Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

I don’t know if it’s this era of my life or if it’s just me in general, but my writings- wherever they may be (although mostly on the ‘gram) are peppered with what appears to be some kind of mantra: “Life Goes On” and “I am reminded how much my life revolves around its cycles and seasons.”

The cycle of life. The revolving seasons. Life goes on. One day at a time.

12 years ago I wrote about the friends I’d left behind in South Africa, and how I anticipated finding a new village here in France.

9 years ago, in September, I wrote an ode to my marriage that was seeing its 10 year anniversary. It rambled on how important communication was, and it was a essay that was emotive, and embedded in its’ writings you might have noticed that it was a letter of apology, or forgiveness, for 9 years ago Anton and I had drifted. A cycle, a season.

7 years ago I wrote about how we lose friends to this type of expat life, and I wrote about various families who’d been part of our circle who were moving away, and it was written with a hint of sadness.

This September I’m at odds as to what to write.

It was a new school for Beth who enters her last cycle of obligatory education. It was the Last First Day for Alex who writes her final school exams ever in 9 months time. This time I wasn’t at home when they readied themselves for the occasion. This time my work day had me rushing out the door 2 hours before their day started. We might be probably are the only teenagers that still mark the day with a Back To School photo. This time the very obvious absence of Anton hit me like a freight train. Granted, we didn’t get a family pic last year, but Anton was in the house. And neither the year before, because Beth and I were welcoming the Bokke to France (for their epic RWC title). I’m all about ‘take the photo’. I think it’s important to memorialise the moments. But did the opportunity trigger something in me this year?

Grieving – for me- has been all about timelines and thinking about what I’m missing in this moment. So September is hard: Back to school moments are one thing. The fact that September is my anniversary month is probably more significant.

It would have been 19 years this year. It wasn’t always perfect. There’s something to be written about the true vagaries of marriage. However, growth is an important factor and I guess if couples can grow together, they can weather a lot of things together. I think we weathered a lot together. I think we did it effectively with an enormous amount of strength. I guess with that in mind, I can weather just as much on my own.

Or with my tribe, my village of girlfriends.

It goes without having to say it- but I’m going to anyway- that I am surrounded by the most amazing group of girlfriends who have been at my side for pretty much every part of this journey.

It’s not something anyone can plan for. It’s not something anyone should seek out- this whole period of health issues, death and grief. But if you happen to be in it, count yourself blessed if you’ve surrounded yourself by people women (and men) who care.

Perhaps there’s something to be said of this expat life, or global ‘climate’ I’m in. Perhaps it’s different if you are with family. Family rally, it’s true, but sometimes feeding off each others pain could be counter productive, although this is something I can’t actually know for certain.

What I can say for certain, is that I wouldn’t be able to smile if it wasn’t for the magic that has been woven through the threads of my friendship bonds.

I’ll never ever forget how the doorbell didn’t stop ringing on that Sunday when Anton passed away. There’s a very special group who quietly got on the task of making sure that day passed without me falling under my duvet to hide away. Who continue to make sure I show up. They have been the most immense force around us in the months that have followed. From a box of tissues and pizzas, to showing up for a hike, running for cancer causes, coming for lunch, dropping me a message to say hi, driving me to places to help ease the mundane chores of life: even without them, but thanks to them, I can probably go through the rest of my life without ever needing a partner.

Phone calls from South Africa, care packages arranged between social media friends and countries in two hemispheres, frozen food deliveries, being called Aunty to new born babies, letters sent to me from many parts of the world, cricket tournaments: I have been held so gently that despite the wedding anniversary today I cannot grieve the loss of part of my identity.

Girlfriends are our lifeblood when they’re the right ones. Yes, so are our life partners, who become extensions of our own personalities if you’ve chosen right – I dread the day when I have to hold in a morning fart or worry about onion breath because I might have arrived at that point in my life.

Right now, in this moment, this moment as I lie in my bed writing, the dog curled up and snoring at my side, I miss Anton. I miss the comfort that we had together. I miss the verbal companionship that came easily. I miss his body at night, when he would hold on to me tight when I had the occasional nightmare. I miss being brought coffee in bed (although I miss being able to stay in bed and pretend I had nothing to do too, and that’s a whole lifetime ago). I miss the lavish gifts of perfume and new kitchen pans. I miss his ability to not overthink buying new sports clothes. I miss his working from home and midmorning dog walks, I miss cooking him a meal with everything in it. (As opposed to the simplicity of my meal times now). I miss how zealous he was about mowing the lawn, even if his garden knowledge was limited. I miss who he was before a glioblastoma defined him forever. And I miss so much more.

I don’t miss his Lego hobby. I don’t miss being woken up at 5am (okay, maybe occasionally I do). I don’t miss the regular routine that consumed our lives. I don’t miss the cycling laundry. I don’t miss having to eat dinner by 7pm latest. Although most of those I would take back in a heartbeat if it meant he was with me.

19 years ago I married a man who I felt intrinsically in my core. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain the attraction, but he was a person with whom I felt completely at ease. I never pretended anything. We held many similar opinions, and when we differed, we accepted those differences with grace and respect.

And we weren’t perfect, we made errors, we probably resented each other for more than just not putting the lid back on the toothpaste.

What would I say to him if he was here today?

I guess it would depend on if he was still a GBM patient or if he’d never fallen victim to it, because the journey is never predictable. And my wishes to him on our anniversary day would not align under the two different scenarios.

I want to say to you to regret nothing. But it’s not what I truly act on. I do have regrets. But having regrets, harbouring resentment: it brings no solace whatsoever.

19 years ago today Anton du Plessis took me, Gaenor Carr, as his lawfully wedded wife. […]. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, […] until death us did part.

We married in a small, perfect brick church that dates back to 1882, surrounded by a cemetery. In a months’ time I will return to that special place of spiritual solace and I will place his ashes there. He will lie alongside my blood, and it is my wishes to be there when my time comes. We will rest together, in a place that he truly felt at ease and himself.

My thoughts and scribblings are erratic as usual, confounded by my needs to hold onto Anton, and express my gratitude to the friends who make sure I show up every day, so I apologise for the lack of clarity.

I fear that today is going to take a lot out of me despite the preparation I am doing to avoid it. As my dearest V messaged last night: “so many milestones to get through in the next month. Thinking of you” – and already I’ve forgotten the birthdays of the day.

Anton, I am really sad that you’re not here to celebrate our lives together. But I can’t say that I would give anything to have you here, because I don’t know at what cost it would be. I hope that you’re enjoying that cycle ride. Did you watch us play cricket this past weekend, and did you enjoy my very long drive up north? Perhaps I’ll cook us a nice salmon dinner this evening. Open a bottle of Champagne even if we’re not really celebrating.

“I drink Champagne when I’m happy and when I’m sad. Sometimes I drink it when I’m alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it when I’m not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it- unless I’m thirsty.” Lily Bollinger.

Can I admit to something here? I’ve realised this is the season for me. This is the season I rediscover Me. I get to do what I want, when I want. It’s not to say I’m about to head out in a luxurious beach resort holiday or backpack America, but the only people I’m committed to is my girls, and together we’ll conquer almost anything. It’s going to be terrifying for years to come. In a few seasons to come I’ll look back and reflect on this journey I’m on. I’ll be stronger. And it will be thanks to the many amazing people I surround myself with.

Here’s to you all.

PS: if anyone would like to show up to the ashes internment on October 26th in Boston, KZN, please feel free to contact me for details.