Celebration of Life
Ah well… this is strange, isn’t it?
All of you sitting there listening to me when normally I’d be somewhere in the back muttering about how long the speeches are going for.
I keep thinking about how odd it is that a whole life ends up in one room like this. A few flowers. Some photographs people probably had to dig through drawers to find. Familiar faces trying very hard to hold themselves together.
And me somehow becoming “a memory.”
I never really thought about that while I was alive. You’re too busy living most of the time. Paying bills. Going to work. Arguing over silly things. Making cups of tea. Watching years disappear without noticing they’re disappearing.
Then one day it’s over.
And if I’m honest, there are things I wish I’d done better. I wish I’d said I love you more easily instead of assuming people just knew.
I wish I’d apologised quicker sometimes instead of letting pride sit there between us like an extra person in the room.
I wish I’d understood earlier how quickly life moves. Because it feels endless when you’re in the middle of it. You honestly believe there’ll always be another Christmas. Another birthday. Another chance to ring someone back tomorrow.
Until suddenly there isn’t. But I don’t want this to just be sad.
Truthfully, I’ve had a good life. A messy one. A complicated one. But a good one.
I got to love people, I got to laugh until I cried
I got to sit around tables hearing people I care about talk absolute nonsense and somehow feel completely at home doing it.
That’s the stuff that mattered in the end. Not achievements. Not money. Not all the things people spend years stressing about.
Just people.
So when you leave here today, don’t remember me like some polished old photograph where everybody stands stiffly pretending they had no faults.
Remember me properly.
Remember the bad moods. The sarcasm. The stupid jokes. The times I got things wrong. The times I got them right. The ordinary moments that didn’t seem important at the time but somehow became a whole life when placed beside each other.
That’s who I was. And honestly… I think that’s enough for today now go and raise a glass for me. Cos this is the last time I’m paying!
Obituary
Albert “Alby” Elkins passed away peacefully surrounded by family, leaving behind a life shaped by resilience, loyalty, humour and quiet strength.
Born and raised in Tasmania, Alby belonged to a generation that valued hard work, practicality and perseverance. He spent much of his life finding comfort in simple things — cold mornings, familiar routines, old tools, strong cups of tea and opinionated conversations
Albert was known for his sharp wit, stubborn nature and deep sense of loyalty to the people he loved. Beneath his reserved manner sat a man who cared deeply for his family and showed that love not through grand gestures, but through presence, reliability and the quiet practical things he did for others every day.
He will be remembered for his dry humour, his resilience through life’s hardships, and the steady way he remained himself throughout nearly a century of enormous change.
Albert was the dearly loved husband of Mavis, devoted father and father-in-law to Mac and Shazza, Sarah and Jason, cherished grandfather and great-grandfather to Ebony, Imogen, Alice, Mac Junior and Thomas, and a loyal friend to many throughout his life.
He was predeceased by their first child, Catherine, lost to polio at the age of age of three years.
Albert leaves behind a family who will continue to hear his voice in ordinary moments — in weather complaints, practical advice, sarcastic humour and stories retold around kitchen tables for years to come. I leave you only love and the best of memories
Eulogy
I don’t think I ever pictured people standing around talking about me like this.
And if I’m honest, part of me still wants to interrupt and tell everybody to stop being so dramatic.
But since I’ve apparently lost the ability to do that now, these words will have to do instead.
I know I wasn’t always easy. I could go quiet when something hurt me instead of talking about it properly. That generation of men… we didn’t really know how to explain ourselves. You just kept moving. Went to work. Paid bills. Fixed things around the house. Carried whatever was hurting privately and hoped it eventually settled down on its own.
Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn’t.
But I loved my family more than I probably ever managed to say out loud.
And I hope you knew that anyway. I hope you understood that every lift home, every repaired shelf, every unnecessary piece of advice, every worried question disguised as annoyance — that was me trying to care for people the only way I properly knew how.
Funny thing is, when you get older, life starts feeling very strange.
You look around one day and realise most of your stories are about people who are gone. You hear songs that bring entire decades back in seconds.
You suddenly miss things you never thought mattered at the time — certain voices, certain routines, hearing someone walk through the front door at the end of the day.
And I think eventually you realise a good life was never about being perfect. It was about being here.
Being part of people’s lives. Leaving something of yourself behind in the people you loved.
So if you think of me after today, don’t only think about this room.
Think about the ordinary moments instead.
That’s where most of my life actually happened.