Bon Voyage to The Matriarch
A newsletter dedicated to my Nanna Bear—her life, her love and my favourite memories of our time together
Today, I wake up to a world where my Nanna Bear no longer exists.
Yesterday at around 3pm, I received a text from my Dad saying simply “Nan’s gone”. It was expected after she was found to be riddled with tumours only 2 months ago, but no less jarring.
My beautiful, sweet, cunty, loving Nan was no more.
And before anyone chimes in with the ‘but she’s still here in spirit’ stuff, I know, I get it and am well aware of this. But her physical love and warmth will never be felt again, and it makes me sad.
So I wanted to dedicate today’s newsletter to her.
To talk about our relationship and the interactions that I most fondly remember, as well as what she meant to our family and how much she will be missed.
Her Story
Mary McCauley was born in the 40s in an inner-city Sydney suburb of Glebe, and like most people from her generation, her childhood was firm but fair.
Her father (my grandfather) fought in World War 2.
Fun fact: He was reprimanded at one point for sneaking off to a local town in France near where he was stationed to party and go on a 2-day bender, which explains a lot about my family.
He survived and came back to raise the family, which included my Nan.
I honestly don’t know much about her early life apart from the fact that it was typical for her generation.
When she was 17, she met a bloke named Anthony Gooley.
They fell in love, shacked up, and like a good Irish Catholic couple started popping kids out at a rapid rate.
The first cab off the rank was my Mum (Pauline) when she was only 18.
From there, the kids came off the Gooley production line like clockwork. They ended up having 10 children in 13ish years… safe to say Nan & Pop was gettin busy! 😉
Life sounded pretty rough from what I’ve heard. Money was tight, and pressure was consistently on to make sure the mouths were fed. Pop worked as a plumber and handyman, while Nan stayed at home to care for the small village of children that they had now created.
A few years into their relationship, they started breeding greyhounds together.
Nan used to tell me that money was so tight at times that they would take a greyhound down to Wentworth Park (famous greyhound racing track) and rely on a placing (and cash prize) to feed the kids that week.
Things got even tougher when my Uncle Mark drowned in a river while they were away on a family camping trip. This loss absolutely crushed my grandparents, but they had no time to grieve; nine other children were relying on them to survive.
Shortly after, my Aunty Colleen was diagnosed with a disease that left her wheelchair bound in a vegetative state; she would remain like this for her 50 years of life.
Eventually, the kids would begin growing up and finding their own identities.
Slowly, they would all start finding their own battles.
Sexual abuse, petty crime, drug addiction, gambling, violence all started to become present for my Aunties and Uncles, partly due to the hardship at home and possibly due to the death and loss they had experienced.
My Nan, who had been a good Catholic girl, really struggled to control things throughout the 70s and 80s, as all of the kids battled their own demons.
Most notably, my Uncle Timmy, who turned to a life of addiction and crime, finding himself in and out of jail, before leaning on my grandparents, then making his way back to the streets and repeating the cycle.
It was tough for them to have children who battled demons, but they never stopped caring; they never stopped supporting their children.
Around the late 80s/early 90s, Nan & Pop moved to the Central Coast of NSW, which they would call home for the next 40 years. Things gradually started to calm, as the kids began finding partners and having their own children.
My parents met in the mid-80s before having me in 1988.
A similar trend followed with all the kids. Between 1987 and 2007, the 9 remaining children produced a total of 28 grandchildren.
This new life kept Nan busy.
Going from hospital to hospital, home to home, doing her best to help with the care of the grandchildren—this was all she knew.
In 2018, after a period of relative peace by my family’s standards, we were dealt a triple blow, with my Pop, Uncle Timmy and Aunty Colleen all passing away in a 12-month period.
Her childhood sweetheart and partner of 58 years was gone. During that grieving period, she also had to say goodbye to 2 of her children.
Nan was heartbroken.
But she did as she had always done and kept on pushing. Travelling to stay with my parents, who were now living in Darwin, coming to visit my brothers and me in Melbourne, and spending time with children and grandchildren—she loved her family and wanted to be around them at all times.
Like the trooper she was, Nan continued to show up and volunteer at the local St Vinnies shop, as she had for 40 years.
Her life and love never left her, right up until the very end.
Mary Gooley passed away at around 230pm on the 23rd of May, surrounded by her children, leaving behind 8 children, 28 grandchildren and 13 great-grandchildren.
A Bit About Nan (The Larikin)
Nan was a funny fucker.
A very cheeky woman who seriously enjoyed taking the piss.
I remember so vividly her constant bickering and snapping at my Pop (who was a major troll)… “Oh shut up Anthony”, when she had had enough of his nonsense.
They would always be going at each other, it was their love language.
Sidenote: that love language would eventually become the language of our entire family, with me and my cousins, aunties, and uncles regularly engaging in banter and trolling each other at our family gatherings.
Nan was a straight shooter. She kept it real. You did not have to guess what she was thinking, she would make it very apparent.
She was stereotypical of her generation in the sense that her commentary sometimes came with undertones of racism and homophobia. She grew up in a different era, so our expectations for subtlety were never high, but we always knew what she meant.
She had the biggest heart and made her love and sincerity felt to everyone.
Every friend or partner that I had ever introduced to my Nan was given the same energy (regardless of their race, sexual orientation or status); warmth, understanding and common decency. Everyone loved her.
I remember her being an avid reader, like a crazy amount of reading.
Every time we would go to visit as kids, she would be posted up at the dining table, drinking tea and reading a romance novel (she loved that garbage).
Two of her greatest loves: tea and romance novels.
She would always want to feed us, give us snacks or make us tea… in fact, my second last visit to see her was just us 2 at her dining table sipping tea from her nice tea cups that she had poured from her nice teapot.
In her later years (specifically since Pop passed), she started letting her naughty little inner-child out. Eating hash brownies with my Aunties, flipping everyone off, telling people to shove it where the sun don’t shine, really REALLY saying what she thought.
Hitting the pokies for a solid slapping session.
Just doing as she pleased without fear of judgement or a need to conform to societal norms and expectations.
Like the pressure of having to be a good wife/mother had been lifted.
She could finally just be.
After we heard the news of Pops' passing, my whole family gathered at the house they had lived in since moving to the Central Coast in the 80s. Roughly 15 of us (including Nan) made margaritas, got drunk, and invited a family friend around to get home job tattoos to commemorate the loss.
Nan didn’t get a tattoo, but she definitely got drunk and shared in the storytelling and laughter.
That was an incredibly loving and cathartic moment that was typical of family.
As I mentioned earlier, even right up until the very end, she was socially active and still volunteering. My Mum would take Nan out weekly, almost daily. They would go on little adventures, to shows, sightseeing, and try cafes and restaurants.
Trips to Melbourne together, trips up the Coast to visit family.
She was always on the go and doing stuff.
Nan was kept busy and loved trying new things; she never lost her sense of adventure and wonder.
Our Relationship
Nan and I were very close.
Being the firstborn grandson, I instantly found a special spot in the hearts of Nan & Pop—they were enamoured with me.
In my early years, I loved to probe her about her childhood.
“Nan what was life like during the war”… “Nan can I hear another story, please just one more about how you grew up”.
She would always indulge me as much as she could.
When I was in my early teens, I became obsessed with cricket. That became a new connection for us as her father played cricket with the greatest test batsman of all time, Donald Bradman, in the 1930s.
She actually gave me a book that was handed down to her from her Dad that had The Don’s signature from a Sydney grade game they played.
I was 15 and of course lost it (doh!).
Although I took some fairly turbulent turns throughout my 20s and early 30s, Nan remained gentle but honest when broaching tough conversations. She never talked to me from a place of judgment, just observation.
She never talked down to me. She always approached me with love and adoration, despite also being honest (very honest) in her assessment.
She had seen everything and knew how flawed human beings could be.
For the longest time, she didn’t understand the rapping and was critical of my musical pursuits. She eventually came around and learned to accept it as part of who I was.
After pivoting into life as a full-time ASX day trader around 2018, I started to pay more attention to the news and world events. We started talking about news and politics, and she would bounce ideas off me from things she had seen or read.
What was happening in global markets, the rise of Trump, COVID, recession fears and everything in between.
It was beautiful; we had unlocked a new layer to our relationship.
Over the last few years, I started greeting her with “what’s going on, old bag”… to which she would always and lovingly reply, “Hello, dear” or "Hello Matty”.
I loved poking fun at her (sometimes even poking her belly and forcibly wobbling it up and down while she sat helplessly), and she would always simply giggle and laugh it off, never phased or offended by simple and loving banter.
Over the last few years and since moving to Melbourne, we didn’t talk as much as one would like if you knew someone was months away from no longer existing, but I always tried. I would call to check in every month or so, or Mum would put her on the phone when they were out. I would always make sure to stop in and see her when visiting the Central Coast, no matter how tight for time I was.
The last time I saw her was a month ago, when the entire family was aware of her decline and when the pain was becoming intolerable.
There wasn’t a lot of talking, but it was nice to simply be with her.
I hugged and kissed her, knowing it would be the last time. She told me that she would see me again soon and be more talkative when she was feeling better. I left feeling heavy, I knew there wouldn’t be a soon.
I will miss her dearly, but this is life, and I have no regrets.
Rest in peace, Nanna. You are with Pop now, you get to see Mark, Timmy and Colleen again… I really hope they got pokies up there for ya.
Alright, that’s it from me this week gang.
With gratitude,
SAV
Thank you for reading this deeply personal piece.
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