Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

All the words in the English language, the thousands of Afrikaans and the hundred of French that I know will not make writing this tribute any easier.  Where to begin remains impossible to determine.  How it will end, I know, will be something like this:  “I will love you forever Mom”

The very last journey of our life with you started in October last year.  It took all of 8 months for that most vile, most hated, most trecherous organism/multi-pronged creature to take us where we are today.  8 months is not long, but back in October, we believed we had years, we believed that medicine would protect that which is ours.  Because we believed, we didn’t count the days.  We did take the time to value our blessings, to tell you how much we loved you, that we admired your faith and strength.

But last month- just 4 short weeks ago, we got an indication that all was not going well.  Still, you remained positive that you would get better.

3 weeks ago, the verdict changed.  3 fucking short weeks ago, the doctors were able to confirm terminal. I’m sorry Mum, for the swearing. 3 weeks ago, my gut felt like it was wrenched through my heart, and the world fell out of orbit.  Just 3 weeks- who gets given those odds?

The thing is, we weren’t to know that.  But that’s what happened.

I’m sorry for the swearing Mum. I’m not really angry. I am so completely sad. I’m trying so hard to be grateful that we could fly out to be with you at the end, and I was able to kiss your lips, feeling sad that I could not put my arms around you and not hug you, and feel you hug me back.  You said to me to go well, and I said it back to you.

I have been told that you did go well. You simply fell asleep, looking peaceful, with Milo and Rozie Cats at your feet.

I’m sitting on a bus en route to Frankfurt, and I have tears streaming down my cheeks just thinking about your passing.  That’s what you looked like when I said goodbye on Saturday.

Mom, I have friends who didn’t get the opportunity to say goodbye when their times came, so I am grateful that I could. Yet this feeling of absolute hollowness still sits within me. It feels like I have lost a part of my being.  There will never be another tomorrow with you. I can’t phone you up tomorrow.  There is no need to make Alex and Beth sit down to make a card for you tomorrow. There is no more taking photos with my phone and iMessaging you of your grandchildren, the daffodils, narcissi and churches.  Never again will I be able to ask you for parenting advise,and how to deal with educating our girls. Even writing this is hard, knowing you won’t turn on your computer to read it.

I have to stop this. It’s not helping matters.

What I do you want you to know is this:  you are the most special lady in my world.  Aside from being the best mother and friend to me and my family (and Annie,Choppie and company of course), you have impacted on the lives of so many more.  You should see my Facebook profile Mum- there are more messages there sending love to us, than there were sincere birthday messages last year ;-).  And not to forget the phone messages, calls and e mails.  From Boston, to Richmond, Howick, Maritzburg, Bedford, Kysna, Cape Town, Johannesburg, Centurion and across the oceans in whichever direction- there are HUNDREDS of people praying for us, for you.  Your beautiful, sincere, generous nature has impacted on the lives of many.  Without you guiding me in my life, I certainly wouldn’t have as many people sending love and prayers as I do.

I have a lifetime of wonderful memories to fall back on: sewing lessons with you, learning how to bake the perfect Hot Milk Sponge Cake, reading- oh the reading!  From Enid Blyton to Roald Dahl, whose adult stories you used to hide from me, to Jilly Cooper where I learnt about the racy birds and bees, stories of Africa, tales from war torn Europe- they simply inspired me to want to know more. Sometimes light, nearly always thought provoking and meaningful.  I devour books beause of you.

I write because of you- hundreds of Thank You notes, letters to grandparents from boarding school have all evolved into a deep seated need to write.

Your home, your love of the farm- the one you grew upon,and the one that was ours. Your love of the winter colours, that I always found drab and dull, and yet your belief that the textures and variety in a winter landscape made a much more interesting view.

Sitting in your garden, or on the verhanda with a cup of tea.  Watching you enjoy your classical music, particularly at Christmas.

Christmas.

Church.

Birthday cards and your handwriting.

Your garden and love of all things green and cheerful.

The smell of your Chanel  #5.

Your beautiful Burmese cats, and how they made you smile.

Sigh. All I want to do is carry on writing, because if I stop, it means I say goodbye.  But you know that it isn’t really a real goodbye,because in my heart, that will never be.

Anton stands next to me in every word I have written. He will take care of me, I promise.  He always has, and always will.   Alex wants to give you the biggest hug, and Beth wants to sit on your lap and kiss you over and over again.

Mom, I  will love you forever.  Ek sal jou nooit vergeet.  Hamba kahle, bon soirée et á toute a l’heure.

Hugs, kisses, x to infinity