Coronavirus victim Mike Saclier's family speaks about the 'loving' man they lost to COVID-19
By Mary Gearin
- Losing someone like Mike Saclier would be hard in the best of times. And this is not the best of times.
"He was a loving, and a loved man," his daughter Ele says.
Mike is one of the 98 Australian victims of COVID-19.
Each of those families know the unique heartache of farewelling a loved one in these surreal times.
They've been left to grieve, sometimes still haunted by how the mysterious virus had been contracted, and forced to mourn in isolation, without the comfort of their wider community.
Mike's son Rod knows the feeling all too well.
"It's been just over a month since Mike died and I'm still not really sure how to deal with it," he says.
Not many people have spoken publicly about their experiences. But Mike's family has chosen to share their story with the ABC.
'My rock, strong and solid'
Wendy Saclier remembers meeting Mike, the man who would go on to become her husband, 53 years ago at a Tanzanian Independence Day party.
She was a speech therapist, he was working in the archives at the New South Wales State Library.
"It changed my life," Wendy says.
She was drawn to Mike's caring nature, and their shared tastes in music, literature, art and politics.
He loved his puns and his poetry. And then there was his voice.
"He had a beautiful voice and he used to read to me, and he still was reading to me before he went to hospital, which I loved," Wendy says.
Mike forged a life with Wendy, who called him "my rock, strong and solid".
They moved to the ACT where he became a stalwart of Canberran community life, and a loving family man, father to Rod and Ele, and the son who re-entered his life 15 years ago after being adopted, Leigh Hubbard.
"When I was at my lowest, he would look after me without any judgment upon me," Rod says.
Contracting coronavirus on 'trips to the shops'
Fast-forward to 2020.
Mike had his health issues, and when Australia started to lockdown in the looming shadow of coronavirus, he was among the most conscientious.
Wendy recalls what Mike met her with, after a brief trip away in mid-March to visit her own ill brother.
"Mike had 100 pairs of gloves, 20 masks and sanitizer. So, we were ready," she says now with a smile.
It makes Mike's fatal brush with COVID-19 as baffling as it is tragic.
It's thought he must have contracted it during just a couple of trips to the shops.
Ele says her father's death was not a surprise, he was 82 and had pre-existing health conditions, but the way it happened was "an absurd thing".
"It's the mystery of how he came into contact with the COVID," she says.
"We just don't know."
Rod says his father was very conscientious about not going out.
"I never believed for one moment that it was possible for him to get it. But it just all happened so quickly," he says.
COVID-19's awful quandaries
When Mike went into hospital he was separated from Wendy, who had to spend a fortnight in isolation.
He felt lethargic, but otherwise okay.
Rod reflects on the speed of the disease.
"There's a lovely photo with him two weeks before he died, looking pretty healthy," he says.
"But then the doctors rang me directly and said that they'd had the talk with him about resuscitation and Mike didn't want that. So I think that's when it started to hit home to me."
It was still relatively early days in Australia's pandemic, but lockdowns were starting to escalate.
Visits to hospitals involved security guards and hazmat gear and the situation was changing rapidly.
About a week before he died, Rod was visiting his father when the hospital recorded another positive COVID-19 test.
"We'd been with him for a couple hours, and then we went to get something to eat. And then when we came back, we were told we couldn't see him," he says.
"And so, that was the last time I saw him."
Till almost the last, Mike was able to communicate. And still a cracker with the puns.
Wendy sent him a text, saying: "Amazing company you keep — Prince Charles and now Boris."
Mike replied: "But I'm holding out for one that Trumps all others."
"When I read that, on the Wednesday, I thought he's going to get through this," Wendy says.
But by Thursday morning, things had gone seriously downhill.
A choice to make
In Mike's final hours, he was only allowed two visitors. So his children were left to choose who would accompany their mum.
Rod had spoken to his dad the night before, so he said Ele should go.
Ele describes the "layers of peculiar-ness" required to see her Dad for the last time.
Security guards at the hospital entrance were checking names and when she and Wendy made it in, the nurses put them in special goggles, a mask, gown, gloves and shoes.
If they wanted to leave his room, they would need to take everything off, and then don it again when they went back in.
Still, they feel inordinately lucky, knowing so many others in their position have been denied the precious privilege of being there at the end.
"When I first went in, I said to him, Mike, it's me. It's Wen, I'm here," Wendy says.
"He attempted to open his eyes. I felt he knew we were there."
Widow sent home to grieve alone
They thought they would be there just a few hours. They were there for 20. He died on the Friday.
When the end came, Ele says it was a relief to see the end of her dad's suffering.
But then came a further heartbreak.
Wendy was sent home to grieve, alone at home, in quarantine, for two more weeks.
Ele chokes with tears as she recalls that time.
"I could be with my family — apart from them, but in our house — but she was on her own. That was the hardest part," she says.
Wendy says it was difficult in isolation but neighbourly kindness saw her through.
"There was food left at the door. I was always answering the door, receiving beautiful flowers ... the telephone, texting, email ... people were fantastic. And that helped enormously," she says.
Ele says the pandemic has created a visceral void of isolation for those in grief.
"It's the physical separation, when your every instinct is to be with the people that you love and be able to hold them and find that comfort," she says.
Ele's husband Justin, who was not in isolation, came to talk to Wendy through a window to help plan her husband's service.
It happened eventually, via Zoom, on their 53rd wedding anniversary.
Behind every coronavirus number is a family
Mike's son Leigh, a former secretary of the Victorian Trades Hall Council, watched on via Zoom from Melbourne and says he felt "compartmentalised".
"The normal grieving process is people kind of draw a line in the sand under a relationship and you send someone off and that hasn't been the case," he says.
"You haven't had the wake, and the chance to have a good cry and a good drink, and celebrate someone's life.
"That hasn't happened. Hopefully that will happen. But that's some way down the track. So I think there are a lot of families around Australia for whom that's been a delayed process."
Leigh's wife, Federal MP Ged Kearney, paid public tribute to Mike in the days after his death — bringing to life a number on the mounting toll.
She says it was hard knowing Wendy and her kids never got to hug each other and go through the important rituals of grieving.
"My heart just broke for them," she says.
As the coronavirus death toll grows Wendy says it's important to remember that behind each number is a family.
She wants others to know the virus is brutal and unpredictable, so every moment has to be treasured.
"I know that people die all the time. But this is a different kind of grieving process," she says.
"Because there's so much going on in the world and so many people suffering."
Leigh wants his father's experience to be a lesson for us all.
"Poor old Mike. He locked himself down as quickly as possible. And he went out a few times and yet he still managed to contract this infection," he says.
"So I think that's the message: don't think we're immune from it, we're not, no one's got some special immunity.
"Anyone can get it and you've got to really cherish the relationships you've got."
Comments
It is with a heavy heart that the community around the Sacliers heard this story. Who could believe that someone so careful and so considerate could be struck down. It happened while the rest of us were still grappling with the international situation and it seemed a million miles from CBR. He has left such a huge hole in all the lives he touched. Vale to a brilliant, inspiring leader among men and archivists.
I am so saddened to hear of his death. I knew Mike only a little but I have never forgotten his kindness and good humour in mentoring me as a young and stroppy archivist.
His knowledge of Archives and the ASA was immense and he taught me much about how to comport oneself at a Conference and how to solve sticky problems on the conference floor.
He was much loved and will be sorely missed.
Please convey my sincere condolences to his family.
Ros Lauder
Its was with great sadness that I heard of Mike's death. He was the founder and driving force of the early days of the ASA and a friend for many decades. My thoughts are with Wendy and his children. Ian Pearce
I remember Mike as my first boss when I started work as an archivist at the Archives of Business and Labour at ANU. It was a friendly place where people enjoyed their work, and Mike deserves most of the credit for that. His acerbic wit was legendary. I was sorry to leave the job after only one year, but it seemed like a good idea at the time and maybe it was.
As I remember it, Mike was not only a Foundation Member of the ASA. It was his idea, and promoted by him with considerable skill in the face of a certain amount of reluctance - if not outright opposition - from certain quarters.
Reading this long account of Mike's last days has reminded him of his family. I remember Rod and Ele as little kids who came in to see Dad from time to time, and Wendy also.
Thanks Mike, for the start you gave me in a new career. My thoughts are with the loved ones you left behind.
Colin Smith