A True Treasure ...(an old trunk)

You could just hug parents for being hoarders of stuff, after all, as the years pass; stuff becomes memories.1

It took many hours of sifting through the junk and stuff that had accumulated over twenty years. The attic was small and by no means tidy. I forgave my Mother for that as the stairs became far too hard to climb once she had reached the age of seventy and Dad, well, he just refused point blank to ever enter that room. After Travis has passed away, he had simply curled up his toes and although alive by medical standards, he was dead to all who loved him and to life outside the four walls of his house.2

Travis; the mere thought of him had me wallowing up to my elbows in dust and spiderwebs in the attic. I just had to find that old trunk again. It had kept me entertained on many a rainy day with Travis pulling forth all the old football trophies, jumpers and knick knacks he had collected over a short but prestigious career.3

Being a good little sister and one who absolutely adored the ground her big brother walked on, these things held a fascination, one that was only matched by Dad's pride in his son the football star. To me, Trav was just a brother, one who annoyed me, teased me beyond despair but also loved me beyond comparison.4

I was the one he hoisted onto his shoulders after winning a game. I was the one he always saluted after kicking a goal. 5

The trunk was still beneath the tiny attic window, it still looked the same save for a layer of dust. I took the key from my pocket and turned the lock. To my surprise, it opened without a creak or groan but the smell of stale and musty material reached my nostrils and I wrinkled at it in distaste.6

There amongst the black and gold jumpers that Travis had worn were the three medals he valued the most. His Best and Fairest from his beloved Tigers club, his Norm Smith Medal from the Grand Final win and his Brownlow; the one voted on by the umpires over the season and presented to the fairest and best player in the entire competition. It was nice to think of Travis as being the fairest and best because I never saw him raise a fist in anger towards anyone, not on or off the field of play.7

To the uninitiated Australian Rules Football would seem simply ridiculous. Grown men running around a field all in tight shorts and jumpers, trying their hardest to grab an oval leather ball. It was much bigger than a Gridiron ball and not as pointed. So its' trajectory when kicked was almost impossible to call. It could land and bounce straight into a players hand or it could bounce and go right or left and finally it may not even bounce at all but just trickle along the ground with players in furious pursuit. Travis never had a problem, he could grab it no matter where it went.8

He was one of the eighteen men who took to the field each weekend from March to September for the Tigers and at 2.10pm the game would begin and continue for 100 minutes. Four quarters of 30 minutes with two 10 minute breaks and one of 20 minutes between halves.9

The whole family lived and breathed it in Melbourne. It wasn't a game to us or to most Melbournians. It was a religion and no matter which of the 16 teams you supported; you supported them through thick and thin. No changing teams half ways through a season, you were a supporter for life and you passed it down the generations. God help a son or daughter who dared to change teams in a Collingwood household or a Carlton one! It was the same for me in mine. Dad supported the Tigers and Travis was lucky enough to play for them so I had no choice but to barrack for them with all my heart and soul.10

I fingered each medal lovingly before returning them to the old trunk from whence they came. I could remember each occasion as if it were yesterday. The pride and tears in my Dad's eyes when Travis won each of them. The words that Travis spoke after the presentations, giving the accolades to Dad and the praise of being a great father. I really did miss Trav at that moment in time.11

Football was such a part of our lives for so long, it was hard to divest ourselves of it even after Travis had been diagnosed. What had started out as a bruise after a normal bump during a game suddenly became a lump that would not go away. Travis had laughed it off saying as he got older, the bumps got harder and took longer to heal. I wanted to believe him and so did Mum and Dad. The truth of the matter, although it was whispered about, Travis had cancer; because he had left it for so long it had become an incurable lump and the disease would ravage him beyond recognition.12

The brother I adored; all six foot of him and 87kilos suddenly shrank before my eyes. He withered and aged within a matter of months. The steady stream of team mates that visited him, towered above him whereas months before they had stood shoulder to shoulder with him on the field of battle. This was a final battle that they could not win for him, Trav had to fight this alone. Cancer had become a greater enemy than Collingwood or Carlton and for the first time I had seen fear in my brothers' eyes. He seemed to understand it was a battle he could not take on and defeat though he gave it his best shot.13

As I closed the lock and put the key back into my pocket I knew that what remained in there were material things that gave Travis a purpose and a reason for being who he was but I also knew that the one true treasure was the memory I carried of my dear, dear brother in my heart. That is the one medal no one can give you nor claim back. It remains forever a true treasure.14