I was baking cupcakes when I heard the news. It’s always the mundane things that seem so absurd when connected with death.
Deda, my grandfather of 88 years, died today.
Mile Tomasic was a force of life.
Brimming with energy, even in old age. His mind was sharp and keen, and often it felt as if with one look he could undo you and see right through to your core. The last time I spoke to him, only weeks ago, it was his birthday and he was circumspect. ‘I just do my usual things,’ he said. ‘I had cornflakes for breakfast and I’ll have chicken for lunch. Just a normal day.’ Though he was proud of himself for already having put the washing out.
His death was a shock.
To me, it seemed as if he would continue on indefinitely. How could anything dampen that spirit? Every day, he took his usual brisk walk around the block, then would settle into his seat with his newspaper – ready to tackle the daily shows: some WWE wrestling, old Westerns and Hogan’s Heroes.
Even the COVID-19 restrictions did little to dampen his outlook – his only complaint was that the virus dominated all of the news channels. Deda just got on with life. He had his ways and patterns and that was enough for him.
I’ll always remember his love of argument.
Scorning Baba’s sense of religious devotion and superstition, he found it incredible to think that anyone who was educated could ever possibly swallow the idea that there was a divine element to the universe. Every visit, without fail, he would prod and poke at what he saw as our ridiculous constructs, shaking his head in amused disbelief later on when I chose to marry Dave who was studying to be a pastor.
For an atheist, though, he loved to talk about religion more than anyone I know. He would happily spend hours trying to catch you in a fallacy – until Baba would inevitably break in and tell him ‘That’s enough! They didn’t come here to argue with you!’ Dave relished the conversations and they became much more nuanced when he came on the scene – branching into areas of philosophy and thankfully moving away from the creation/evolution debate that had well and truly been done to death.
When Baba suffered a stroke a few years ago, I wasn’t sure how Deda would cope with the shift in the household. Ever since the first day of their marriage, she had assumed the entirety of the domestic work – cooking, cleaning and washing. But I underestimated him. He took over with swiftness and capability – doing things in his own way, but managing to look after her until her death in October 2018. After her departure, he took life in his stride once again, even trying on a new social scene and heading out with my cousins from time to time.
I was always a little terrified of Deda. He somehow held the power to destroy me emotionally. I craved his approval, but he wasn’t the type who would openly communicate that. A big part of the reason I became a lawyer was to please him. Whenever we visited, particularly later on with the kids, even the slightest critique could slay me, and the comments were never held back. Either I was too strict, or not strict enough. I found myself filtering all my parenting decisions through his eyes until I became an emotional wreck and gave up.
One time I exploded in frustration after hearing him criticise me and my cousins and our collective life decisions, asking: ‘Is there anything we have done that has pleased you, Deda?’ He turned and looked at me with such surprise that it caught me off-guard. ‘Of course,’ he replied, ‘I’m proud of all of you!’ But what he must have seen as a given was difficult to translate through the gruff comments and pointed remarks. I had to settle for finding my own way through eventually.
In our last few conversations, though, I learned to appreciate him as he was. Direct, honest, industrious. He just wanted the best for us. He emigrated to Australia in 1963 for this very reason – to give his family a shot at a successful life. And he worked hard too. Not getting distracted by material possessions, he put his head down, saved scrupulously and invested what he had. If he hadn’t taken the significant step to leave Belgrade, none of my siblings or cousins would even exist right now. It is a strange thought to contemplate.
I owe a lot of who I am to him. His expectations beckoned me into academic success, ensured that I studied hard and made the most of my opportunities. I admire his work ethic, his ability to always tell the truth, and that ‘keep going no matter what’ attitude that saw him through.
As always, death comes with regrets. That I didn’t call him more, ask him more about his upbringing and what it was like to come to Australia all those years ago. I wish I had understood him better when I was growing up and not spent so much time putting on a fake face and pretending to be the perfect granddaughter. I’m sad that a huge piece of our history – our connection to Croatia and a past era – has now disappeared. It is a huge loss. I suppose you are never really ready for the suddenness of death.
I will continue to work hard in testament of him. Rising early, getting on with my day, taking care of my family just as he did. I will make sure that my children know of the sacrifices he made to bring the Tomasich clan into being. I will remember him for his vitality and honesty. His humour and spark. His fire and passion.
We will forever remember you, Deda.
