Here She Lies
Yesterday I attended the funeral of a woman I knew and respected. She was farewelled by people who clearly loved her deeply, and who spoke about her life in the way that mattered most to them. It was beautiful, and as these moments always are — very moving. A perfect embodiment of the idea that we are never lost if people still remember us.
As I listened, it got me thinking — not about what was said, but about the broader question of how any of us could ever be captured in a few minutes at a lectern. What gets chosen, what gets left to one side, and how much of that depends on the kind of life you've lived.
I don't have some of the words most people use to anchor a life story. I'm no one's wife, no one's mother, no one's grandmother. So if someone stood up to speak about me tomorrow, where would they even start? What would they reach for?
I decided not to leave it to chance. What follows is a living eulogy — mine, written by me, while I'm still here to argue with it. It's the first in what I hope becomes a larger project called Here She Lies.
Here She Lies
A living eulogy
Here lies Sidonie Alexandra Lawrence Henbest. One of a kind. A gamechanger and a rule breaker. A perfect blend of joyful exuberance and deadly serious. A believer in the power and possibility that lies within all people. A live-r of a Life Less Ordinary.
Born in London and shaped in Adelaide, Sidonie knew from an early age that two things were true: 1) she could hold a room, and 2) she was born to do something important. She would spend most of her life trying to work out what that “important” was. And along the way she would move across the world, work in tech, in business, in philanthropy, and the arts. Produce shows, festivals, and events, manage portfolios, teach teens to sing and adults to accept their voice. She would dabble in philosophy, mystic religions, yoga, and magic. She would do all these things and still wonder every day whether being an artist was a blessing or a curse, or both.
The biggest lesson she would learn in her younger life was this: very few things actually kill you. It would become her mantra and her permission to show up and try new, audacious things most days of the week.
Sidonie loved words in all their forms, from big ones to crass ones. Spoken by others, sung or spoken by her. She was particularly fond of the word mellifluous because of the way it wrapped around your tongue when you said it out loud. But most of all she was deeply cognisant of the power of words. Their power to harm and to heal – to provoke, uplift, inspire, and encourage.
Whilst in possession of a vocabulary that would daunt many, she was also a frequent user of colourful language and really enjoyed the cadential variations that could be achieved with the word “fuck”.
It was far from a virtuous life – and Sidonie would not, as her mother used to say – die wondering. She eschewed the “2.5 kids and a white picket fence” modus and favoured what she used to call “improving international relations”. No one ever dared ask her why she hadn’t settled down and led a respectable life, but she would later admit that she probably didn’t really know why – it was just not what was offered to her by life. The adventures were many and the recount glorious for those who ever heard them first-hand. When once asked at a jet-set international wedding what her claim to fame was, Sidonie paused, considered the question, and replied that she had a seam of opal named after her in a legendary mining town in Australia.
There were two sides to Sidonie: the dazzling self-possessed show-stopper, and the soft, whimsical, deeply feeling creature, who favoured quiet and genuine connection. It took her years to realise that she was both, and that she needed both to be who she was destined to be. Sidonie was incredibly capable – and far more practical than her shoe collection would have led you to believe. She loved a “roadie” (roadtrip) and possessed her father’s stoicism for long drives and a genuine love for not knowing where she was going next. She was happiest out of the city – in the desert, the tablelands, or the coast – but also loved a big bustling metropolis of London, Paris or NY.
Sidonie was a lifelong advocate for women and children – their safety, their rights, their opportunities to thrive. It was work - in all its incarnations - that she said was only possible because she had no one demanding dinner at home.
She would often describe herself as a “one-to-many human”. Her destiny was maximum impact on the most amount of people. She was no one’s mother and no one’s wife. She was an excellent Auntie, Zia, mentor, and friend. But most of all, she was a Firestarter… a bright spark of a human who blazed or smouldered (as required) but made things, people, and potential around her come alive.
Given half a chance Sidonie would tell you to “just go for it!” That whatever you were thinking of doing or trying but hadn’t quite summoned the courage to begin was “something only you could do”.
She was a survivor, a healer, a leader, and a fierce ally. She lived with courage, curiosity, and generosity. She was only afraid of death in so much as it might stop her living.
It seems fitting to close with a quote from a film that was on repeat in her formative years. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was a contender but the honour goes to Dead Poet’s Society:
“Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.”
