In Loving Memory of Father David Binns

There have been no posts this week because there have been no words.

Late Monday afternoon, I received a text message from one of my closest friends, Laura, saying that her father was in hospital and was not expected to survive the day. He was on life support, so I rushed to the Royal Brisbane Hospital, arrived at ICU, but was too late. Father Binns had passed away in the emergency department; he had gone to be with his God.

There are special people, and there are special people. I've known Father Binns since I was thirteen as he was our school chaplain. His daughter, Laura is one of my best friends and in all of my transplant photos, she can be seen either holding my hand or in the background. Laura would take me out when I was too sick to go anywhere, and was there for me every day post-transplant. She moved to London in the April of 1999. I will always remember her saying, 'when I finish school, I'm getting the hell out of Brisbane and I'm going back to London.' True to her word, she completed school and her degree, then went 'home' to London. Laura had been born in London, and her father had proposed to her mother at Piccadilly Circus.

There were two people who were instrumental in my decision to join the church. One was a young nun at our school, called Sister Leanne, and the other was Father Binns. You may laugh, but when I was thirteen, I wanted to be a nun - that is, until I discovered boys. He was also the sole reason why I went to assembly every day. His 'sermons' were more akin to theatrics, with a blackmail chaser. You see, the man was a chocoholic who would bribe students with false hopes of chocolate post-Lent. Actually, he delivered on the chocolate every year.

After my transplant, I again considered getting thee to a nunnery, and seriously thought about joining the order of the Carmelite Nuns at Ormiston in Brisbane. When I dug deeper, I came to realise that religion made no sense to me and the notion of the universe having one great being was impossible. Still, I was confirmed when I was sixteen, and Father Binns was the only reason I chose to be confirmed. I had not been confirmed as a baby, as I was too sick, so by the time the opportunity came around, I was confirmed along with Father Binns' daughter, Laura. We were evil in confirmation class, yet Father Binns had the patience of a saint.

Father Binns is a magnificent artist and in 1988-1989, he painted a triptych which hangs in the St. Aidan's school chapel. I wrote a piece for my undergrad degree in 2002, which I will publish in a separate post.

I had always known David as 'Father Binns' and it always felt odd to call him anything else. I could never bring myself to call him David, even though he was a dear friend. The last memory I have of Father Binns is on the 31st August, when I was invited over for lunch. He had recently been diagnosed as being Diabetic, so I (also a diabetic) brought over cake, and after lunch we tucked into dessert and coffee. Echoes of 'tut-tut-tut' seemed to ricochet off our sweets, but he said, 'what the hell!'. His son Martin, also a magnificent artist, gleefully said that his Dad had eaten Macca's a week or two ago and had imbibed something decadently chocolate just a couple of days before he moved on from this life.

I will endeavour to scan some photos of Father Binns art. His art, his words, his love and his integrity will be his legacy. I'm sending a massive 'thank-you' out into the universe; out into that void where Father Binns will always be. Everyone who knew him and all who loved him are blessed. My life is all the more richer for having shared it with David Binns.

I look forward to walking the 'Imagine' maze outside the school chapel tomorrow and having a chat to him where his triptych hangs. I feel so humbled to have been welcomed so lovingly by his family on Monday in such a time of devastation. I sat with him for a little over an hour and stroked his arm, gave his forehead a kiss, and then another. I realised as I was leaving that I kissed him twice for a reason. The first blessing was from me and the other was for Laura. I felt like the missing link between father and daughter and channeled her love - a bridge if you will.

I have been listening to Ennio Morricone and while there has been a steady stream of tears, I can't help but smile when I hear Father Binns saying in exasperation, 'Bloody Hell!' The last time he said that to me, I went one further and said, 'how about shit?', at which he laughed before I said, 'it's fucked!'

Godspeed, David.