12-18-2010, 06:32 AM
(This post was last modified: 12-18-2010, 06:41 AM by Lukes Army.)
The last time I played with my son Luke, he had only just turned two, and was a healthy little baby, apart from the scratches on his face. I was only allowed 2 hours a week with him for the last six months of his short life which ended on the 18th of January, 2009. Luke died at the age of two years and four months.
Two days after this photo was taken his mother had her 2 hour visit. Only after her discovery of more severe fresh scratches, thiis time on his penis, and after Lukes's mum insisted, was he taken to a doctor for medical attention. These injuries and others, including severe burns, multiple scratches and bruising were a constant in Luke's life, while he lived with his Queensland Department of Child Safety sanctioned foster carer.
Luke was left with a fractured skull, bleeding on the brain, and a blood clot, unconscious for six hours. Only after I rang the foster home a third time that day to check on his wellbeing, was he properly looked at and an ambulance was rung. By the time he got to hospital his brain had been so starved of oxygen that half of my little Lukey Pukey's brain was dead.
The first time I rang the house I was informed Luke had surrered a head injury and gone to sleep. I asked her to be very careful with his head as he had received a knock on the head before. She was awful to me, a 74 year old who already had 3 foster children in her care, two boys aged 4 and 6, and a girl aged 9.
Luke had been brought back to the same household where he had been inflicted with constant injuries before, after he was kicked out of his previous foster home, the day before Christmas.
I was not informed of Luke being placed with this woman until my visit with him on the 5th o January, and immediately questioned how this elderly woman would be able to look after him properly.
I informed the child safety officer he was always injured whilst in her care and that I was worried he would be bullied by the older children. I begged, he was fine with me, a previous visit supervisor had also begged them to let me have my son back. They told her I was paranoid but she strongly disagreed, but they had decided I was not good enough to be a father long before this.
Everyone could see how much I loved my son, and he would not leave my side. He was terrified of being removed from me, as they had done before.
I had moved to Townsville, which was the last step for me in my battle against drugs. I aquired secure work and earnec over a thousand dollars a week. Half of this money went to the best solicitor I could find. Child safety Cairns rrefused to sign over the paperwork, Luke was taken away from his mother and I in Townsville, as child safety refused to let Luke stay while I was partnered with his mother. We argued too much.
God works in mysterious ways, and my new employer was a drug and alcoholl counselor of twenty five years, and three of his success stories were my work mates. Two of those were his sons.
I put my mind into my work, and every morning when my phone alarm would go off at 5 am, Luke's photo would come up and I woul;d smile and say, "For you Luke, anything."
Luke was my reason for getting up every morning, my light at the end ot the tunnel was to get Luke back. I stayed drug free for six months until I followed Luke back to Cairns. Child safety Townsville put Lukey in two diffewrent foster homes then in a third house in Cairns. His mother was told she would have Luke if she left me in Townsville We were never given a chance to mend out relationship, offered any help or counseling or referred to anyone for help. They had decided from the onset I was to go, and the child woulld go with his mother. I prayed for my son for twenty years. He is the miracle God gave to me.
I moved back to Cairns, so I could keep up my two hour visits, which was all I now lived for. I went to child safety Townsville every day to show them I was working and drug free, and to beg for my son back. I got the same look I received from child safety Cairns supervisors, the elite who answer to no one, a look of hatred. I continued with ATODS appointments, I received counseling and advice from centacare, took voluntary urine testsand kept a full time job.
I couldnt work in Cairns, as I was doing too many courses and counseling, Lifeline, Centacare, Relationships Australia, ATODS, Solicitors, it was a full time job trying to get my son back.
I will Keep all my writing in the one thread so as not to annoy anyone. It is not all depressing but I thought I would get the deep and meaninful ones in first. I hope this is not considered inappropriate. I just saw this forum section and thought I would put some stuff up.
My last words to my beautiful little boy Luke Borusiewicz
by Michael Borusieiwicz
LOOK AT ME LUKE. (He looked me straight in the eye as I continued.)
I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU LUKE. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH LUKE. I AM TRYING TO GET YOU BACK THEY JUST WONT GIVE YOU BACK.
I kissed him and tried to act happy so as not to upset him, but I was worried sick throughout the whole visit about him going back to that house, especially with the scratches on his face. When I mentioned the scratches to the visit supervisor and informed her he was always bruised and scratched, even burnt, she told me he had scratched his own face, that is what his foster carer had told her.
My suspicion is the old lady let them all abuse my little baby and turned a blind eye to it. Luke drove off in the back of the child safety car and I collapsed to the ground in front of the playground and cried and cried and cried.
I kept telling people I knew I was never going to see him again. I was standing on the shore and looking out to sea. He was in a boat drifting further and further out to see screaming "DADDY, DADDY."
I did a drawing for him but I was telling people "I know I am never going to get to give it to him."
That is how strong the bond was between me and Luke. I cried that whole week til I got the call that Luke was in intensive care.
When they finally let me in to see him, half his brain was dead because he had been left lying so long with a fractured skull. He was in a coma, on morphein, but when I said "Lukey, Daddy's here", a tear came out of his eye.
I watched over the course of six days as Luke's brain died off and he lost control of each organ. After the third day they wanted to turn off the machines as he was still not breathing on his own, and had not done since his arrival at hospital.
I went to him in his coma, and I said to him "Luke, you start breathing for Daddy, right now", and I started breathing real loud to show him I wanted him to breathe.
My little champion started to breathe for me, and kept breathing for 8 hours, til it was just too much for my little baby. He made me so proud. I stayed and slept with him in my arms each night until on the final day they turned the machines off and Luke died in my arms.
I let his mum sleep with Luke in her arms on the last night because I believe a sick child wants to be in his mothers arms, and a dying child wants to die in the arms of his father.
The Adventures of Mick Savage (A poem by Michael Borusiewicz)
by Michael Borusieiwicz on Thursday, April 22, 2010 at 9:39pm
I could probably count all the poems and songs I have written on one hand. Here is one of them.
The Adventures of Mick Savage
I am a man who demands respect.
From those around me that I expect.
I am young, intelligent and lean,
I wear a uniform ironed and cleaned.
I am smarter than the average fool,
I've done 12 long years of school.
I walk around with my head held high,
I am more than just your average guy.
I wear a uniform not just anyone can wear,
I dont get disrespect, no-one would dare.
I drink heaps of piss, I dont give a f....
I tell you this copper...your out of luck.
My name is Mick Savage so it rings a bell?
Blood sprayed across his blue uniform as he fell.
They were soon on the walky talky giving the others a call,
A battle line was being drawn across the city mall.
A crowd was growing to witness what had just begun
And all hoped the casualty rate would be more than just one.
It wasnt long til a man stepped through the line of wary cops.
One man held them all at bay, his mouth was full of froth.
Mick raised a smile now cos there was one who dared to come forward,
He'd been waiting awhile and was starting to get bored.
This cop was smiling too, he was six foot eight,
By the time he saw Mick's foot coming up it was all a bit too late.
He fell to the ground several meters back and then was taken away.
The cops had f***** Mick around long enough, and they were gonna pay.
A cheer rose up from within the crowd,
"Give him a beer, he's done us proud."
Mick skulled down a six pack and regained his strength.
None of the cops would come forward to within arms length.
Now it came to pass that one of the cops pulled out a gun.
The crowd booed him down and yelled "What happened to simple one on one."
The Searge agreed and said "What the f..., we'll give this young c... a go.
He wont beat our young boys in blue, this much I surely know."
The crowd disagreed and said to the Searge " Ya wanna make a bet?"
So the Seargent took up all wagers, as many as he could get.
The Seargent yelled above the crowd "This is what shall be.
If he is still standing at Twelve tonite then he will be let free."
The crowd cheered loudly and so did the cops at what the Searge had said.
Then all went Quiet as Goliath apppeared and said "Mick...Your f***** dead."
How could this man fit into a uniform? The cops had obviously lied.
Mick didn't give a f***, he'd kill anyone on their side.
"Aaaaaaahhhrrrrgghh" Mick screamed as he lunged towards this Giant.
You could see it in his eyes, how much he was defiant.
The two men clashed and traded blows and when the end had come,
Mick still stood and was handed a glass...filled with ice and rum.
He skulled it down then lifted his head and let out an almighty scream.
In front of him stood rows of men with badges that were agleam.
Mick shot forward not waiting this time and smashed the first within reach.
He was angry now and couldn't care less about any probation he breached.
Another went down, his face caved in from Micks mighty punch,
He blocked off a few more and had them in a bunch.
He threw punches left and right and kicks from all around,
At the end of this little fight they had all gone down.
I will stop now to take a count and then begin again,
How many cops had Mick taken out? I put the number at ten.
All the cops except for the Searge had now run away.
Mick looked at the the Searge and smiled, "Thats a lot of money you have to pay."
"But Mick, I said Twelve o'clock and now it's only Nine.
We'll get you back to the station, plenty of f***** time."
The chief got on the walky talky, "Get the area cleared."
For the crowd had grown to almost a thousand, one continual cheer.
Ribbons were placed around the mall to keep the crowd at bay,
Mick gave yelling abuse to any cop that even looked his way.
"Where's my mate Trev the lad? Get me a f...in beer."
"There's a carton on the way Mick, do not f...in fear."
So the cops had to plan an attack against this Mick Savage for they'd run into a glitch.
The mother f...in mongrel c***, the son of a f***** bitch.
Reinforcements had arrived just to hold back the crowd.
Noone was to come through the ropes, noone was allowed.
The Seargent quickly glanced at his watch, it was getting late.
This should have been over and done with, he was supposed to knock off at eight.
OK listeners, I suppose thats enough, you want to hear some action.
Blood and guts and broken bones, yeh, that brings satisfaction.
The mall was covered now with policemen dressed in blue.
Rubbing their police batons and waiting to give Mick Savage what was due.
The seargent signalled for them to start.
Mick was ready to tear them apart.
They closed around him now at last.
They couldn't see his punches, he threw them too fast.
Bodies piled up across the grass.
Young Mick Savage had kicked their ass.
The crowd cheered loudly as the last one fell,
How many had fallen now, who could tell?
The Seargent stood alone now to accept defeat,
It was Twelve o'clock and Mick was still on his feet.
The Searge gave Mick a friendly grin.
Mick landed a punch square on his chin.
The night was over, what a rage night it had been,
There was still time to go out if he had a quick clean.
No need Mick, all the girls are here now in the mall.
MICK: A party at my place, who gives a f... if the cops get called.
Dedicated to all who have been abused, beaten and victimised by cops who think they are better than the rest of the human race, and to those cops who are police because they like to help people.
Love Hate Love Hate Love Hate Love...
by Michael Borusieiwicz
Knives fly at my back as I run...
To the ones who love me.
Their knives come at me from directly in front, aimed straight at my heart.
Back forward, back forward.
I duck down toward the ground
And sink deep into the quicksand.
Reaching out for the stick that pulls me out,
Then they beat me with it.
Beg for mercy, submit, degrade myself.
Crawl to their feet and plead, total humiliation, degradation,
As they Piss all over me and invite their friends.
Slip into the ocean swimming out
Into the sea of misery and despair.
An army of canoes take flight, tracking and hunting it's prey,
Firing poison arrows, pursuing relentlessly.
They catch up and hold me under with their oars.
Death seems inviting.
Worn out and confused, intimidated,
Death is a welcome foe.
The sharks gather into a dark army circling,
As the knives continue from above.
Swimming down, deeper, deeper, deeper,
Away from all enemies and friends.
I began my journey through the ocean of grief at its deepest depths,
And so I return.
God's miracle at sea,
by Michael Borusieiwicz
I want to die because I believe the next life will be better, and I will see my son again. I have seen many miracles. I was out at sec in carnarvon, WA, one me the windiest places on earth. I was on a scallop fishing boat. They are supposed to be some of the hardest and craziest fishermen in the world, so I fitted in well. It was getting rough. We had been at sea for weeks without seeing land, and a cyclone was almost upon us. These guys would never admit to being scared and will fish right through a cyclone, but you could see the slight look of worry in their eyes. There was the skipper and 12 crew ( jesus and twelve deciples, go figure? ), and the man in charge of the crew, the deck boss, was one hard son of a bitch. He was an ex SAS soldier, renowned to be the best soldiers in the world. He was also the australian army boxing champion at some stage. Tough as nails. Anyway, the boys had a worried look in their eyes and started talkin about mother nature. After a bit I spoke up and said mother nature can kiss my ass, there is no such thing. Man did these guys freak, apparantly mother mature has everything to do with the weather and wellbeing of the crew while out at sea. I said no such thing as mother nature, I believe in god. Well did this bring on the scorn of this crew of weathered ruffians. Dont ever talk about mother mature like that, god is this, god is that. But the worst one of them all was the deck boss. He was holdin his dick and lookin up at the sky screaming louder than any of them. God can do this and God can do that, standing in front so we could all see him. In these cyclonic winds, after weeks at sea, down flies this crow. It flew down from behind him and landed about a foot above his head on the mast while he was still lookin up at the sky and blasphening. As the crows feet touched the boat, the deck boss collapsed, our toughest man on vita boat. I helped carry him in. And when I came back out they were all sayin kill the crow, kill the crow, i said kill God's messenger and see what happens. The crow stayed on the boat for a few days until the weather was good enough to send a boat out to rescue him. His back had gone and he would probably never walk again. I walked into the toilet one day before the crow left, and there he was sitting on the sink. He didn't try to get away, he just let me pick him up. I took him out and showed everyone. They all started again sayin kill the crow again. It was the same when we pulled up a giant sea turtle in the nets, lying there dead from drowning. I jumped in and started giving it mouth to mouth resussitation as they all screamed fudge the turtle, but that is bother story.
Andy: Have you ever done any sea time Mick?
Michael: Three months in Carnarvon and Geraldton.The windiest place on earth, on average.They are supposed to be the craziest fishermen on earth next to the Iceland Tuna and crab fishermen.
Andy: I just finished twelve years as a fishermen fishing for tonnes and tonnes of a lot of different fish. Tens of tonnes Mick, write that down. Twelve to thirteen tonne over twelve years.
I hook, I bait.
Michael: Well I was living in Melbourne at the time, and a guy called mooka, I only knew him as Dean, invited me over for the fishing season. He said he always invited people but I was the only one who ever came and did it. He would work for three months of the year, make his fifty thousand and party on for the rest of the year.
So the bus is waiting for me at the Melbourne bus terminal, everyone is on while I am under the stairs saying a last goodbye to my girlfriend. I get on and the doors immediately close and we are out of there. My girlfriend had given me a garbage bag full of miniature sized chocolates, you know, mars, bounty, cherry ripe etc. I stood at the front of the bus as we were leaving the Melbourne city centre and handed out chocolates and they were passed back so everyone on the bus got chocolates. As I was the last person to board I didn't have much choice of where to sit and ended up sitting next to a Carnarvon local. Seemed like a decent young chap and we got along well and were good mates by the end of the trip.
The main source of fishing is scallops, they call it white gold, and turns out my mate mooka was the legend shakker. Shakking is the art of slipping your knife into the scallop shell and cracking it open then removing the flesh, in one quick slip of your wrist. I was a greenie so I wasn't much good at it to start with but by the end of the trip I was one of the fastest on the boat, I put that down to my experience as a chef.
So I got a spot as cook on one of the boats. Twelve crew and the skipper, like Jesus and the twelve deciples. I lost 10 kilos the first week. We were doing 18 hour shifts to start with and then having six hour breaks. The crew is broken into the first mate who takes turns skippering with the skipper, and two shifts, each with a deck boss. My deck boss was an ex-SAS soldier who was also the Australian army boxing champion. We also had the Australian Tai Kwon Do champion on our boat, to give you an idea of how hard you have to be to do this job. I promised myself I would never do it again. I lucked out having the SAS dude as my deck boss because he was crazy and very hard on his crew. I had to do my eighteen hours of work on the deck then come in and cook for thirteen men. All of this while I was sea sick, which is closer to having your guts ripped out through your mouth every time the boat slammed up and down. I could hardly walk let alone cook and I would throw the steaks in the pan and tell everyone to cook it themselves.
On a boat your only luxury is food. I was exhausted and malnutrioned by the end of the first week and shortly before the end of the shift I finally collapsed. The crew hated me because I was the worst cook they had ever had. The cook on our sister ship was sacked because she was a kiwi and all she cooked every night was boil up. Much of the time a female cook is not there for her cooking ability but to satisfy the skipper in other ways, but not in this case so she was sacked. When I came to after collapsing they were all saying "Throw him over with a plank of wood." This is in ocean that was never below 35 knots, waves that were always bigger than the boat, and our boat was the smallest in the fleet which meant it was thrown around the most. It was about ten minutes before the end of the eighteen hour shift and I thought stuff it I have had enough and went inside. I was the only person on the whole trip to finish early, a definite no no but they all already hated me so who cares. I laid in my bunk and slammed into the bunk above me again and again, that is how rough it was. After two hours I thought stuff this, I will go out and start early because I know I am not going to sleep anyway. They all talk about "Double Up."
I was the only person on the whole trip to do a double up. That is when you work two shifts back to back. I had a bit of a break but when I went back out, unbeknownst to me, I had interupted what was about to be a fight. The deck boss and the first mate of the other shift were about to trade blows. All went silent when I appeared. When I collapsed it must have been the rest I needed and it had helped me get over my seasickness. I was angry and this made me shakk even faster. The crew was amazed at the change in me and one of the people who were about to have the fight asked me "What are you thinking about?" I said "This is for the time my brother broke my nose. This is for the....etc"
The other guy that was about to fight said "And this is for the man who took my mrs, f***ed my dog stole my house." The crew erupted into laughter and I was on my way to being the best cook anyone on that boat had ever had.
The shifts overlap so that sometimes you would have both shifts on deck and sometimes only one would be working while the other slept. So I had done my 18 hours, rested for two and then worked another four when my shift resumed. There was only one spot where you weren't constantly bombarded with drenching waves crashing over you, 24 hours a day and night. The other shift had let me take that spot as I had gained my recognition by recovering and doing a double up. My deck boss, the SAS dude, always stood there, and kicked me straight out. Even the crew were saying come on, and I said " I only have twelve hours to go anyway."
Sas meathead: "No you don't. You work the full eighteen hours with your crew."
I slammed my bucket on the hopper and scallops flew everywhere.
"F*** the scallops" I said.
I put my head down and started shakking again, faster because I was angry again. SAS dude didn't know about my miraculous newfound ability to shakk but.
"Get off deck" he ordered me.
"No" I said.
"Get off" he repeated.
I said "No, I am faster when I am angry."
The crew of the other shift agreed and told him to pipe down. The skipper came down and reduced the eighteen hour shifts to sixteen. I had survived the first week.
Now when you do the scalloping fishing over in Western Australia, the first time you come back into land after three or four weeks, there is no money for anyone, or most boats anyway. The skipper has to put in his catch and wait for it to be processed and weighed and the check must be cleared. The money isnt available until you are back out at sea. I got a loan and headed to the pub that was supposed to be the best one in town. I only had enough for one jug, first in a month as our boat was a dry boat. No drugs or alcohol.
Behind the bar is my mate off the bus that I sat beside all the way from Melbourne to Perth. His Dad owned the pub. My boat was the only boat that got credit. There was a sax player and the local taxi driver played harmonica. I asked if I could get up and have a play and a sing. They loved me. The next time all the boats came in everyone was loaded with cash. They insisted I play harmonica and I was put up on the bar in front of a sea of fishermen packed into the bar. I played Roy Orbison singing "Come on Baby", bah bah bah bah on harmonica. "I wanna be your candy man." Bah bah bah bah as I strutted along the bar. The crowd was going wild and yelling, or so it seemed. Crack, I walked along the bar into a ceiling fan along the bar which hit me in the head and catapulted me into the crowd and onto a mosh pit of fishermen who floated me back up onto the bar where I continued my performance. When I reached the next ceiling fan I put my hand up to stop it this time. Wouldn't you know it, blood oozed from the slice
Light and Dark
by Michael Borusieiwicz
The days are a long meaningless blizzard on impenetrable thick ice. Senseless, pointless, relentless.
They are welcome after seemingly endless black which is filled with screams, tormented wailing, crying then long bouts of cruel sleepless blackness. The black returns with more crying to be ended by watching the ice return while I pray for this season to be the last.
Two days after this photo was taken his mother had her 2 hour visit. Only after her discovery of more severe fresh scratches, thiis time on his penis, and after Lukes's mum insisted, was he taken to a doctor for medical attention. These injuries and others, including severe burns, multiple scratches and bruising were a constant in Luke's life, while he lived with his Queensland Department of Child Safety sanctioned foster carer.
Luke was left with a fractured skull, bleeding on the brain, and a blood clot, unconscious for six hours. Only after I rang the foster home a third time that day to check on his wellbeing, was he properly looked at and an ambulance was rung. By the time he got to hospital his brain had been so starved of oxygen that half of my little Lukey Pukey's brain was dead.
The first time I rang the house I was informed Luke had surrered a head injury and gone to sleep. I asked her to be very careful with his head as he had received a knock on the head before. She was awful to me, a 74 year old who already had 3 foster children in her care, two boys aged 4 and 6, and a girl aged 9.
Luke had been brought back to the same household where he had been inflicted with constant injuries before, after he was kicked out of his previous foster home, the day before Christmas.
I was not informed of Luke being placed with this woman until my visit with him on the 5th o January, and immediately questioned how this elderly woman would be able to look after him properly.
I informed the child safety officer he was always injured whilst in her care and that I was worried he would be bullied by the older children. I begged, he was fine with me, a previous visit supervisor had also begged them to let me have my son back. They told her I was paranoid but she strongly disagreed, but they had decided I was not good enough to be a father long before this.
Everyone could see how much I loved my son, and he would not leave my side. He was terrified of being removed from me, as they had done before.
I had moved to Townsville, which was the last step for me in my battle against drugs. I aquired secure work and earnec over a thousand dollars a week. Half of this money went to the best solicitor I could find. Child safety Cairns rrefused to sign over the paperwork, Luke was taken away from his mother and I in Townsville, as child safety refused to let Luke stay while I was partnered with his mother. We argued too much.
God works in mysterious ways, and my new employer was a drug and alcoholl counselor of twenty five years, and three of his success stories were my work mates. Two of those were his sons.
I put my mind into my work, and every morning when my phone alarm would go off at 5 am, Luke's photo would come up and I woul;d smile and say, "For you Luke, anything."
Luke was my reason for getting up every morning, my light at the end ot the tunnel was to get Luke back. I stayed drug free for six months until I followed Luke back to Cairns. Child safety Townsville put Lukey in two diffewrent foster homes then in a third house in Cairns. His mother was told she would have Luke if she left me in Townsville We were never given a chance to mend out relationship, offered any help or counseling or referred to anyone for help. They had decided from the onset I was to go, and the child woulld go with his mother. I prayed for my son for twenty years. He is the miracle God gave to me.
I moved back to Cairns, so I could keep up my two hour visits, which was all I now lived for. I went to child safety Townsville every day to show them I was working and drug free, and to beg for my son back. I got the same look I received from child safety Cairns supervisors, the elite who answer to no one, a look of hatred. I continued with ATODS appointments, I received counseling and advice from centacare, took voluntary urine testsand kept a full time job.
I couldnt work in Cairns, as I was doing too many courses and counseling, Lifeline, Centacare, Relationships Australia, ATODS, Solicitors, it was a full time job trying to get my son back.
I will Keep all my writing in the one thread so as not to annoy anyone. It is not all depressing but I thought I would get the deep and meaninful ones in first. I hope this is not considered inappropriate. I just saw this forum section and thought I would put some stuff up.
My last words to my beautiful little boy Luke Borusiewicz
by Michael Borusieiwicz
LOOK AT ME LUKE. (He looked me straight in the eye as I continued.)
I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU LUKE. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH LUKE. I AM TRYING TO GET YOU BACK THEY JUST WONT GIVE YOU BACK.
I kissed him and tried to act happy so as not to upset him, but I was worried sick throughout the whole visit about him going back to that house, especially with the scratches on his face. When I mentioned the scratches to the visit supervisor and informed her he was always bruised and scratched, even burnt, she told me he had scratched his own face, that is what his foster carer had told her.
My suspicion is the old lady let them all abuse my little baby and turned a blind eye to it. Luke drove off in the back of the child safety car and I collapsed to the ground in front of the playground and cried and cried and cried.
I kept telling people I knew I was never going to see him again. I was standing on the shore and looking out to sea. He was in a boat drifting further and further out to see screaming "DADDY, DADDY."
I did a drawing for him but I was telling people "I know I am never going to get to give it to him."
That is how strong the bond was between me and Luke. I cried that whole week til I got the call that Luke was in intensive care.
When they finally let me in to see him, half his brain was dead because he had been left lying so long with a fractured skull. He was in a coma, on morphein, but when I said "Lukey, Daddy's here", a tear came out of his eye.
I watched over the course of six days as Luke's brain died off and he lost control of each organ. After the third day they wanted to turn off the machines as he was still not breathing on his own, and had not done since his arrival at hospital.
I went to him in his coma, and I said to him "Luke, you start breathing for Daddy, right now", and I started breathing real loud to show him I wanted him to breathe.
My little champion started to breathe for me, and kept breathing for 8 hours, til it was just too much for my little baby. He made me so proud. I stayed and slept with him in my arms each night until on the final day they turned the machines off and Luke died in my arms.
I let his mum sleep with Luke in her arms on the last night because I believe a sick child wants to be in his mothers arms, and a dying child wants to die in the arms of his father.
The Adventures of Mick Savage (A poem by Michael Borusiewicz)
by Michael Borusieiwicz on Thursday, April 22, 2010 at 9:39pm
I could probably count all the poems and songs I have written on one hand. Here is one of them.
The Adventures of Mick Savage
I am a man who demands respect.
From those around me that I expect.
I am young, intelligent and lean,
I wear a uniform ironed and cleaned.
I am smarter than the average fool,
I've done 12 long years of school.
I walk around with my head held high,
I am more than just your average guy.
I wear a uniform not just anyone can wear,
I dont get disrespect, no-one would dare.
I drink heaps of piss, I dont give a f....
I tell you this copper...your out of luck.
My name is Mick Savage so it rings a bell?
Blood sprayed across his blue uniform as he fell.
They were soon on the walky talky giving the others a call,
A battle line was being drawn across the city mall.
A crowd was growing to witness what had just begun
And all hoped the casualty rate would be more than just one.
It wasnt long til a man stepped through the line of wary cops.
One man held them all at bay, his mouth was full of froth.
Mick raised a smile now cos there was one who dared to come forward,
He'd been waiting awhile and was starting to get bored.
This cop was smiling too, he was six foot eight,
By the time he saw Mick's foot coming up it was all a bit too late.
He fell to the ground several meters back and then was taken away.
The cops had f***** Mick around long enough, and they were gonna pay.
A cheer rose up from within the crowd,
"Give him a beer, he's done us proud."
Mick skulled down a six pack and regained his strength.
None of the cops would come forward to within arms length.
Now it came to pass that one of the cops pulled out a gun.
The crowd booed him down and yelled "What happened to simple one on one."
The Searge agreed and said "What the f..., we'll give this young c... a go.
He wont beat our young boys in blue, this much I surely know."
The crowd disagreed and said to the Searge " Ya wanna make a bet?"
So the Seargent took up all wagers, as many as he could get.
The Seargent yelled above the crowd "This is what shall be.
If he is still standing at Twelve tonite then he will be let free."
The crowd cheered loudly and so did the cops at what the Searge had said.
Then all went Quiet as Goliath apppeared and said "Mick...Your f***** dead."
How could this man fit into a uniform? The cops had obviously lied.
Mick didn't give a f***, he'd kill anyone on their side.
"Aaaaaaahhhrrrrgghh" Mick screamed as he lunged towards this Giant.
You could see it in his eyes, how much he was defiant.
The two men clashed and traded blows and when the end had come,
Mick still stood and was handed a glass...filled with ice and rum.
He skulled it down then lifted his head and let out an almighty scream.
In front of him stood rows of men with badges that were agleam.
Mick shot forward not waiting this time and smashed the first within reach.
He was angry now and couldn't care less about any probation he breached.
Another went down, his face caved in from Micks mighty punch,
He blocked off a few more and had them in a bunch.
He threw punches left and right and kicks from all around,
At the end of this little fight they had all gone down.
I will stop now to take a count and then begin again,
How many cops had Mick taken out? I put the number at ten.
All the cops except for the Searge had now run away.
Mick looked at the the Searge and smiled, "Thats a lot of money you have to pay."
"But Mick, I said Twelve o'clock and now it's only Nine.
We'll get you back to the station, plenty of f***** time."
The chief got on the walky talky, "Get the area cleared."
For the crowd had grown to almost a thousand, one continual cheer.
Ribbons were placed around the mall to keep the crowd at bay,
Mick gave yelling abuse to any cop that even looked his way.
"Where's my mate Trev the lad? Get me a f...in beer."
"There's a carton on the way Mick, do not f...in fear."
So the cops had to plan an attack against this Mick Savage for they'd run into a glitch.
The mother f...in mongrel c***, the son of a f***** bitch.
Reinforcements had arrived just to hold back the crowd.
Noone was to come through the ropes, noone was allowed.
The Seargent quickly glanced at his watch, it was getting late.
This should have been over and done with, he was supposed to knock off at eight.
OK listeners, I suppose thats enough, you want to hear some action.
Blood and guts and broken bones, yeh, that brings satisfaction.
The mall was covered now with policemen dressed in blue.
Rubbing their police batons and waiting to give Mick Savage what was due.
The seargent signalled for them to start.
Mick was ready to tear them apart.
They closed around him now at last.
They couldn't see his punches, he threw them too fast.
Bodies piled up across the grass.
Young Mick Savage had kicked their ass.
The crowd cheered loudly as the last one fell,
How many had fallen now, who could tell?
The Seargent stood alone now to accept defeat,
It was Twelve o'clock and Mick was still on his feet.
The Searge gave Mick a friendly grin.
Mick landed a punch square on his chin.
The night was over, what a rage night it had been,
There was still time to go out if he had a quick clean.
No need Mick, all the girls are here now in the mall.
MICK: A party at my place, who gives a f... if the cops get called.
Dedicated to all who have been abused, beaten and victimised by cops who think they are better than the rest of the human race, and to those cops who are police because they like to help people.
Love Hate Love Hate Love Hate Love...
by Michael Borusieiwicz
Knives fly at my back as I run...
To the ones who love me.
Their knives come at me from directly in front, aimed straight at my heart.
Back forward, back forward.
I duck down toward the ground
And sink deep into the quicksand.
Reaching out for the stick that pulls me out,
Then they beat me with it.
Beg for mercy, submit, degrade myself.
Crawl to their feet and plead, total humiliation, degradation,
As they Piss all over me and invite their friends.
Slip into the ocean swimming out
Into the sea of misery and despair.
An army of canoes take flight, tracking and hunting it's prey,
Firing poison arrows, pursuing relentlessly.
They catch up and hold me under with their oars.
Death seems inviting.
Worn out and confused, intimidated,
Death is a welcome foe.
The sharks gather into a dark army circling,
As the knives continue from above.
Swimming down, deeper, deeper, deeper,
Away from all enemies and friends.
I began my journey through the ocean of grief at its deepest depths,
And so I return.
God's miracle at sea,
by Michael Borusieiwicz
I want to die because I believe the next life will be better, and I will see my son again. I have seen many miracles. I was out at sec in carnarvon, WA, one me the windiest places on earth. I was on a scallop fishing boat. They are supposed to be some of the hardest and craziest fishermen in the world, so I fitted in well. It was getting rough. We had been at sea for weeks without seeing land, and a cyclone was almost upon us. These guys would never admit to being scared and will fish right through a cyclone, but you could see the slight look of worry in their eyes. There was the skipper and 12 crew ( jesus and twelve deciples, go figure? ), and the man in charge of the crew, the deck boss, was one hard son of a bitch. He was an ex SAS soldier, renowned to be the best soldiers in the world. He was also the australian army boxing champion at some stage. Tough as nails. Anyway, the boys had a worried look in their eyes and started talkin about mother nature. After a bit I spoke up and said mother nature can kiss my ass, there is no such thing. Man did these guys freak, apparantly mother mature has everything to do with the weather and wellbeing of the crew while out at sea. I said no such thing as mother nature, I believe in god. Well did this bring on the scorn of this crew of weathered ruffians. Dont ever talk about mother mature like that, god is this, god is that. But the worst one of them all was the deck boss. He was holdin his dick and lookin up at the sky screaming louder than any of them. God can do this and God can do that, standing in front so we could all see him. In these cyclonic winds, after weeks at sea, down flies this crow. It flew down from behind him and landed about a foot above his head on the mast while he was still lookin up at the sky and blasphening. As the crows feet touched the boat, the deck boss collapsed, our toughest man on vita boat. I helped carry him in. And when I came back out they were all sayin kill the crow, kill the crow, i said kill God's messenger and see what happens. The crow stayed on the boat for a few days until the weather was good enough to send a boat out to rescue him. His back had gone and he would probably never walk again. I walked into the toilet one day before the crow left, and there he was sitting on the sink. He didn't try to get away, he just let me pick him up. I took him out and showed everyone. They all started again sayin kill the crow again. It was the same when we pulled up a giant sea turtle in the nets, lying there dead from drowning. I jumped in and started giving it mouth to mouth resussitation as they all screamed fudge the turtle, but that is bother story.
Andy: Have you ever done any sea time Mick?
Michael: Three months in Carnarvon and Geraldton.The windiest place on earth, on average.They are supposed to be the craziest fishermen on earth next to the Iceland Tuna and crab fishermen.
Andy: I just finished twelve years as a fishermen fishing for tonnes and tonnes of a lot of different fish. Tens of tonnes Mick, write that down. Twelve to thirteen tonne over twelve years.
I hook, I bait.
Michael: Well I was living in Melbourne at the time, and a guy called mooka, I only knew him as Dean, invited me over for the fishing season. He said he always invited people but I was the only one who ever came and did it. He would work for three months of the year, make his fifty thousand and party on for the rest of the year.
So the bus is waiting for me at the Melbourne bus terminal, everyone is on while I am under the stairs saying a last goodbye to my girlfriend. I get on and the doors immediately close and we are out of there. My girlfriend had given me a garbage bag full of miniature sized chocolates, you know, mars, bounty, cherry ripe etc. I stood at the front of the bus as we were leaving the Melbourne city centre and handed out chocolates and they were passed back so everyone on the bus got chocolates. As I was the last person to board I didn't have much choice of where to sit and ended up sitting next to a Carnarvon local. Seemed like a decent young chap and we got along well and were good mates by the end of the trip.
The main source of fishing is scallops, they call it white gold, and turns out my mate mooka was the legend shakker. Shakking is the art of slipping your knife into the scallop shell and cracking it open then removing the flesh, in one quick slip of your wrist. I was a greenie so I wasn't much good at it to start with but by the end of the trip I was one of the fastest on the boat, I put that down to my experience as a chef.
So I got a spot as cook on one of the boats. Twelve crew and the skipper, like Jesus and the twelve deciples. I lost 10 kilos the first week. We were doing 18 hour shifts to start with and then having six hour breaks. The crew is broken into the first mate who takes turns skippering with the skipper, and two shifts, each with a deck boss. My deck boss was an ex-SAS soldier who was also the Australian army boxing champion. We also had the Australian Tai Kwon Do champion on our boat, to give you an idea of how hard you have to be to do this job. I promised myself I would never do it again. I lucked out having the SAS dude as my deck boss because he was crazy and very hard on his crew. I had to do my eighteen hours of work on the deck then come in and cook for thirteen men. All of this while I was sea sick, which is closer to having your guts ripped out through your mouth every time the boat slammed up and down. I could hardly walk let alone cook and I would throw the steaks in the pan and tell everyone to cook it themselves.
On a boat your only luxury is food. I was exhausted and malnutrioned by the end of the first week and shortly before the end of the shift I finally collapsed. The crew hated me because I was the worst cook they had ever had. The cook on our sister ship was sacked because she was a kiwi and all she cooked every night was boil up. Much of the time a female cook is not there for her cooking ability but to satisfy the skipper in other ways, but not in this case so she was sacked. When I came to after collapsing they were all saying "Throw him over with a plank of wood." This is in ocean that was never below 35 knots, waves that were always bigger than the boat, and our boat was the smallest in the fleet which meant it was thrown around the most. It was about ten minutes before the end of the eighteen hour shift and I thought stuff it I have had enough and went inside. I was the only person on the whole trip to finish early, a definite no no but they all already hated me so who cares. I laid in my bunk and slammed into the bunk above me again and again, that is how rough it was. After two hours I thought stuff this, I will go out and start early because I know I am not going to sleep anyway. They all talk about "Double Up."
I was the only person on the whole trip to do a double up. That is when you work two shifts back to back. I had a bit of a break but when I went back out, unbeknownst to me, I had interupted what was about to be a fight. The deck boss and the first mate of the other shift were about to trade blows. All went silent when I appeared. When I collapsed it must have been the rest I needed and it had helped me get over my seasickness. I was angry and this made me shakk even faster. The crew was amazed at the change in me and one of the people who were about to have the fight asked me "What are you thinking about?" I said "This is for the time my brother broke my nose. This is for the....etc"
The other guy that was about to fight said "And this is for the man who took my mrs, f***ed my dog stole my house." The crew erupted into laughter and I was on my way to being the best cook anyone on that boat had ever had.
The shifts overlap so that sometimes you would have both shifts on deck and sometimes only one would be working while the other slept. So I had done my 18 hours, rested for two and then worked another four when my shift resumed. There was only one spot where you weren't constantly bombarded with drenching waves crashing over you, 24 hours a day and night. The other shift had let me take that spot as I had gained my recognition by recovering and doing a double up. My deck boss, the SAS dude, always stood there, and kicked me straight out. Even the crew were saying come on, and I said " I only have twelve hours to go anyway."
Sas meathead: "No you don't. You work the full eighteen hours with your crew."
I slammed my bucket on the hopper and scallops flew everywhere.
"F*** the scallops" I said.
I put my head down and started shakking again, faster because I was angry again. SAS dude didn't know about my miraculous newfound ability to shakk but.
"Get off deck" he ordered me.
"No" I said.
"Get off" he repeated.
I said "No, I am faster when I am angry."
The crew of the other shift agreed and told him to pipe down. The skipper came down and reduced the eighteen hour shifts to sixteen. I had survived the first week.
Now when you do the scalloping fishing over in Western Australia, the first time you come back into land after three or four weeks, there is no money for anyone, or most boats anyway. The skipper has to put in his catch and wait for it to be processed and weighed and the check must be cleared. The money isnt available until you are back out at sea. I got a loan and headed to the pub that was supposed to be the best one in town. I only had enough for one jug, first in a month as our boat was a dry boat. No drugs or alcohol.
Behind the bar is my mate off the bus that I sat beside all the way from Melbourne to Perth. His Dad owned the pub. My boat was the only boat that got credit. There was a sax player and the local taxi driver played harmonica. I asked if I could get up and have a play and a sing. They loved me. The next time all the boats came in everyone was loaded with cash. They insisted I play harmonica and I was put up on the bar in front of a sea of fishermen packed into the bar. I played Roy Orbison singing "Come on Baby", bah bah bah bah on harmonica. "I wanna be your candy man." Bah bah bah bah as I strutted along the bar. The crowd was going wild and yelling, or so it seemed. Crack, I walked along the bar into a ceiling fan along the bar which hit me in the head and catapulted me into the crowd and onto a mosh pit of fishermen who floated me back up onto the bar where I continued my performance. When I reached the next ceiling fan I put my hand up to stop it this time. Wouldn't you know it, blood oozed from the slice
Light and Dark
by Michael Borusieiwicz
The days are a long meaningless blizzard on impenetrable thick ice. Senseless, pointless, relentless.
They are welcome after seemingly endless black which is filled with screams, tormented wailing, crying then long bouts of cruel sleepless blackness. The black returns with more crying to be ended by watching the ice return while I pray for this season to be the last.
