Tomorrow the 6th April I will stop to remember my friend Jabe Babe. It has only been a year since she died but in that time I have managed to achieve a lot of things and it is thanks to her legacy and the message she gave all of us who ever dared “to live”.
As she would have wanted I will share with you her most well planned event of her life, her funeral, and I hope Jabe Babe can touch everyone who reads this in death as much as she would have in life.
Jabe Babe – More than A Heightened life
I met Jabe at work. Suffice to say we didn’t work in an office together. I instantly liked Jabe and strangely, or due to the surroundings of strangeness we were surrounded by, I didn’t notice how tall Jabe was. I was to find out later that Jabe was in fact well over six foot tall and suffered from a genetic disorder known as Marfan syndrome.
As a result of Jabes condition she was the subject of a documentary film, of which was shown at no less than the Carnes Film Festival winning critical acclaim and an AFI award, amongst other accolades.
Frankly all I noticed about her was her fabulously long fingers and perfectly painted nails. Jabe
came across as professional and at the time I loved that. I hated working with people who thought they knew it all, but Jabe just fitted in – a definite prerequisite to working in that industry; you either fit like a glove or were eating the pavement outside as you flew out the door.
Unfortunately I didn’t work too often with Jabe, it turned out we were an ever revolving door at the time with changing careers and circumstances but she left an indelible mark on me and we certainly enjoyed talking about growing up poor in the western suburbs as freaks and misfits. The fact is what is talked about personally in “that room” stays in “that room”. Hours upon hours of conversations and every one of them with Jabe was enjoyable, how couldn't’t it be with that amount of life story to tell. To be honest every sister who has entered that order has an incredible story but what separated Jabe from most of is she knew she had a limited time to do everything in life she wanted and was not afraid of who she was, or what she did. To this end I am sorry Jabe, I am still in awe of you, and hope one day I can be as honest as you were about your life, your past, and your career choices. One day, maybe!
So as the dawn broke on the 6th April 2008 Jabe Babe returned home from a final night out on the town and would never live to see another night fall again.
A day later I received a call from another ex co-worker the ever fabulous Claudia, to let me know that Jabe had died. I was saddened to hear the news and arranged to go to both the viewing of Jabe and her funeral. The viewing was something I wanted to do as it is a last chance to say goodbye in person. I was already sick with the flu when I found out she had died and I was slightly worrisome the day of the viewing. I really wanted to be there because there are no second chances when it comes to this kind of thing. I also feel as a sister she needed to be sent off with a kiss and acknowledgment that we all share a common bond, despite everything and anything.
Those who know and understand the sisterhood, its perils, its triumphs and its exclusive membership know it is only fitting and customary to provide the best send off possible. Jabe Babe left this world looking as absolutely amazing as the day she came into it. As she had always known she would die young every detail had not be overlooked or unattended to. Her makeup was perfect, her hair and nail polish were perfect, and her outfit was well chosen and befitting the Goth princess she was. Decked out in full corsetry, with the trimming of her attire being a dress she had previously stolen for just this very occasion, she was the epitome of Gothic eloquence.
I gently put my hand on her cold hand to bid her farewell and lent forward to kiss her when I noticed her piece De resistance – flashing devil horns atop her head. How I didn’t notice them when I first looked at her I have no idea but I then cried and laughed at the same time whilst giving her my last kiss goodbye. As I stood up I noticed an old friend who I had not seen in years. The urge to exchange pleasantries over the top of Jabe was overwhelming because it was as if we were not standing over Jabe as a dead person, more over we were at her home and she had fallen asleep. Or at least this is how it felt at that moment.
We nodded acknowledgement of seeing one another and I stole away to the fresh air outside and rejoined the Gothic mourners to avail myself of the details of the impending funeral which was to take place in the next day or so.
The funeral notice in the paper was clear and precise. “Dress in your best to which Jabe would expect – no exceptions.” The “event” was to be held at the one venue the “Marrickville Bowling Club” and as I was in the shower on the morning of the funeral I worried as to whether everyone else would get the message to “dress up”. I panicked thinking my choice of potential attire would be deemed unfit for such an occasion so I pulled out the old faithful black suit, as a "just in case".
Of course I knew in my heart what Jabe’s wishes meant, it meant nothing less than Gothic finery, and I dutifully obliged her final request of Gothic regalia. So at Jabe's behest I felt it would be appropriate to wear a full 18th century pinstriped bustle skirt, with matching jacket and corsetry which was held in so tight I could hardly take a breath. If this is what she wanted, I was going to comply wholeheartedly. With that said my black suit spent the day at home and I marched out the door feeling confident and fabulous for Jabe.
Upon arrival I noticed the lovely Claudia walking down the street, both of us the very picture of the darkness of the sisterhood and I stopped to escort her so we could walk in together. Upon entering I was relieved to see everyone, and I mean everyone, dressed in their most unusual. It was also great to see almost all the sisterhood in attendance, with past grievances and grudges left aside for a public show of love and unity from an industry so frequently judged, but rarely entered into from the outside let alone understood. Jabe would have been proud. Speaking of Jabe she was greeting her guests on the dance floor, lying in state in her personally chosen black Gothic coffin adorning the dance floor. So as she had done in life she was gracing the dance floor again in death in complete style.
We all took our seats for the commencement of the service on the dance floor, on one wall there was smokey glass, and across the room next to Jabe’s coffin was a life-size cardboard cut out of her from the documentary film promotions. Every time you looked anywhere in the room the reflection of Jabe could be seen. The Mistress of Ceremonies was a treasure, and spoke so well and introduced each speaker with aplomb and dignity; it made the proceedings so much the better for her candour and sense of humour. She announced each song Jabe had chosen and we sat chattering and remembering Jabe through renditions of Bohemian and Rhapsody and other songs.
The speeches given by Jabe’s friends were warm, loving, extremely funny and so uplifting I wondered at times if we were at an inspiration seminar or a funeral. Jabes last job was with the Department of Community Services working in an office – probably the strangest occupation Jabe had ever had. I loved her work colleague from DOC’s regaling the audience with tales of Jabe calling her a “mole” in jest and her initial horror as an office worker to be seated next to a character like Jabe. Of course only to find she ended up loving Jabe more than she could express. She then brought everyone to tears as she told us she was sad to learn that Jabe had died when she had only recently had her eyes operated on so she could see more clearly. She said she felt Jabe was finally seeing the world clearly, and should have been given more time to view life via a clear path. It was a profoundly prophetic statement about Jabe's life.
Jabe’s best friend was one of the final speakers and was with Jabe on the last night of her life. It was to be her friends hen’s night and Jabe had organised the entire evening’s festival of events with Jabe declaring it was going to be themed “Alice in Wonderland”. Of course Jabe assumed the role of the “Queen of Hearts”, as was expected of her character, and she wore attire to suit her newly founded role. The girls partied all night, danced, drank, laughed; club hopped and whopped it up as only they knew how.
As the night drew to a close, the club doors shut behind them as they left for home and entered a new day with the dawn breaking on their backs, her best friend said Jabe ran into the middle of the street, raised her arms in the air and exclaimed exalted.
“I know I shouldn't be doing this – but I fucking love it”
That is who Jabe Babe was. Yes she probably should have been tucked up in bed but she wasn’t. She was spending her last night on this earth doing what most people never achieve in a lifetime “living her life”.
At the end of the speeches and after hour d'oeuvre's and mingling it was finally time for Jabe to officially leave the party and move onto her final resting place. Jabe had organised everything for the funeral its venue, the music, the notices, the photos of herself, the food, Everything. Though the one thing she could not control was leaving. It is a necessary end to everyone’s life. Leaving.
We all stood to form a guard of honour as we were told Jabe would be carried out to the waiting hearse whence she would be transported to a private cremation. We all lined the dance floor with lights and music surrounding the room. The smoke machine belched out great puffs of smoke, the music drowned out our sobs and we clapped so ferociously it was enough to make your fingers tingle. We then followed Jabe down the stairs and out onto the street to wave her on her way.
Frankly at this point I believe Jabe felt she was no longer in control of her final moments. Yes she had planned everything but she was never one to leave a party half arsed so she began to wreck havoc.
Whilst we watched Jabe being lifted into the awaiting hearse a cortège of the sisterhood, friend and foe, held hands to gather strength in our hour of mourning. Tears flowed and so it seemed did the smoke machine. So much so that we could hear the distinct wail of sirens in synchronicity with the wailing club smoke alarms – and the sirens seemed to be heading our way. Within a minute or two the street was blocked at both ends by two fire engines with firemen running into the now empty bowling club to attend to the “smoking fire”. It turned out the smoke machine had caused the smoke alarms to activate thus sending an automatic call out to the local fire brigade. We stood, jaws dropping, as hot young firemen raced about us. They were staring as much at the spectacle of misfits and the strangeness of the occasion to which they had entered as we were at them.
We in the sisterhood all looked at each other, tears staining our perfectly made up faces, and knew who was behind this halt in proceedings. It could be none other than Jabe herself dominating to the very end.
Of course she would now be late for the one appointment in your life you can’t be late for but she was managing to do it. The hearse was blocked until the fire brigade had confirmed a false alarm, and we all cooled our heels, waiting for Jabe to finally leave our presence forever. The firemen started to filter back out and return to their engines and it was at this point that the ever naughty and previously known minx “Mistress Adele” reappeared in our lives. She had been at the funeral under her good girl guise, but never one to miss an opportunity with boys, “Mistress Adele” sprang to life one more time for Jabe.
“Mistress Adele” Trotted toward the nearest fireman, with breasts ablaze, and eyes alight like no fire a man can turn away from, she whispered a request in the fireman’s ear, then returned to her place and firmly held our hands for her triumphant tribute to Jabe.
And so it was that the firemen all gathered together and formed a guard of honour, whilst the fire engines were started up to move for Jabe’s exit. Then came Jabe's show.
The fireman from both trucks un-reeled their hoses, pointing them skyward they let the water rain down on us, and Jabe, like a shower of unadulterated tears of love. We all started crying, screaming, cheering and waving, whilst office and factory worker’s emerged along the industrial style street to cheer and holler along with the crowd and fire engine sirens. It was surreal.
Though this was not enough for Jabe’s final exit she had to take it a notch further. Jabe then had to have a Qantas 747 jumbo jet scream over the top of us all at that very moment, and be not more than a few hundred feet above us, as it prepared to land in Sydney. The crowed literally went wild with excitement as engines, sirens, screams, alarms, water, tears, and love permeated the sky.
Jabe’s hearse pulled gently out from the curb and slowly made its way down the street. We all stopped crying. We stood, holding hands and watched as Jabe Babe left her party.
When she was gone we were dripping wet. We were in stunned silence. We were exhilarated for life and exhilarated for Death. Jabe was gone. Forever.
Her party was over but her legacy of life will live in my heart forever.
