because today, now, is all I have and I'll use my life energy for that.
Supporting our 3 children through the aftermath of suicide was the hardest thing I've ever had to do....and probably didn't do very well! But we all work through death in our own way and usually if moved by love, we can grow and heal from the experience.
This is literally my death letter/poem. Written by Rita Parkinson in 1993. RIP Anthony.
“The sun came up again today, the way it did when you flew away. Though now you're not here to share a smile, I remember how happy we were for a while. It's a comfort to think that the rays that touched your face, are the same ones that creep into my place. There's a memory of you everywhere I go, and as you drifted away you knew it would be so. In your heart you knew I wanted you to stay, but life had in store a different way. When I went to your resting place that day, the sun warmed me right through. And although you're far away from me, I am still connected to you. As I left your resting place that day, the sun shed a beautiful light, the very same sun that was out those days I held you oh, so tight. I gave you all I had to give, if I had more, I'd have given that too. I wanted to make a difference in your life, I just wanted to be with you. You took a part of me with you and that hurts me so, but memories stay with me forever, therefore love continues to grow”.
—Rita Parkinson (2026)
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