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Sunday, October 24, 2010

So I got on a plane

So I got on a plane and went to South Africa. The flight was long. I was distracted. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I stared out the window at passing clouds and sandy mountains topped with snow and wondered about the lives going on down below.  The middle east doesn't look like a place I would ever want to live. Dry and barren, dusty roads and trees only here and there. I hate the heat.

Eventually I watched The Bridge to Terabithia. And I sobbed. It's a sad movie (and it involves someone dying), but I also sobbed for my father and for everything that was and everything that wasn't. Memories about him jumped around in my mind - eating peanut chocolate in his car and wanting to be ill, his light blue Ford Cortina pick up, his limp.

His limp.
When I was a year old my father was working as a traffic officer. One of the many jobs he had before the age of 40. As I remember, the story goes like this (I'll have to check with my mom) - my father came home at lunch time and on seeing a bright red welt across my face, fired the maid. Apparently she had hit me. He then got onto his traffic officer motorbike and headed off back to the office. At least I think that's where he was going. I'll have to check the facts. He was travelling down Aliwal Street - a busy road in our home town of Bloemfontein, South Africa, when he was hit by a car and it went over his leg. It was a bad break. After that, his leg was significantly shorter than the other and he spent the rest of his life limping.

And as I see it - not just physically.

Friday, October 22, 2010

My father died today

My father died today. Three years ago.
It was the start of a very strange experience.

I received a call from my mother. It was late at night and I was in the bathroom. My husband came in saying my mother was on the phone. I knew instantly that something was wrong. My mother doesn't phone at ungodly hours. All the while I washed my hands, I kept repeating silently to myself, 'Just stay calm, just stay calm, just stay calm...'

My mother's voice told me too, something was wrong. No, not hysterical or high pitched. Calm and gentle. She mostly speaks calm and gently, but this was a 'I have to deliver bad news' kind of gentle. One of my brothers and my father had been in an accident. My brother was okay, but my father didn't make it.

My parents divorced when I was 8 and I went from being his golden girl to being nothing of importance, really. I didn't do anything particularly nasty to drop in rank, but my father was easily displeased by simple things like my long hair being cut, me not hearing the first time he spoke & my innocent shop-lifting from a stationary shop at the age of 9. I didn't know I was stealing - it was gift vouchers that I mistook for pamphlets. Okay, and a sheet of stickers. But I took a whole two handfuls of gift vouchers, having no idea of their worth. My father was furious. He was a locksmith and did work for this stationary shop. What would they think of him?

And so was the relationship. Me disappointing him as far as I went - mostly unknowingly, and him not paying attention unless I was very badly behaved - he blamed my mother - or when I was very well behaved - he took the credit.

He was not an easy man. But he was my father. An absent father, but my father no less.
And now he was dead.

The Deep Dark Hole

I have taken myself to bed. It's been more than a week now that I have felt paralysed.
I'm not sure what I feel paralysed by, really. The doctor says it's grief.
You see, my son died.

He didn't die last week, or the week before, for that matter. He died on the 11th of November 2007. He was 20 when he died. A young, healthy 20 year old. Now dead.
I noticed that a few weeks before his birthday I started feeling particularly out of sorts. I was thinking about him all the time. That's nothing new really, because he is always in my mind, sitting gently at the back not causing a stir. But this time he came straight to the forefront, right in my face, if you will. I became tearful and angry, but mostly bewildered.

I could see myself slowly starting to unravel - like a loose thread being pulled from an already threadbare cardigan. I managed to drag myself to my doctor who has thankfully booked me off work. I am relieved, as I cannot bear the thought of having to face anyone, see anyone, hear anyone and certainly not speak to anyone.

I wish I could go away to somewhere where it is quiet. Very quiet.
I have not left my home this week except for the visit to the doctor. My husband runs me a bath every day, makes me toast with cheese on - which is what I've been living off, and sees to the children. Oh, yes - I don't think I've told you that. I have other children.
Three boys; ages 12,  almost 11, and 8.



My husband bought me some roses. They're lovely. They really are. And yet, when I look at them, they stir no emotion in me. Flowers usually do and it's not just flowers that are guilty right now of not being able to lift this heavy cloud, it's everything. "Ah, classic signs of depression", I hear you say. Perhaps. I know the signs - nothing gives you pleasure anymore. Yes, it would seem that that's where I'm at.