Christmas in the Valley

Christmas 2015 was bitter sweet for me as it was our first Christmas back home....down in the valley as I like to say.

Our home is by no manner of means completed with all the renovations undergo, but it is coming on. After first saying I was not going to decorate for Christmas, I changed my mind after both Johan and NiQi convinced me to do so. There were a couple of reasons I didn't want to unpack and set up the tree etc, one of which was not wanting everything to get dusty and dirty. Another was to find everything, as we still have not placed all our furniture. (Some of it is standing in the other side of the house which will eventually be where NiQi and Kyle live.) The last reason though was one of mixed emotion and forethought as I realize that not everyone shares my enthusiasm for Christmas and the whole 'decorate your home' thing....so I was trying in a small way to not offend anyone with the way 'I' do Christmas.

As the years go on, I listen to the synics who protest at the earliness of Christmas being 'punted', and the growing number of our populace who believe and profess the celebration of Christmas is nothing more than another pagan holiday. I am amused by these thoughts as in my view Christmas and all it entails is in fact given much more 'time' than the one day, which in effect helps to promote the birth of Jesus......the real reason for the Christmas celebration. This ultimately makes people think about what it is really all about. So I wonder if those who complain so profusely about the carols being sung and all things 'Christmasy' in the shops, are concerned by the origin of the day and the way they see it being exploited or whether deep in their subconscious they believe it should not be celebrated at all. My thought is that it gives them reason to protest without adding any positiveness to what the day does mean to so many. I am one of those who feel the earlier 'Christmas' comes around, the better, for it does nothing less than spread good cheer, make many think of those less privileged than themselves and lastly focus's on the culmination of absolute joy at knowing without the birth of Jesus we would not have free will to choose Him and accept His gift to us of eternal life in heaven.

Back to why this Christmas was for me 'bitter sweet'.... it was as I said, our first Christmas back home and trailing my memory down the time line to 1994, I remember another Christmas which was the one and only that Mark spent here before he passed away....

I remember cutting a fir tree from the garden and the children decorating it as it stood in a bucket in the corner of the lounge next to the fire place.

I remember waking early on Christmas morning to find Mark sleeping under the tree surrounded by presents. He woke in the middle of the night after we had settled to sleep and I imagine him tiptoeing  to the lounge to see if Father Christmas had indeed visited. (Yes, Johan and I are in the category of parent who told our children of the fantasy of Christmas with Father Christmas and his elves who live in the North Pole and work tirelessly all through the year to give the children of this world toys at Christmas. I firmly believe there in nothing wrong in the fantasy of Christmas so long as it is balanced by the reality of Christ.)

We knew in our hearts it could very well be Mark's last Christmas with us and I really wanted it to be special for him. Thank goodness the children were all young and hopefully did not feel the tensions of the day as we shared it with Johan's parents who were living with us at the time. We were two different cultures celebrating quite differently from each other and in the confusion of preparing and perhaps a little naïvity from me, I had no idea that the whole family would later that day be descending on us. I remember cooking the turkey on Christmas Eve as my late dad had always done, only to find out later that Johan's mum was planning on serving a hot meal...what a disaster as I felt she thought I had deliberately bamboozled her plans.... I remember all the nieces and nephews being here and our children guarding their gifts for fear they would be broken. As young as they were they had been taught to look after their possessions and the reputation of their cousins when it came to toys and their lack of caring for them was well known to our brood. To say that Christmas day that year was a disaster is an understatement but I do not think the children will remember it like that at all...if they even do remember it.

So this year I remembered all these things as I was driving down the valley on Christmas Eve, and the tears welled in my eyes as I said a prayer for Mark and my dad and I missed them both with an ache in my heart.

Christmas day was somber, not for any of the above reasons, but it was quiet...too quiet and for the first time in our 33 Christmas's together, there was not a present in sight. It was a decision not made lightly, and not only because the finances are not available for gifts of any kind, but also out of respect for those who do not agree to the concept of gift giving. The family is growing and with it different cultures, beliefs and opinions come together to share and celebrate this day as they have been raised. I wanted to show I can be flexible, however in doing that I feel I lost a piece of me. From next year, whenever Christmas is in our home we will celebrate as we have always done with love and joy and fun and games.

Last Christmas was one of the best we have ever had. Matthew and Jess arrived Christmas Eve. Johan's sister, Elmarie and her family were back from Canada and his niece, Bernadette and her family all arrived mid morning on Christmas day as we started the day with brunch....rolled over into dinner midday and later snacks in the evening. We kept going all day long with the 'left/right' game which had us in stitches, making crackers and playing the game 'Apples to Apples' to well past midnight.

This year, I sent out invitations to local family for Christmas day. RSVP's were not forth coming which crushed my soul and it ended up being just the four of us...Johan, myself, NiQi and Kyle until late morning when Sara, Bob and my mum arrived. We had a nice Christmas meal sitting out on the front verandah with the  rain gently falling and the mist rolling in. A couple of hours later they were gone and that was Christmas.....over. Sara and Bob together with mum celebrated their Christmas on Boxing day with all their family together. Matthew and his girlfriend arrived on Sunday for tea. We were invited a few days before Christmas to spend Boxing day with my best friend and her family at their holiday home in Kamberg. It was another cool day with a scenic drive through the midlands trailing the rain with us.....we braaied...the kids played 30 Seconds....we chatted....we chilled....it was lovely with smiles and laughter. Christmas 2015 was not just another Christmas, it was a different Christmas.....

our view with the mist rolling in

Boxing Day in Kamberg

a view of the dam in front of their holiday home

"kids" playing 30 Seconds

Their holiday Christmas tree

William....my prince

A month ago on returning from a trip to Jo'burg we found my poor William had passed away. It seems that it had only happened in the last few hours before we arrived home, as Lindo, our gardener said to Johan the following morning that he was still fine late afternoon when he stopped work for the day.

I cried all night long as guilt at leaving him for two days ate away at my conscience. He had been blind for a number of years and it worried me that moving him down would cause him stress, even though his first home was back here.

I remember Johan surprizing me with him one day....it was totally unexpected and just more than a month after my birthday in 2004. I have always loved cocker spaniels, they are my favourite breed of dog and with the children being older and knowing the right way to handle dogs, Johan felt that the time was right to spoil me with a puppy. He was a pedigree and had been born at the beginning of May but for obvious reasons had to stay with his mum and siblings until he was weaned.

At the time Johan was driving back and forth to Pretoria and William was the first of our dogs that I allowed to lie in our room next to our bed....even at times letting him climb on the bed!!!!!!

Some months later, at the end of February 2015, William traveled up in the back of the bakkie together with Neo and Trinity, our two Great Danes as we journeyed towards our new home.  I was following behind the entire journey and I remember that for most of the trip the rain was pouring down around us and the wind was blowing fiercely making it difficult to drive.  At one point in the dark of the night, I saw something flying from the bakkie and my imagination thought it was William flying out through the open window, ears flapping in the strong winds. In shock I grabbed my cell phone and dialled Johan's number. Between sobs of a certainty that William was gone forever I told Johan what I had seen. He pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and in the pouring rain dashed out and had a look in the back of his bakkie. I had pulled in behind him and waited with baited breath. Still in the pouring rain with the cold wind beating around him, he ran to my car and as I cracked the window just enough to keep the rain out but open enoufh to hear Johan speak, he assured me that William was still in the back with his two mates and companions.  I know I saw something blowing from the bakkie and after checking what was strapped on the roofracks, realized that it must have been a piece of cardboard packed between things that with continuous flapping  eventually ripped off and blew away.  To say I was relieved was an understatement and over the years the story has been regaled with much mirth by my family.

For many years William had a whale of a time on the plot....chasing the wild rabbits and buck through the long grasses. I can still see him running and bouncing up in the air with his ears flapping out at the side of his head. He was never quick enough and was always outrun by his 'prey', but he never gave up the chase.

In the last 3, maybe 4 years, he lost his sight and for his own safety we erected a fence around the back portion of the house so that he was enclosed and wouldn't wander off losing his bearings. He spent most of his time sleeping in his bed in the kitchen before we moved back down here.  He learned a route from his bed, along the edge of the kitchen cupboards and out of the back door.  With time he walked less and stayed close to the back but he had a love for us all that he never lost. His food bowl was always in the same place close to his bed and he knew exactly where the water bucket was situated on the back verandah.  Once we decided to move back we talked many times about whether we should bring him with us or whether we should put him down.  Being blind he would have to learn his surroundings again but neither Johan nor I had the heart to take him to the vet.  He was my baby and I just couldn't do it.  In the first week here after following me around the house from the back to the front, he frll into the swimming pool. Thank goodness he has always been a good swimmer and as he swam around trying to find a place to climb out, we reached in and pulled him out. He didn't seem any the worse for wear but after that incident, we closed up the back verandah on the pool side so he couldn't get close again.  He needed to be reassured we were close by though, to hear our voices and movement  on the verandah and the kitchen otherwise he started to stress.  This is why I felt so bad when we arrived home after two days away to find he had passed away. Although Lindo was here, William I am sure knew we were gone and that was just too much for him.

My boy held a very special place in my heart. I will not forget him for a long time.  I hope he was as happy with me as a parent as he made me as a parent.  Love for a pet is a special kind of love....an unconditional love...RIP William.

Speaking From the Heart

I have just read a letter received, which was in my opinion really petty and mean.  This year has been a trying year for our family as a whole, in many aspects, but we have stood together and held our heads high.  Through all that has happened, our goal as a family has been to be truthful, love one another through thick and thin and not partake in or listen to any gossip.

Gossip is a terrible thing, and as someone recently said to my husband when confronted on repeating something...'it is not gossip if it is true'....well I don't think that is a truth in itself, as, and again in my opinion, gossip is saying anything about another person if they are not present....whether good or bad, but usually bad.

Over time, and more particularly I would say in the last 12/13 years, I have been prey to many gossipers and I confess I have been one to gossip myself, but as I have gotten on in years I have come to realize how hurtful and hateful gossip can be.

Those who know me, know that I profess to being a believer in Jesus Christ, in other words I call myself a Christian.  As a Christian, and trying and failing every day to follow God's commandments, I find that it is in many instances, fellow Christians who are the worst at gossiping and passing judgement on others.  I think we have forgotten what it is to love one another...for this is the greatest of all God's commands after 'You shall have no other god's before me'.

When did mankind decide that we should give out 'hurt for hurt'?
When did people make it their mission to destroy others, especially those who are or may at some point have been close to them?
When did the world become so full of evil that our waking thoughts become filled with how best to pay back the person/s who have turned their back/s on us?
When did it become 'okay' to snoop in our loved one's lives?
When did we start justifying our errors as 'protecting our own rights'?
When did the innocent victim become a part of this payback?

Why should those who are chronically ill have to suffer at the hand of one who is seeking revenge?
Why does a family have to suffer for the mistakes of one in the unit?
Why does a family business have to be destroyed at the expense of the scorned?
Why does a person have to be threatened with lawyer letters?

What happened to forgiveness?
What happened to moving on?

Where does it all stop?

We have forgotten how to be polite to each other.  People walk around daily with anger in their lives.  We cannot even talk to some people without involving a lawyer...why is that?

People talk about karma, but what is Karma?  Karma, as I understand it is the act of receiving in the same manner you have dealt out.  Quite frankly I do not believe in Karma.

I think I am what many might call a 'good' person.  I have been the best wife and mother I know how.  I have been around for teaching and homework and making lunches and lifting for play dates.   I have been a friendly neighbour.....helping with meals and grocery shopping and lifting to hospital appointments and lending out money on a non return basis.  I have given to the poor and championed the cause of the under privileged....going into the poorer areas to fetch children for Sunday School and youth and buying them Bibles and giving them gifts.   I have in the past made hospital visits to sick children in the wards, spending time with them and helping them when sick and their parents are at work.  I have taught Sunday School and been a Youth leader....and all those children that passed under my wing are still 'my children'.  I have led a Bible study.....growing together with those who came to listen.  I have worked in school tuck shops and baked for bake sales and sewn school play costumes and made chair bags.  I have given lifts to children to extra curricular activities for friends who could not get away from work, even dropping them for exams.  I have bussed sports teams and stood on the sidelines supporting every child I know.  I have loved our wider family to distraction, seeing the good in everyone, giving them all another chance...lol  I might think myself I have been a good person, and if this were the case then 'good karma' should follow me.  BUT it doesn't....so does this mean that all my faults, the bad things about me, my thoughts, far outweigh the good in me?

I believe that we live a life of free will.  We know what is right from wrong. What we choose to do, or think, or say, comes from within and how we act is what we will ultimately be judged upon one day.  I try very hard to keep my nose clean.  I stay away from trouble makers and live every day for my family.  Oh I know they are none of them perfect, but who is?  Sometimes it may take years to mend broken bridges, but I eventually do.  I am a peacemaker at heart...so please I beg of you...will you let me now have some peace.....

Moving 101

A week ago today, we wound our way back to Gauteng for the second time since our move down here and once more that dreaded journey was re-lived in my mind...although not nearly as badly as last month, it is indeed a life event I will clearly not forget in a hurry.  I feel now I can put it all down in writing without cringing as much as I did the night and early morning of 20/21 August.

I have come to the conclusion in recent months that if anything untoward is going to happen to anyone, it will happen to us....and I have come to terms with that. So knowing this, and upon reflection, it has been no surprize to me that our move went the way it did.

In my mind I had hoped that we would be on our way at the latest by mid day...10 am would have been better but 2 hours leeway was a time I could work with.  Sara, my sister had said she would have supper ready for us and she would meet us as we arrived. That was the plan and I had hoped it would work out like that...  I now know that for anyone else this would have been eutopia and would more than likely have slipped into place,  but for us it was just not to be.

It started the night before with Johan and Matthew driving up from KwaZulu/Natal to help with the move. Matthew was in Bob, my brother in law's bakkie, and Johan in ours. Now I know I have been very lax in keeping you updated with Larkwood Life of late (and that is going to change) but our bakkie just the weekend before, had a refurbished engine fitted at huge expense. It had made just one run on the long road between Gauteng and KwaZulu/Natal and driving the journey back was it's second. The two men in my life should have arrived with us about 9.30 pm. I wanted to get to bed early as I knew the following day...moving day would be long, and at that stage I did not realize exactly how long it would turn out to be....anyway back to the night before... the boys hadn't arrived by 9.30.. nor 10...nor 11. I sent Johan a whatsapp message to find out where they were and he replied that they were  'limping' along. OH DEAR...not good news for us at all. NiQi and I decided to try and get some sleep and managed barely a few minutes before they arrived. Both were in Bob's bakkie!!!!! Ours was not trailing behind, it was not being towed, it had in fact already been dropped off with our mechanic....it did not survive the trip...Matthew had towed it the last 100 km.

Well after a few hours sleep, we were all up and expectantly waiting the removal van.  (That too is another story which I will regale after this has been posted....for now this is only about our journey down.)  The bakkie was being looked at and 'fixed' while the truck was being loaded.  Finally we had it back with us late afternoon.

Well we said goodbye to Grootvlei and the new owners of our plot at about 7 pm.  This after injecting 5 dogs with sedative and giving William Rescue tabs, and slipping oral sedative down the squealing, squirming throats of 8 cats.  The cats were all in individual cat boxes in my car and the dogs had been placed one by one in the back of the double cab.

At this stage euphoria reigned as I was glad to finally to be on our way and in 7 hours we should be back to our roots....home again in Winterskloof.  We stopped at the Doornpoort One Stop to have a bite to eat, after a very long day of packing and directing everything onto the truck.  So it was that we finally left at about 8pm for the journey ahead.

Probably about an hour and a half into our trip and not too far before the Durban/Kimberley turn off, some fool, and I say that politely, pulled in front of Johan driving @ about 40 kmph in the middle lane of the highway. Johan, with his quick thinking, shot out from behind him, leaving me to deal with this slow vehicle ahead of me.  Thank goodness I believe in keeping good following distances, for if I hadn't I would no doubt have smacked into the back of his vehicle as he slowly chugged along.  The result was, I slammed on my brakes and in the process had 8 cat boxes falling in the back of the car.  I was not as lucky as Johan to be able to pull out into another lane of traffic as there were vehicles moving on both sides of me.  Finally I managed to move out from behind this 'person' and continued on my merry way, trying to catch up with Johan who I thought was probably quite some way ahead of me by now.

About 20 minutes later, I stopped looking for Johan's bakkie ahead of me and had a look at the road I was driving on. This is where I realized my first mistake of the night, for whilst I was watching in my rear view and side mirrors for a gap to get past, I missed the turnoff to Durban!!!!   It did not take me long to realize that I was on the wrong road!!!!!  I quickly pulled over to the left hand side of the road and stopped in the emergency lane.  With hazard lights flashing I phoned Johan.  (This is when I was eternally grateful for cell phones and even more so for my recently upgraded phone with GPS.)  Johan had become worried, looking for me in his rear view mirror and not seeing me, so when I phoned he was thankful to hear I had just missed the turnoff and had not been in an accident.  I discovered he had just passed the Natalspruit turnoff, and while he stopped to wait for me to once more join him, I entered Natalspruit into my phone GPS and after travelling another few km, managed to turn over the highway and onto the other side, going back the way I had come.  Once I saw a sign to Durban and followed it, I felt happier knowing that at some point shortly I should meet up again with Johan and about half an hour later,when I saw his bakkie in the distance I was very relieved.  Yah!!!!

We both carried on all happy  and it was not long after that, I realized that with slamming on the brakes and the shift in the cat boxes,I had 2 'free' cats roaming the car...trying to sit on my lap and on the dash.

At about 10.30pm, Johan slowed down and pulled over on the shoulder of the road....I followed suit, not sure what he was doing.  It was dark and I had 2 cats to contend with, so sat patiently waiting for him to come and tell me what was going on.  It was not long before he came to my window and told me he had discovered the new engine had an oil leak.  It was then that I realized that what I thought were fine spots of rain on my windscreen, were indeed spatters of oil.

The diagnosis - he wouldn't be able to drive anymore.

The solution - I would have to tow him.

I panicked, although I hoped he didn't see panic written all over my face.  I had only ever towed something once before, many years ago, a trailer, and that had only been for about 30 km on an open road with little traffic.  How was I ever going to tow the bakkie now?   And this was not going to be for just 30km but almost 500km!!!!

The only towing rope we could muster at that stage was all the dogs leads tied together.  (As I am writing this the same fear and panic I had then, I can feel in my being now.)  I moved the astra in front of the bakkie and Johan tied the leads, hooking one end onto the back of the astra and the other end to the front of the bakkie.  The dogs were still sedated in the back of the bakkie, the cats, not so much.  I still had the two escapees who would settle for a bit and then make their way to me in the front, trying to sit on my lap, or curled around my neck, or even on the dashboard.

The rope broke a number of times...many, many times in fact.
I missed turning off at Harrismith and then Swinburne, to get another rope.
I kept freaking out about going down Van Reenens pass and going through the toll gates.  Every time Johan had to re-tie the rope, he looked at me patiently, not saying a word in anger, although I was sure he was feeling quite exasperated.   I took a few Rescue pills a couple of times trying to calm my nerves.  At one stage we had a really good run for about 60 km before the rope snapped again.  Each time it snapped, it became shorter and the bakkie got closer to my tail.....

We stopped at the top of Van Reenens Pass to fill the astra and the garage was closed...no fuel. We were freezing. I found my pyjamas and put them on under my clothes. I unearthed the big winter jacket that was lying in the astra and gave it to Johan.  Normally he would never wear anything as big and bulky, but he was freezing and it kept him warm.  We rested for a bit, went to the bathroom, Johan cleaned my windscreen with dishwashing liquid - one of the last things packed when we locked up, and after searching in the bakkie, we found a tow rope - HALLELUYA.

After getting going again and Johan telling me we were half way home, we ran better.  Towing was easier with the added length and we managed a good distance again before the rope once more broke. This was where my nightmare really began as the rope snapped whilst in the middle lane trying to overtake trucks traveling uphill at 40 km an hour.  I had to engage a lower gear to get added speed and the jerk from behind me, snapped the rope leaving Johan stranded in the middle lane.  I had my hazards on and drove slowly so I could get a gap between trucks to pull over onto the shoulder of the road.  At this point I didn't fully realize the danger Johan was actually in, and when I think of it now I give thanks with a sincere heart, for his safety and protection.  Johan, with the momentum he had, managed to roll back over to the left hand shoulder. All the while trucks were flying passed us both.  Once on the side, I reversed all the way back to Johan.  Was I ever thankful to see him there waiting for me.  Because of the angle he had stopped I had to pull him away putting huge strain on the clutch of the astra....I was close to tears, exhausted and drained.  I did not ask Johan how he was doing and he didn't ask me.  At this point we knew we had to stick together, we had to get strength to continue from each other.  A truck nearly wiped Johan out, and broke his phone screen with the impact of him jumping out of the way.

Eventually we got going again.  The rope continued to break.  I became more and more tired.  I now had 5 cats loose in the car and the dogs, although better behaved had woken from their drowsy state.

Nearing  Howick I went over a piece of metal that suddenly appeared in the road and with that had an immediate flat with our brand new tyre.  We managed to find the spare wheel under all the cat boxes and took it out without any of the cats getting out.  Once that was changed, we pulled away again for our final stretch of the journey.  By now dawn had broken and it was light.  The trucks moved around us as I stuck to the left hand lane.

Finally we made the Cedara turnoff...broke the rope again at the T junction, had impatient drivers on their way to work hooting at us and overtaking us, not knowing what a long night it had been for us while they had been tucked up in their beds sleeping and resting ready for the new day.

The last couple of km were in the early morning traffic of Hilton village,,,,,parents dropping their children at school and then going on to work.  As we arrived at the top of Valley Road, we saw our removal truck ahead of us.  Our now 12 hour trip was almost over.  We followed them down Valley Road and into Willow Lane.  I am still emotional about that trip and I pray I never have to endure another quite like it.  My prayer then, was that we arrive safely, and we did.  My prayer for any journey from here on in will be for our safety, and that we not break down.  It was the most draining experience of my life....

Jenna Lowe and her 'Get Me To 21' Campaign

You know how sometimes in life you hear about someone who is making a difference to those around them and with today's social media making it so easy, you 'follow' them and what they are doing...well Jenna Lowe was one of those people for me.  I first heard about her near the end of last year with her 'Get Me to 21' Campaign.  It swept through South Africa like a tsunami that had reached our shores, it was that huge.  It was and still is a brilliant campaign to make South Africans aware of the much needed desire for the populace to sign up to the Organ Donor Foundation.  The face behind the campaign was Jenna Lowe, a young 20 year old who at the age of 17 was diagnosed with a disease called Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension.  As her disease progressed she realized that her only hope would be to undergo a lung transplant.

Knowing how few lung transplant surgeries are done in a year, piqued my interest and at first and before I knew, I thought that this youngster may too be suffering from Cystic Fibrosis.  So when I read that it wasn't, just the transplant factor alone was sufficient to keep me 'following' her.  In the 20 years since our Mark passed away, when lung transplants were still relatively new to South Africa, lung transplantation has come a long way.  There are many more survivors today than then...mostly youngsters... because of lung transplants...all given a second chance at life.

It was exciting news for the country, myself included, when news was released that Jenna had been blessed with receiving 'new' lungs on the 10th December last year and I think we all waited with baited breath to hear how she was recuperating.  On a routine clinic visit to NiQi's doctor after the operation we timidly asked if she could tell us how she was doing.  She was not very forthcoming with information as she told us that being a public figure it was up to the family to release any information on Jenna.  NiQi was in Milpark 3 times over the 6 months that Jenna stayed to recover...twice she was in the room next door, on the other side of the ICU doors.  As much as we were both itching to blog, because of her infamy, we restrained ourselves.  The closest I got was to sharing a Facebook post when things seemed to be going well...and even then I blanked out names to show the family sensitivity.

On Monday, 9th June, Jenna passed away.  The sadness of losing someone you have grown to 'love', even though you don't know them personally is devastating.  I have mulled over the news for the last few days with mixed emotions.  As you know NiQi is on the transplant list too waiting for her own new set of lungs and in the last year there have been more people we know who have either died waiting or not recovered from the transplant than those who have survived.  For a mother who is waiting in the wings it is not a good statistic.  I look at NiQi every day and I see SURVIVOR written all over her face.  She is as her trust fund and her Facebook page is named...FABULOUS AND FIGHTING.  She, like Jenna had, has dreams and plans for her future and yet we never know what the future actually holds for her.  I am sure that each time she receives all this information she processes it and shoves it aside.  As she gets older she has less and less to do with those who are in the same position as she herself.  She has a handful of friends she really trusts and those she has lost grows with each passing year.

From one mother who has already lost a child, I can only impart what I have learned over the years to Gabi, Jenna's mom.  Whether is was 3 years or 9 years that you lived watching your child battle for every breath and grow weaker and weaker, it is all the same.  Your pain was my pain. Your loss was my loss.  Your grief was my grief.  But you are an individual mother, a unique mother, who had and still has your own thoughts and feelings over what life has dealt you.  You will be strong for your family because that is how a mother and a wife is.  You will cry in private and when anyone catches you with tears pouring down your cheeks, you will brush them aside and put on a happy smile.  But  cry you must because it is all part of the healing process.  Some will tell you that you will never forget, that you will never get over the loss of Jenna, but you may be blessed like me and with time be able to focus on the happy times and remember all that was good and great.  But take time...all the time you need.  There will be firsts...your birthdays when her presence  is not there and her birthday when your heart will ache and you will remember the day she was born just like it was yesterday.  Mothers Day and Fathers Day, Christmas's and Family get togethers'. Favourite meals and places you visit that she loved to go to...all these 'firsts' will give mixed emotions of guilt and wondering how you can even smile or laugh when she is not with you...but 'firsts' become seconds and life goes on.  I think of our son looking down on me from Heaven and the promise I made to him a few short days before he passed away...that I would be good and try my best to live a life worthy that will get me to Heaven one day so that we can be together.  Now I wonder with all the millions of souls in Heaven if I will be able to find him, will he be waiting at the gates to Heaven with Jesus, waiting to welcome me?  I do not know your religious beliefs but for me I could not have survived if it were not for my daily conversations between me and God...asking him to look after him for me and thanking Him for loaning him to me so that I could love him and nurture him for 9 years.  One little thing that I believe with all my heart is that Jenna died at exactly the time that was destined for her...the lungs she so badly needed gave her relief for such a short time and in some twisted way and on reflection, the lungs were not the solution.  My life has been blessed through my personal experiences  and I am thankful and grateful....I have gone through more than many others but I thank God for giving me the grace not to be bitter or hold hatred in my heart.  I will pray for the same for you.  Gabi, Stuart and Kristi, I feel like I know you and you will always remain dear to my heart.  God bless you all as you continue with Jenna's legacy in her memory...

Photos posted here under are courtesy of Gabi Lowe...

 

 

 

 

Pretoria Station is a Dangerous Place to Be

Just two weekends ago Matthew surprized NiQi and I with a visit for the weekend. It was a few days after my birthday and he arrived together with Johan who had come up for a week to do some more work on our house.

The Saturday morning a client phoned and asked to meet with him in town at the Gautrain station in Pretoria Central.  Not knowing Pretoria, I went with him and I am glad that I did.  The arrangement with the client was to meet at the McDonalds.  Well from the moment that we arrived and parked in the station parking we were harassed by beggers and vagrants, so much so that we were actually followed.  One beggar told us that he was hungry and asked for some food and Matthew said that he would buy him something from McDonalds as we were meeting someone there.  Imagine our absolute shock and horror when this chap responded with 'I don't eat McDonalds'.  This is totally in conflict with the way I was brought up, when my parents would say to us that if we were hungry enough we would eat what we were given or if we were thirsty enough then water would do.  Times have obviously changed where beggars feel they have the right to dictate to passersby as to what kind of food they are hungry for, like choosing from a menu. We met with the client and parted ways but before Matthew and I left I asked him if we could look around as the station building is beautiful.  With my late dad having been an architect, I have an appreciation for good solid and sound structures with attention to detail.  Not having ever been to the train station before, I thought it would be a great opportunity to have a look around.  My bad....we were continually followed by the same vagrants that had latched on to us in the parking area.  The hungry chap stayed hungry because he didn't eat McDonalds but he and the rest of them made R70 out of us that morning.  I never did get to have a good look, nor have an opportunity to take any photo's because of the uncomfortable feeling I had of eyes on me the whole time as we were not left alone.  Getting back to the car, I gave the 'car guard' R10 too and I was gobsmacked by his audacity to say to Matthew that he wanted another R20.  What could he do with R10 was what he said to us.  By this stage I was furious and told Matthew to ignore him and drive away.  Well we couldn't just drive away because the 'car guard' grabbed hold of the car door...Matthew ended up giving him an extra R20....

Fast forward to yesterday evening and both Johan and Matthew had tickets for the bus to take them back to Pietermaritzburg.  On discussion in the car, it was decided that to avoid all the vagrants, Johan would stop outside the station in the roadway, just as the taxi's do.  This would be to just give them time to get their bags out of the bakkie and then NiQi and I could drive off and be safe.  Well Johan stopped the bakkie and as quickly as it took us all to hop out and Matthew to start grabbing all their bags, we were approached by first two and then ten vagrants.  It all happened so fast and as NiQi jumped into the driving seat of the bakkie, Johan moved around the front of the bakkie and told them to move on and get away.  They became aggressive in their manner with him and one or two moved around to the side of the bakkie where I was holding tightly onto Matthew's laptop bag while he got the rest of their bags out.  By this time Johan was also at the side of the bakkie still telling them to go away and leave us alone.  Johan then told me to get inside and instructed NiQi to drive off.  We didn't even have time to say 'goodbye' to each other and as NiQi pulled into the road to drive off she looked back in the rear view mirror and saw these people trying to take Matthew and Johan's belongings from them.  I wanted to phone and find out if they were okay but NiQi said no, I should wait because if they hear the phone ringing then they may hurt them by trying to take it by force.

A few minutes later Matthew phoned me, out of breath and concerned for us both.  He wanted to know if we got away safely...I assured him we were fine and asked him how they were.  He told me they put up a fight as the ten surrounded them and tried to grab their things away from them, including trying to reach for their cell phones and wallets. NiQi felt sick, she wanted to vomit from the stress and anxiety.  On the way home, we stopped off with my niece and her fiance so that NiQi could collect herself and calm down. Last night they picked on the wrong two men to attack and they got away with nothing.  Matthew may be short but he is strong...having played rugby in his younger days and now managing to pick up 120kg dead weight in the gym, he is no one to mess with.  Johan has the reach and at his age is an 'oldie' who is fit and fast.  The two of them got away with minimal damage...one of Johan's fingers was bitten and a nail ripped up, but nothing else.  This morning they are both stiff and achy...praise the Lord they are alright.

We could not be moving away from Pretoria and surrounding areas at a better time.  The centre of town is rife with vagrants and beggars.  It is dirty and unsafe.  There are some wonderful places of interest for locals and tourists to look at but who wants to even try when you are harassed and intimidated by these people.  Needless to say, the bus companies will be all the poorer now as we none of us will ever travel by bus again...and Mr Minister of Transport you better do something about our roads and e-tolls as from now on we will be another vehicle on the roads - this all because it is unsafe to go to catch a bus at the bus station.

Photo's courtesy of the web

Being A Mother

On Mothers' Day every year, mothers are remembered with pride and love, spoiled with gifts and treated with breakfasts and lunches and generally made to feel that there is no one in the world that compares in the eyes of her children.  It is a day like no other for many and how ever big or small the effort made, she can be sure of the love and appreciation her family bestow on her.

For me, Mothers' Day rolls around every year the Sunday after my birthday.  I remember when Matthew was born I just skidded in by the skin of my teeth.  He was born in the very early hours of the Saturday morning and the following day was Mothers' Day.  I was 23 years old and quite unprepared for the state of motherhood.  I remember well though thinking after 8 1/2 hours of labour that if the result of what I held in my arms was anything to go by I would do it all over again tomorrow.  Matthew was a model baby, sleeping and eating his days and nights away and the love I had for him then was miniscual compared to the love I have for him today.  At 31 years of age, I have so much pride in him and all he has been through and survived in his life, as well as all he has achieved.  He was the beginning of my journey into motherhood, a journey I have eased into and grown with over the years.

Twenty two and a half months later, I became a mother for the second time, to Mark.  Second time round and motherhood hit me with a bang.  My pregnancy was different, labour very short but very intense and suddenly I was thrown into the world of sickness and illness almost every day.  Thank goodness Matthew was still so very placid and easy going and getting him 'involved' in helping with his little brother, evolved a relationship that was bound for eternity.  They were like chalk and cheese in personality...Matthew, introverted, quiet, methodical, caring and so very soft hearted...Mark, extroverted, intense, ready for a challenge, giving and loving.  They complimented each other and stuck together through thick and thin.

Third time round, motherhood was sudden...no pregnancy, no nausea, no swelling, no weight gain, no labour pains and NiQi arrived in our lives at 6 months of age.  A sister for two boys - Matthew 6 1/2 years old and Mark 4 1/2.  At first Matthew was unsure of having a little girl around, but seeing her every day in hospital and watching her, he changed his mind and decided that if we were happy then he would be happy.  Mark on the other hand was keen to have a sister, especially one who had something in common with him....cystic fibrosis...

I tried so hard to be the best I could be to 3 very different children.  Giving equal time and attention was tricky at times, especially when Mark needed so much more than either Matthew or NiQi did.  I have to admit that having a supportive husband in Johan who worked and provided  for our family, afforded me the opportunity of being able to be a stay at home mum.  Mark's short life affected us all in different ways.  It made me stronger.  I became a fighter, standing up for my children and striving for the absolute best for each of them.  I learned to hide my emotions and be brave and strong for them, even though at times I was aching and hurting so badly I felt I would die for them if need be.  I wanted them to know they were loved and be able to feel it too.  We baked together, where Matthew proved that beating dough to a pulp with his tiny little hand, produced scones that were tall and light and fluffy.  We built puzzles together, where Mark showed us that he had hours of patience in looking for the pieces to fit in and complete the puzzle.  We read story books before bed...The Ugly duckling, that made Matthew cry every time we read it because he felt so sorry for the duckling that no one loved.  Hansel and Gretel that  Mark knew the words to so well that if I skipped a page, he would tell me so and recite the next part of the story word for word.  The animal story books that NiQi would always choose and started her on the path to loving everything that breathes today.  We set up shops and would go 'shopping' and buy our goods from each other, using monopoly money to pay.  We 'built' tents in the lounge with all the bedding and cushions and then would lie together inside, giggling and nudging each other.  Most of all I loved it when they all were safely tucked up in bed and I could watch them breathing so peacefully.  That was when I re-packed their toys, counting puzzle pieces and meccano pieces.  My favourite of all was to pack away NiQi's dolls, dressing them and putting them to bed, or combing her Barbies hair till it frizzed and shone.

Yes I love Motherhood and I wouldn't swop it for the world, it has been the best part of my life and I will enjoy it until the day I die.  Thank you to my children...Matthew, Mark and NiQi...you are and were each unique and in your uniqueness you have given me more than I could ever hope for, more than I deserve...