Requiem

Hello Blog

It's been a while. I find myself making space for you among the piled up washing, scattered jewellery, notebooks, till slips, water bottles and detritus of the last week that has accumulated on the desk in our bedroom. I'm hoping that the cry of "mo-ommmm" keeps away while I take this time to process. I can hear the clink of Oatees being scooped up voraciously, the commentary of the Chinese Grand Prix, and the beeping of the Instant Pot telling me that this week's offering of butter chicken for our newly minted 'varsity student is ready to be distributed into neat little foil dishes for her freezer. There's a tweety sunbird zipping through the Brazilian pepper tree shading our back garden in green leafiness. And oh thank God, a breeze moving it's leaves after the 41'C of this week.

So. Two friends who lost fathers this week. Another two friends who shared the stories of how their dads died quite a few years ago. And my dad who has prostate cancer and started chemo injections this week (but is feeling fine). 

G messaged to tell me his dad had died during the week but forgot to tell me when the memorial was, so I didn't get to fly up for it. Two days later M told us on Friday night at dinner that his dad passed a month ago. I also didn't get to fly up for a memorial. 

I've been processing this news for a few days now.

Last night I asked two friends more about how their fathers had passed. A few years ago L's dad had a massive heart attack the morning after the family went out for dinner and a comedy show. Her lasting memories are of him laughing until he cried, and big sandy footprints in her car.  T's dad worked at a hospital that had a huge heart health drive - he had a heart attack in front of the sign that told everyone it was time to get their heart checked. T said that if he had known that was going to happen he would have laughed about it for days, he had such a fun sense of humour. 

But death only happens if there has been life before that. Not perhaps something you just casually chat about at a 50th, but we did. 

Both men remembered with laughter, joy and love. A perspective only time can bring as those in the rawness of sudden current loss know.

So here is my remembering.

G's dad was a professor and taught so many, living a faith-filled and love-giving life. I only met him once that I can remember. I think a good word for him is "steady". 

M's dad was a geologist who mapped out much of South Africa's riches, whose eyes lit up when his wife walked into the room, lived trying new things (maybe cycling wasn't the greatest idea!), explored and camped until his body gave out, was a real dad to his two super bright boys. He had eyes that reflected distant places, and was a well of knowledge and information wrapped in patience. We could and did chat about all sorts of things, equally comfortable with silence and laughter. 

M's silence is a deep heart cry and grief that cannot (yet) bear to be wrapped in our love and comfort.  G's music the anthem of loss. Both men standing beside their moms in the helpless yet powerful way that only sons can do, taking care of the details. 

Great fathers build and repair foundations, create stability, offer launching pads. Their wisdom, humour and essence are amplified through their children: John Darrell Comins and David Grant, you can be so proud of the men we are humbled to call OUR friends and share life with. 

Cue the trumpet solo G offered up at the closing. Let the notes linger...

Cairns were historically built at crossroads. As reminders, directors, markers of boundaries. Before. After. Here is my offering laid on the cairn of this week's irrevocable living.  

A night that is silent, a night that is bright

The stars gleam brightly in the dawn's early light

While sorrow and sadness weigh us down with our tears

When we look within we find hope midst our fears.

 

How do we continue, is it right to still breathe

When your life has ended and so many emotions rightly seethe?

Yet holding on to those final trumpet notes

There's lightness to be found in the lingering sparkling motes.

 

Of words that were offered as we said farewell and good bye

Capturing lives that explored, that were fully-engaged by

A babe, a child, a teen then young man, husband, colleague and friend

What riches you gave us before your time came to an end

 

Like fossils are treasures made through pressure and time

I know we'll unearth what you left behind

We turn our face to today's warm sunlight

And carry you with us with thankfulness and steps that are bright.

----

To two men dearly loved. And their sons who stand tall beside their moms. My tears fall like hard rain in the desert place of your loss. 

And the teen bangs on his guitar in his room singing " I thought I heard your laugh, I thought I heard you smile". 

And then I did. 

The teenager and the whale

Parenting the not-to-neurotypical teen is a tsunami. 

One moment you are floating in a calm ocean of peacefulness, the next surfing a giant wave or stranded on a beach with your surfboard wondering where the water went, only to get hit by an avalanche of turbulent emotions that churn up every single cord in your heart and leave you - after the water moves on - wrapped in cords that look like old skanky fishing line, seaweed between your teeth, fish scales dotting your skin like shimmering glitter bombs and a general feeling of mal de mer under a happy smiling sky. 

What the ....

A small case in point. Teen 1 has a job offer that requires some job shadowing. Here is the email that triggered yesterday's crisis: 

We are happy to inform you that your application to become a xxx with us has been successful!

The process of becoming a xxx with us is as follows; 

1) Complete the xx indemnity and xxx information sheet and send these back to me via email. Here is the link for the indemnity:  ___

Then I have attached the information form, please complete this as well. Finally, we will also need a copy of your ID/passport for our records. A picture of the document will suffice. 

2) You will need to complete one shadow shift. This is a full day shift to get an understanding of what our processes are and how they work. This has to be completed on a weekend day so please send me a WhatsApp message and let me know which dates you would be available to complete this shift. 

 

3) Complete 3 shadow lessons, these will be scheduled via WhatsApp.  

4) Attend our Coaching course: I will inform you when we plan the next one. 

Please let me know if you have any further questions! 

So, that's not too hard, right? Forms, ID, shadow shift (date already sorted),  three shadow lessons and a coaching course. Nothing to worry about there. 

I had to help fill in the forms and send the id. The online form we did together. But sending the WhatsApp triggered something and oh my flipping gosh. How hard is it to send dates available? 

First round of excuses:  I haven't had breakfast, I haven't had lunch, I'll chat to him after my first shift, I'll send it later. 

Then: Back off, you're annoying me, you're being a pain, it's my life, I'll do it when I am ready (while watching another movie on her movie website and chatting to her friends for hours)

Me: This is like an exam paper. You need to follow the instructions closely. You get a certain amount of time to do this. You have to send a WA. Not an email, not talk to him.

Teen: I can't just send him a WA. I'll just discuss it at my first shift like "hey, what do ... blah blah."

Me: Nope. WhatsApp. It's clear what he wants. Do it as asked. You are in the real world and this is how an employer works. They ask, you do it their way. 

Teen: You don't know anything.

Me (Gen X or Z or whatever - arghghghghgh): Yes Child I Love, this is how it goes. You need to do this now as we drive to purchase equipment for you for this job. Don't make him wait to hear from you. 

Stormy silence. Grumpiness. The feel of electricity in the air before a thunderstorm explodes and zaps you. While navigating my way to Ottery in unfamiliar Cape Flats suburbs.

Me: You know, you make me feel like Jonah a lot. 

Teen: Huh. 

Me: Some days I am swallowed by your emotions, other days spat up on a beach, then I need surf booties to keep my balance on the whale and other days its 3 days underwater in the dark. With smelly fish in my hair.

Muffled snicker from teen.

Me: Right? It's kind of a rollercoaster at time. 

Teen starts to laugh; Yes, it is.

Finally calm is sort of restored. And then the lovely guy from the equipment shop treated her like gold and gave her a whopping discount, knew some of the girls in her class and we walked out on a high. 

Beautiful calm blue seas again. Yoh. Ek se. I love this child fiercely but I definitely need a crash helmet, sticky boots to keep my balance and perhaps a fistful of snacks to tide me over in the belly of whatever whale gulps me up. 

Farewell Debbie L

It's surreal to open Facebook and see a post saying farewell to a teacher from the kids' primary school. A photo full of life and laughter, but a life no longer here. We bumped shoulders in the corridors, shared smiles in passing, I heard the sound of her voice in every school play which she courageously directed, cancer notwithstanding. 

As I stood in the circle of my husband's arms this morning, heart sore and eyes watery, the suddenness of "no more" felt like a wave breaking over me. 

And while I mourn for Debbie's bright light transferred to heaven's lampstands, and feel her loss keenly in my heart as I know all who met her and loved her must feel, there is a part of me that weeps for the coming loss of days for our own family when we will not be able to have just one more cup of tea, another walk on a beach, grab a hug. We won't walk holding hands, or share an old story with fresh eyes and ringing laughter. Our memories will be all that we are left holding, and we won't make more together because of the distance that separates us. 

And as much as I rail and wish and plead, I cannot change that. I will respect my parents' choice. 

But oh, my heart longs. We have today. I want to dance and share and walk hand in hand on that thin white line that links birth and death while we can. 

And as much as I rail and wish and plead, I cannot change that. I must respect my parents' choice. 

Walking on the line

 Four sudden stories: 

1. An older mother who "last 2 days she was struggling to breathe. She got up this morning to go to a booked appointment at x hospital, folded slowly to the floor and passed away."

2. "My son was standing on the train platform with my grandson when he had a heart attack. They got him to hospital and then he had a second heart attack. Turns out he had pulmonary embolisms and they went through his heart."

3. "I have just been diagnosed with motor neurone disease. It's irreversible and they can't do anything for it. I have to start handing over my work and I want to spend what time I have with my wife."

4. The U14A team are wearing armbands today as their goalkeeper lost his dad this week. 

How many of us are walking that fine thin line between this breath and no more breath? I am glad I don't know how thin that line can get. Or how thick or thin my line might be. 

We/I teeter-totted along the embolism line three years ago. I am grateful each morning for all I have - my Adam, my Jess and my Luke. 

Sometimes it's important to stop and evaluate. What am I spending my breath on?

#lookforthelight

My so-not-perfect ...

There is a wonderful woman I have known since I was a teen. Elegant, appropriate, classy, composed, confident, neat, purposeful, artistic. She is authentically lovely, inside and out. She's built a beautiful family, has a coaching business, overcome breast cancer, takes great photographs and speaks at women's events. Today she posted some of her stunning family moments capturing what makes her heart happy. 

Her youngest son irons. Seriously. 

Her home-grown butternuts are beautiful and her children eat her delicious roasted butternut dishes. I have to hide butternut creatively in my house (ask me about my stealth curry, syrup-drenched flapjacks and potjie-mashed butternut stew). 

Her table settings are stunning. My table currently has my huge cat Ninja napping on it with all four paws in the air. 

Photos of her house show an immaculate kitchen and so much space. We're overflowing with stored G'ma stuff. 

I'm learning to own myself. Last night we chased yowling cats out of our garden (Adam running around in his PJs with a bucket of water while Jess and I laughed till we cried). We had a non-frozen banana crisis with Luke's morning smoothie. The cats have had their morning chase leaving my sort of perfectly-made white duvet'd bed with a virulent case of black cat hair clumps. The southeaster has blown a zillion leaves onto our cobbledy-hobbledy verandah. I'm in charge of dusting and cleaning so there's dust and the house is mostly clean. We didn't have enough stuff to fill Luke's lunchbox 'cos he won't eat sarmies so I filled it with jungle bars, apples, mango, some chicken strips and a packet of chips which will, no doubt, only get him to 10am and he's at school until at least 5pm playing matches. Oh, and I'm waiting for THAT call from my parents who refuse to accept the help they need. 

My life is messy, silly, and so NOT in a straight line. And I love it. There's grace, and laughter, tears, arguments and imperfection.  Teen huhs and teen hugs. And this is my story of God in the small things. In growing little people to adulthood. In learning how to parent and be a spouse. So not perfect. Mine.

Note: I know that this really lovely woman has overcome a lot. That beautiful pictures always cover the hard roads people travel. That we capture the moments of beauty to buoy our hearts in the in-between times. That hope lives in the heart beats.  

#lookcloserfindmore #iwillnevertakethisforgranted #lookforthelight

#teenliferocks #ithankyougodforthismostamazing

Because of the colour of my skin

So my last post was on privilege. This one is on racism. 

We took the teens and their mates camping, choosing a close resort/oord as a quick and easy-access get away. It's quite different to the usual spots, and definitely easier in many ways with lots for the kids to do. Plus, this was the first time we've ever taken mates camping and we went big as they each took 3 mates. We piled everyone into our two cars and it was fabulous. Such amazing human beings!

South Africa and colour - it's real. I had a hmm moment when I looked around and realised that we were the only family of our skin colour at the resort. Interestingly, no black African people at all. But our little teen group was very mixed: one Indian girl, one Chinese, 6 European (two blonde, the rest brown haired). 

I commented to my husband on the second day, and he asked "Does it matter?" And no, it didn't. There were some cultural differences (swimming in full cover suits), language differences (lots of Afrikaans) and the usual people differences (one campsite had a hookah and people piled all over the place). But kids are kids, I loved seeing multi-generational families spending time together and also knowing the sport-mad boys had stuff to do while the girls had naps (I kid you not!).  

Would I go back? No. 

On the morning we left the boys went off to play a round of putt putt. Some teen boys and girls turned up and started mocking my boys. They tossed very racial comments at them: "white privileged kids, give us some money, look can't you even play putt putt properly, buy us some stuff, rich kids, whitie ***, who do you think you are coming here". 

When I arrived the group had gone, but my boys were super subdued and told me what had happened. I was super proud of my boys for not responding back to the group and staying respectful. T told me that his heart was so sad about it and he had to remember that Jesus loves them. L was super mad and said they had boys at school who are like this and that they are the dirt-bag dudes with the same grunge factor. He really wanted to punch them. Since one of our boys was wearing a school branded shirt, they were reminded to hold the reputation of their school high. And they did. 

My heart is sore that these teens, with their cool fade cuts and low slung baggies, are perpetuating racist attitudes. For flip sake. I fought and voted against attitude like this. I work hard every day to use my privilege to serve others and not live with race attitudes and/or false white guilt.

My mommy heart wants to take these brats back to their parents and tell them to deal with their sons and daughters. 

We are 30 years in. How do we ever have a rainbow nation if this continues? 

Trying to find the good stuff in this: learning how it feels to be discriminated against, how to be comfortable in places where you are different, understanding where hate comes from? Blast it. I don't know. 

Privilege

Yesterday I had a difficult conversation with a teen who lamented that friends seem to spend, live, possess so effortlessly. Shopping trips to malls, holidays overseas, new cars, the latest computers, eating out a lot, expensive sports kit and hobbies. I looked around our home and saw all that we have. 

This morning I came across this thought in a notebook I am about to toss in my ongoing efforts to stop holding onto things that just clutter my space:

Privilege = the gift of special favour. 

Every privilege has a 'give-back'. 

If privilege does not give back, then it becomes a "right". If we don't give back, then we become users.

My challenge: Ensuring my privileged kids - and I - don't take what they/we do have as a right, but see all that we have been given as a gift of special favour. I want to raise givers, not users. What can I hang to that privilege so that it's not just a right?

(And no, I am not saying that my teen's friends are users, I am saying that I don't want to ever take what we have for granted. It's natural to want more, but it's good to realise that what we do have is enough.)