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IS THERE LIFE AFTER DEATH

thats the question is everyones lips. others agree that it seems like they are more concerned with the idea of dying than accepting that indeed the’ll die. if someone dies he/she will be born in a different country or continent and that particular person wont recall that he/she once lived. somehow this is true, there is a time in which you might bump at someone who looks exactly like someone you know from somewhere. you may consider this a coincidence, but i guess that’s how god wanted you to think when a person diesw, another one is biorn to rep,lac e the one who has departed.this whole thing is like a spiral, that’s we wont figure out if there’s life after death.the only thing that divides us is religion. for example; indians ; when a baby is born they cry and mourn for the fact that the baby has come into the world of problems. on the other hand when someone of their race passes away, they celebrate gesticulating, this shows that the departed person has been subdued from all the troubles and sufferings of this life

Kwame

On the 10th of january she screamed in agony clutching onto everything in her path as she tried with every breathe in her to compose herself. While everyone seemed not to take her as seriously as she wanted them to. She would have prefered them running around panicking like headless chickens maybe that would destract her from the excruciating pain. As she entered the hospital she was greated with even more smiles which only seemed to aggrevate her even more. “It’s time,” said the doctor, while everyone was pacing up and down the corridors Teddy stood by her side , holding her hand while she squeezed it with every push. There he was in the doctors arms as Teddy confidently let his tears stream down his cheeks , “it’s a boy babe, we have a son,” he said. Kwame was his name!!

The Other Me

For every woman who carries a secret in the deepest corner of her heart.

“You only live once…but if you do it right once is enough”…or is it? It’s midnight and I am sitting in my favourite chair in front of the fire place…a second glass of Merlot slowly romancing my mood as a bouquet of soft berries flirt with my tongue…the words of Mae West echoing over and over in my mind…You only live once…and with that the unspoken truth I had dare not admit to myself until recently…you love only once.
And as acknowledgement finally makes way for acceptance I look back on years of building a white picket fence marriage all the while longing for a man I did not know but to whom I was somehow connected…unknowingly caught in a web that time had spun…slowly and ever so delicately placing us on separate journeys and as the years passed by would sling shot us into each other’s path …never quite understanding the pull of gravity until finally we had reached the right place at the right time.
As I stare deeper and deeper into the flames I go back twenty six years …to 1985 and the school dance…and as the veil of fogginess slowly subsides …I see the 15 year old brunette with the hazel eyes …dancing with a boy…unconsciously moving to a rhythm not dictated by music…but by a passion that in its infancy would consume and destroy if destiny had not set its plan in place.
And destiny that night had turned out to be a red necked teacher with quite a bit of a temper and reputation for being difficult and most certainly not to be crossed. Keeping an eye on the activities it seemed to him the teenage boy and girl still intimately swaying together after several dances had no regard for the acceptable space allowed between partners as the rules required and even less regard for the boy’s long-time recognised steady but now suddenly abandoned and fuming girlfriend standing waiting in the wings.
Letting go of the emotions and desire that the boy had stirred in me I watched as he reluctantly pulled away from me and made his way to the other side of the room where trouble was waiting to greet him. The look on his face suggesting that he feared nothing and regretted even less. And in that moment I saw his spirit…I saw a fire that would burn my soul and it scared me. Never one to fit in with social norms, I sought comfort in the knowledge that I was seen as being different and by that meaning that I was not really his type…too snobbish by his standards…which again seem to be destiny changing course.
As the days turned into weeks and weeks tuned into months with not a word spoken about that night the boy would pass me in the hallways…and while not staring at him directly I was always aware of his blue eyes burning on me. But I kept my distance and so did he and when he arrived at my house one night with a group of friends I was more than just a little surprised. And although the night was filled with promise we both seem to not have the courage to approach each other and follow up on whatever unfinished business we had from our previous encounter. And as I closed my eyes that night I told myself it was simply not meant to be and that I should close the chapter and move on.
Paracelsus wrote…“Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new, but who can understand and measure its sharp breath, its mystery and its design”. And by some design of fate I ran into the boy a few years later in a convenience store just around the corner from my house. I say design of fate because I had left my home town many years before and was now living in another town 1500 km away. And there he stood, no longer a boy but a very attractive man. I cannot recall the conversation, thinking about it now I probably stumbled over my words. But what I do remember is that he still had the same affect on me and I could not shake the feeling that somehow we still had unresolved business between us. But I was married and so was he and we were both building a life, committed to the choices we had made that had shaped our now twenty-something day to day existence. And again I walked away from him, not allowing myself to think what if.
But fate it seemed had other plans and on a Wednesday morning I received a phone call that would ignite the flame I thought I had extinguished many years ago. Twenty years had passed since I had left school and it was time for the class of ’86 to reunite. I accepted the invitation with a great amount of fear and anticipation…my thoughts immediately fixated on the boy whose blue eyes I still seem to feel burning on me. A boy who’s face had haunted me for years even though I have crushed the memory of him time and time again. But fate was holding the cards and did not quite like the hand I was dealt for a few weeks before the reunion destiny decided to put a wild card in play. And so the boy made his presence know by sending me an email.
I remember reading the content over and over again looking for hidden meaning between the lines. We were both searching for that certain something that had connected us so many years ago…and in an instant the lines seem to be blurred for we had not an inkling of an understanding what had been rekindled and the magnitude of what was to come. And although the exchange of emails between us was mostly catching up on what we have achieved with our lives, it was also filled with what was not said…filled with unanswered questions and unspoken longing. Being thirty something adults now one would think that it would be easier to behave as such…that experience would bring maturity and with that fulfilment in our relationships. But we were being held captive by a time in our life that would constantly remind us that something was missing. And as the reunion drew closer, I found myself building up an expectation to finally be able to deal with the significance the boy had in my life. I was completely convinced that the infatuation I had felt for him would finally be put to bed once we stood face to face. I was wrong.
Staring into space I found myself sitting in a rented car outside the venue of the reunion. Not quite myself, my mind had been occupied for most of the flight to such a degree that my husband had given up trying to make conversation. I had purposefully refrained from any exchange regarding the event that no doubt in his mind must have posed some questions about old flames. And now I was there and uncertain of what the evening would reveal. Getting out of the car I suddenly wondered if I had made the right decision to come because if I was honest with myself, I had everything, I had success, I had a beautiful family…I had a loving husband. And with that I felt anticipation make way for guilt as I walked down the pathway to the entrance of the venue. It did not take long before I noticed his presence. The boy was even more of a man now…his appearance more rugged, the lines on his face had deepened…he had aged well like a good red wine.
There is a quote by Peter McWilliams that says “Guilt is anger directed at ourselves’. And never was it truer for me than that night. I had successfully averted any physical contact with the boy and a few sideways glances indicated to me that he was completely immerged in conversation with the boys which if one is already predisposed to feeling guilty would suffice as proof that whatever expectations I may have had was utterly foolish. Feeling completely out of place and out of touch I left that evening, driving along the coastline. Overwhelmed by a sense of loss I cried for something I had longed for for such a long time, something I never had although I never even understood what it was. And as I rolled down the window and smelled the salty breeze I told myself that it was time for closure…that it was clear that whatever unresolved feelings there may have been would remain unsaid and that I should close the chapter on the boy…but more importantly on a time in my life that now belonged to the past. You cannot change what you do not acknowledge and admitting the truth was hard. The foolish trip down memory lane was nothing more than an attempt to try and rekindle my lost youth. And so I made a decision not to entertain any more emails from the boy. Complex things are easy to do, its simplicity that is the real challenge. The simplest thing was to walk way but not without allowing myself a moment to embrace the memory of seeing him again that night and I am reminded about a line in one of my favourite movies “The Bridges of Madison County”…” The old dreams were good dreams, they didn’t work out but I am glad I had them”…
But fate was still holding the wild card…in fact this time destiny had joined the game and they seem to be on the same side. Five years had passed since the reunion. Convinced that I had it all life was good. It wasn’t perfect…but whose life is right?
Completely now settled in to suburbia with all the other forty something friends and acquaintances I was surfing the wave of whatever flavour was going down…three years ago it was big screen TV’s and surround sound…two years ago it was Blue Ray…a year ago it was the latest Sony compact digital camera. And now it was Blackberry. It had become my favourite past time to connect with friends and family. So much so that I would often neglect accessing messages that would from time to time still come through on my other old phone…to such a degree that if the battery ran out I would not notice and leave the old phone lying in my handbag for weeks. I reasoned that all of my important contacts had my new number so there was no significance in keeping the old. But the contract had not quite expired and it would be stupid not to use the airtime and free sms’s that was still available.
It had been a long and hectic day. I was glad to finally sit in my favourite chair in front of the fire place. Closing my eyes for a few minutes I tried to leave the office behind. Timing is everything. Just as I was starting to relax, my son the opportunist presented me with a glass of my favourite red wine and immediately dove right into the pressing matter at hand. His phone had broken and it would be the end of his world as such if he could not be in contact with his girlfriend. Did I say timing is everything? The things we do for love. And in that moment of weakness I reached for my handbag to hand over my old phone in the final act of moving on and to be honest to get a bit of peace and quiet that would follow getting him off my back.
But it was not time for peace and quiet… it was not time for anything…..and yet it was time.
Staring at the phone in my hand I decided to clean out the emails and messages before handing it over to junior. Scrolling through the messages I suddenly felt a jolt through my heart. There it was…little more than a day old…the boy had left a message…
Up until that moment I had lived in a world of choice… I had regarded my life as a product of my own decisions and I was in control. But this was something else, this was destiny. And if you believe in destiny, you suspect there are greater forces defining your life’s story. Even if we are each part of some great master plan, our unique journey has more personal meaning when we choose it for ourselves. You make many choices every day. Whenever possible you choose the life you want. We are the choices we make… And in that moment I made the most selfish choice of all. I chose him.
Love will never obey an expectation; its mystery is pure and absolute. Twenty six years later I find myself waiting at a secluded table in a restaurant…nervously anticipating the moment the boy would appear. It had been five years since the reunion however it seemed like eternity. And as a million thoughts were racing through my head…I perched myself from the chair towards the entrance…and there he was walking towards me. I trembled for a second and fell back in my chair. The emotion of fear often works overtime. Even when there is no immediate threat, our body may remain tight and on guard, our mind narrowed to focus on what might go wrong. When this happens, fear is no longer functioning to secure our survival. We are caught in the trance of fear and our moment-to-moment experience becomes bound in reactivity. We spend our time and energy defending our life rather than living it fully.
Realising that we both got caught trying to catch a glimpse of each other suddenly made me smile. And with that I stood out of my chair and walked towards him…no longer afraid or holding back anything I greeted him with a kiss on the lips, not wanting to let go of his warm embrace.
My heart was pounding wildly. He was seated across the table from me and as I looked at him, I could not help but feel that I have known him all my life. It was not anything specific that he said or did, yet it was everything about him…it was just a sense of knowing. It was in the easy conversation that just seemed to keep on flowing… it was in the way he held his glass… it was in the way his eyes would search mine and we both would seem to be hanging on to the same thought…26 years to get to this moment…
The man sitting across from me was no longer the boy I had idolised…not only had he become a man…he had become the man that I had dreamt of all my life. And it is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts. He was the one. My heart only ever had one thought. One want. One need. Despite all, in spite of all…all my heart ever wanted was him.
Most people can look back over the years and identify a time and place at which their lives changed significantly. Whether by accident or design, these are the moments when, because of a readiness within us and collaboration with events occurring around us, we are forced to seriously reappraise ourselves and the conditions under which we live and to make certain choices that will affect the rest of our lives. That moment was defined when he stood up and sat next to me. Fully aware of his presence so intimately close to me I was amazed at how comfortable we seem to be with each other…our bodies now touching ever so slightly, his leg brushing against mine. It came naturally and it felt familiar..it felt right…
The heart never forgets, never gives up, the territory marked off for those who came before. And when he suddenly leaned forward mid sentence and parted my lips fate and destiny had concluded our twenty six year journey. It seems that all we have ever done in our life was make our way to each other…for in that kiss we had found our destination…we had found one another. I realised that till that moment I wasn’t alive’…that I had longed for him like the moon pulls the tide. And like Meryl Streep in the Bridges of Madison County in that moment everything I knew to be true about myself up until then was gone. I was acting like another woman, yet I was more myself than ever before. This kind of certainty comes but once in a lifetime.
“You are, and always have been, my dream”…his every word folding like a blanket around my soul. He is every reason, every hope, and every longing I have ever had. My restless soul has found its harbour.
And herein lies the irony for as much as we have found each other and are bound together in another space and time, we will forever remain separated in this life. Vows made to a loving wife and devoted husband are printed like headers and footers on every page of the remaining chapters of your life. You cannot simply change the storyline of the book, or the title. Commitment negates you finish the story you had started though it may not have the happy ending you had wanted.
I have had one life but I have lived it as two completely different women. I have existed in two separate universes. Like night and day I am dusk and dawn, forever floating between darkness and light.
In the light of day my defences are up, my life is a series of controlled actions and purpose. I am safe. But as night falls, like a hungry predator he haunts me and I surrender my soul to be devoured by the darkness where he lives. I call his name and he answers with a flutter in the deepest core of my being. His name is written on my soul and no matter how I try, I can’t erase it.
In the darkness of night there is no escape. There is no distinction between reality and fantasy, I taste him. I drown in him. And as the light of morning falls he exits my dreams like a dagger ripping through flesh and swallow the silent screams of his brutal torture.
And as the morning breaks I cling to hope and sanity like the last remaining life jacket on the Titanic, knowing that just like Rose never let go of Jack, so I will too never let go of him. I shall for eternity run to that place in in my dreams and nightmares where he waits for me.

Dear Ex

So I thought this would help me move on or start afresh while making amends for anything and everything that may have gone wrong. Don’t even know where to start… HOW HAVE I BEEN?
LET’S SEE… …
I guess with all the revelations that have come to light to date, the fact that I was a fool is not really debateable, from the beginning I was never thee one for you. I was just filling in the gaps which is something I would have never optioned to be a part of, no self-righteous person would ever want to come second to anyone let alone another woman.
Cannot really blame everything on you from the get go I allowed my naivety to take control and let myself forgive you while blindly convincing myself that it’d all be worthwhile in the long run. I put aside my lack of investment in any relationship and went all in just so to prove myself wrong. Only if I had known, hey?
I am not transferring my burdens and faults to you but you were reckless not only with your own life but with mines and anyone else’s you may have been involved with and for that I do hold some resentment towards you because no matter how shitty you made me feel I trusted you.
Nothing annoys me more than your inability to talk to me, your transgressions and issues that may influence us in the long run are made public before I know of them. I am forever expected to get angry and then get over it like a good girl, but sadly I have never allowed anger to parade within me cause I just won’t let it consume me therefore I just hope for a more “grown you.”
Thanks to your actions I found myself going through a time of resentment, pain and self-hatred while lacking the very thing you promised me, which was ‘you.’ You promised to love me, you promised to be there but I guess I was just grasping at straws believing you. I hated you with every fibre within me and all I ever thought about was ending myself just so the pain would be no more, I had lost all hope maybe it was the hormones or the you deserting me but nothing made sense, therefore you cannot blame me for not trusting you.
The tears I cried were endless but you couldn’t care less as long as my nagging self was out of your way and I got the message loud and clear, I tried Lord knows I tried to let go but every time I had made amends and accepted the situation you would waltz in giving me hope of something better. I am not saying that you reasons for disappearing were never good enough but looking at the situation they were just pathetic, you had a child which you had never laid your eyes on. I knew there was someone else but even though I wasn’t good enough this innocent soul could not be made accountable for my inadequacies.
The love I had for you haunted me and clouded me with guilt, through all the pain I went through and the things I found out I vowed never to hold a grudge towards you or our significant other and child if need be but here I stand now wondering if I can allow myself to forgive and forget with there being a constant reminder of the fact that I have never been good enough.
On the other hand here you are standing before me asking for forgiveness, a new beginning and in hand you claim to hold love that is untamed. It has been a year since you and I have stood face to face but yet I still find myself weak at the knees, I love you with an unbound amount of emotion but a year has never been enough to forgive being made second best and being kept in the dark of the existence of another child for that I’ll have to forgive me.
It’s weird how I am asking for forgiveness, but I’m sorry for not reacting the way you’ve expected me to do so, forgive my inability to lose my sanity over something that is beyond my control. Just so you understand, I still do refer to you as my ex and not because I am going back on my word but because it’s more of a safety net, not allowing myself to let you in that easily again.
I forgive you for the lies, infidelity, and you being an asshole!!!
Yours truly,
Baby mama

The Deceased Socks

Maybe I should be arrested. Maybe I should not be here reminiscing about my art of killing. I left the scene quietly, no one saw me; no one can point to me. I left her lying there, with only her socks on. Her hair was red, from the blood running from her neck. Her smile, had dried up into a death grin. What is a death grin? Oh well, I am not trying to-.

Maybe I should have taken the socks off too. Oh! What a messy crime scene. Who commits murder and leave the socks on the scene? My mind was scattered everywhere, my heart pounding like athletes on the track. So, what now? Do I go back to take the socks off or do I continue to run away from the scene. Maybe I should make a few calls, ask Nandi to go and remove the socks from the scene. I cannot go back there now. I cannot face my deeds – although perfect, even if I have to say so myself.

I have never felt so free after taking a life of a person like the one I did tonight. I should do it again soon. Maybe this time around remember not to leave the socks behind. Wait, what’s that? Is that a knock at the door? Could it be the police already? Should I open the door or should I leave them knocking? Perhaps it is a guardian angel, coming to drop off the socks. Mh! That would be nice.

Alright, they have left.

Let me switch on the television and see what is on the news. Maybe the socks are talking through the channels.

Oh no! The socks are here.

Nobody trusts me with their secrets

I have been waking up every morning wishing and hoping that somehow I stumble upon love. Thando is the one who led me to date sites, they are an awful thing. I’m only hoping that Cupid be a little lenient on me and finds me a gorgeous girly girl lesbian, but that seems to be mission impossible. Thando said that if I wasn’t such an awful drunk and was an active looker any girly girl wouldn’t think twice about falling-in love with me. She says that the bottle does a good enough impersonation though of a lover for me, and that if I don’t wake up and smell ‘something’ I’ll wake up and see my whole life beyond me, and then I’ll be left in misery, constantly thinking about the life ‘I let go’. I tell Thando that I’m not an addict and that drinking is just a harmless hobby I’ve created for myself. She says that the bottle turns me into a loud uncontrollable fart that smells for an hour or two until the booze does everyone a favour and becomes my anesthetic. I tell her that I will be happy and that destiny has something waiting for me around the corner. She looks at me, “Sweetheart you have got to stop this destiny thing, look where it got you with Gabby,” she clears her throat and looks into my eyes and as if begging for my soul to escape my wounded heart she stares with gleam eyes, but Thando can read my eyes, so when she sees the uselessness of her exotic stare she withdraws wiping the tears onto her hands and whispers an apology.

We all have that one that got away, Gabby is that for me. Gabby was my sunshine and the moment she left I fell into a wilderness that restricted any kind of love or light, so the dating site became an exit strategy. The dating site allows me a little fun with no strings attached; just have to praise the person who came up with the concept, I bet you R10 that it was a guy. About the strings, I know you probably confused now, but it’s simple. The girls I have been finding are hot but they normally last a week even the ones that I like, so
I have disciplined myself on the concept of one night or week stands. The girls always leave angry, they say I’m charming on the site but in real life I’m a mess. So with that said I have welcomed that destiny will fix everything up in the future and therefore I have accustomed myself to the warmth of sex, nothing more but sex is my motto. I do miss being in-love, who wouldn’t miss being the top of someone else’s priorities?

I eased myself into alcohol right after I found Gabby cheating with a guy, he was handsome so I’ll give her that. She ended up marrying the douchebag though; we had dated for five years and she had turned me down three times. It was always the excuse that she wasn’t ready, her mother wouldn’t come anyways- as if her mother was Mother Theresa, but none the less I respected her wishes. She married the guy after a year of officially dating. Whilst I mourned for my love, Thando made sure that Snowy (my dog) and I ate, Gabby gave her the name- the dog that is, we had shared her but she was ultimately Gabbys’. Her husband never wanted the dog, so she left our baby with me and never did she once visit us. Gabby didn’t even invite me to her wedding, it’s not like I would have wanted her to, but the gesture would have been nice, for heaven sake I didn’t even know until her witch of a mother called me on her wedding day to laugh at my face- or in my ear in her case. The house was a sad reminder of us, I often wished I could have just packed and left the place, everywhere I sat we had: made love, kissed, held hands, argued and most importantly we had laughed.

On the same sofa that I had once stared into Gabby’s eyes pleading for her to take a leap of faith with me as I produced a merger silver proposal ring, I was sitting with Thando. Thando’s eyes had always mimicked happiness, so whenever I was deeper in my pity all I did was sought them, and in them I truly believed that love and happiness was an entity that maybe life could allow me again. My crush on Thando was relevant before Gabby, but one can’t expect another person to love them back, anyways with Thando I held onto my feelings because I would have hated it if she wasn’t my friend- I only had that choice with her. She dated guys ever since the word existed, she was the pink type of girl, the reason I found her even more appealing, if only the dating sites could give me a person with only half of the qualities Thando has. Did I mention her positive spirit? If not, Thando is one of those who look into the world with rose coloured glasses.

Like every day now, I was tipsy, and my depression was overpowering. I took a long glance once more into Thandos’ eyes and I kissed her. Many times I had wished to kiss her, many times I had imaged the taste of her lips, and they had to be strawberry flavoured or maybe raspberry, but it turns out that they are Cherry. She pulled back and from that moment I knew I couldn’t take it back, I was screwed, and I had finally screwed up with the person I truly loved. Her puzzled eyes searched for something on my face of which after they had concluded their brief scan she stood up and brushed herself up.
“You are drunk right? You must be drunk because I’m not accepting that from…”
“I’m tipsy. I love you, I always have Thando.”

“How dare you… how dare you do that to me. Here I am trying to help you out, trying to help a friend whom I love. I love you like a friend, I can’t love you like that, and it’s selfish of you to kiss me… What? You want to have sex with me?” she said quivering and draining her shiny eyes. She drew back from the scene and headed for the kitchen, she took her bag and keys and with her new energy rushed for the front door.

“Thando, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… I don’t want you to leave, please don’t leave Thando.” Her hand tried unlocking the door, but it was acting up. My door has had a problem ever since Gabby left, it was her mother who broke it. It happened when she had come to fetch her daughter and her belongings after the cheating incident, her mother slammed the door so hard, nearly hitting my fingers, that it unhinged slightly and nearly shattered my windows. After slamming my door the witch shouted that I needed repentance and that I was an evil disease that God had finally un-leeched from her daughter. Now Thando was the one shouting, she shouted at me saying that if I didn’t open the door she would scream, so I did, and so she left storming out with fury.

The only valid option for me- wasn’t alcohol, not that I was quitting it, but reality TV was my only option because I was out of alcohol and the night was bloody cold to initiate a walk to the shebeen- which is a kilometer away. I switched on the TV to find a program about unbelievable people. On nights like these Wives of anywhere would have been a great release, but there were no wives program’s so I switched off the TV and for a good ten minutes I sat on my couch cradling guilt and draining any droplets of tears that my eyes still held.

A car horn interrupted my silence, it was Thando’s car in the driveway torching the darkness and my house. I let her in. I opened the door and waited for her to make her way to the house, her walk was calm but had a quick pace about it. She asked to come in the house saying that the cold was killing her.
The awkwardness inside the house was depressing. After a minute I finally spoke apologizing about the kiss and blaming the alcohol for it, but I still maintained my feelings for her, I couldn’t deprive myself of them anymore. She went to the kitchen, took a bottle of vodka from her bag, and poured me and herself a glass of it dashed with grape juice. She gulped down the content, Thando is a light drinker that’s why she hardly ever drinks, and handed me the other glass and then she spoke.
“You are selfish, I’ll give you that. Gabby left you and you fell into a state. I tried by all means to help you move on, signed you up to dating sites, and what do you do? I’ll answer that, you screwed it up. Every girl that falls for you is subjected to your failed relationship, Gabby this, Gabby that. When will you wake up and realize that Gabby is gone, she’s married to a man, she has a child, and finally she doesn’t even care if you still alive or not.”

“Thando, I dated Gabby for four years. And you have dated Charles for like two minutes, you wouldn’t understand,” I said taking a seat.

“Understand what? That I love him, that his going to marry me? That I’m pregnant with his baby,” she sat the glass aside on the table after she had drained the last content of it into her mouth, after which she squinted and let loose her tongue thrusting violently in the air. She hadn’t told me about the pregnancy.“That’s why I came here by the way. I came here to tell you that I was pregnant, and I came to ask you to be my child’s godmother, but I have changed my mind, you not fit for it. What will you teach my baby? To drink when life is shit to you, I didn’t become a drunk when you neglected me for Gabby,” she snorted back a cry, “Ever since high school when I learnt about your sexuality, your pride in who you were, I decided to be your friend so I could be close to you and who I was. I never had that, I was scared of life,” she sighed and swept a tear from the cup of her eye, “God. I had a massive crash on you. I loved you for a good long time and I always wanted you to love me, but you were too busy chasing older girls, having sex with them and loving them. I never had the courage to come out, but I would have done it if it meant you would have loved me. I was right there in your face.”

“What? What do you mean? You have always dated guys.”

“My love has no sex, and anyways it’s too late now. I finally know how it feels like to be important to someone. I wasn’t going to wait for you forever… twelve years is enough waiting.” She took her bag and vodka and marched for the door, she struggled with the door of which she cursed heavily, but she none the less opened it. I hurried after her in the moonless blanketed sky. She turned on her car and reversed (the gate was open, she had took my remote as she left the house) and drove off throwing my keys on the grass near my fence. Her car disappeared after a turn on the right and I was left all alone on the streets begging for her to come back. Earl Street had never been so quiet.

TEARS AND THE AFTERMATH OF THE TEARS

First of all LIFE is difficult, that is the general fact that I have come to be acquainted with but am struggling to embrace because when it gets tough you just cannot imagine that another person is going through worse than what you are going through. Life’s hardest moments present us with answers after the tears have streamed down our faces. Different kinds of tears representing different kinds of problems. Let me also clarify that tears are not a sign of existing problems but that the tears also come to represent joy. A kind of joy that reminds us of the pain we have left behind, a kind of joy that represents the opposite of what pain is.
As I write this, I am going through a difficult time in my life, the pain that shakes the core of my being. The present tears are the kind that explains everything even before anyone asks. At different times they come in different forms representing the current emotions and thought patterns. But even as these tears stream down my face I can picture the aftermath.
I fear crying, in a weird way that I do not understand myself; I fear crying even when I’m on my own. I feel stupid for crying over anything and I quickly remind myself to get back to my senses. In a way this is what destroys me but today I’m trying to fight back these tears and I cannot this time. The problem at this time has taken its toll on me and I cannot act tough anymore. The tears have been held in for a long time and if they are not released I might be at breaking point beyond repair. This is an example of the tears that we often try to fight back maybe because we have not received an opportune time and moment to release them. The tears that suddenly stream down in a silent manner when you least expect them to, these tears represent the pain we feel deep down in our souls, they stream down involuntarily as you are sitting there replaying that pain in your head. No sound, no sobbing, no twitching just warm water streaming down and if you happen to open your mouth to wipe them off you can taste the saltiness. I believe the saltiness comes from the bitterness we feel deep within at the moment in time.
When you are going through so much pain it might be even hard to think that the light at the end of that tunnel is going to show. It is hard to believe in the knowledge that all that hurt instructs. Our life is generally centered upon: GOD, the self, family, our work, our friends, our romantic interests. At least that is how I understand the interconnectedness of these parts to travel in this journey called life. This is not a generalization for everyone but to those that can relate,[God is stated above in referring to my own personal belief in this higher power in the way that I have been conditioned to understand him and have actively chosen to believe in, as it seems to work for me].
Pain is unavoidable, it instructs, it brings growth, it does not knock before entering, it simple introduces itself at any time in our lives and seeks to take control and overcome. Pain comes in the form of problems that we face in our day to day life but it can only be measured subjectively because what may feel like pinch to one its heartache to another. The pain ranges from little to medium to so much pain. Tears follow but all dependent on how each individual deals with their own small or enormous struggle. I for one am very emotional but tears take much time to stream out because I do not allow them to.
In my pain I often get the answers that I need to overcome this pain from prayer and directive thought. Directive thought however can be achieved only when you have reached the level of self consciousness that places you at the ‘VICTOR’ category than the ‘VICTIM’ category. Only when you understand that you need to discipline yourself, accept responsibility for your own LIFE and wellbeing are you able to overcome pain. As tears stream down they show you this clear view, the release of deep seated painful emotions provides one with a clearer view of what is on the other side. Unfortunately when it comes to pain not many people make it out as ‘victor’, life’s problems take control and cause them to remain victims waiting on someone/something else to save them. In this life no one can save you from pain, no one can protect you, the only probably cause for our living is how we deal with this pain, let the tears flow and be thankful for the tears because the aftermath introduces us to a positive view.
When painful situations arise and as the tears fall…let them fall…you need them…they lead you to a better path…they set us free., we need to ask ourselves questions of control:, how much control do you have over this current situation, how much indirect control do I have and if possible do I even have control?… These questions help us as grievers in particular moments to identify the steps we need to take to be victor and grow from the pain. Too many times we stress over things we cannot control and depress ourselves.
Tears I have realized help, I love tears because after they have dried up I am left with feelings of gratitude. Let us embrace our tears because the aftermath of our tears delivers the silver lining. This is my story, I don’t know about your story but I hope you can relate.

Diary of a teenager

“HI, my name is David and I am 15 years old.
I am sitting on my bed wondering about why I was born into this family. Each day I ask myself what I have done to deserve a life like, that perhaps it was possible to choose your own family. My parents are away, not on a holiday or anything, but they work away from home. I think it is a thousand kilometers or so from home, and I don’t get to spend much time with them. I have a brother named Michelson and my sister’s name is Dora so it’s just the three of us here at home when my parents are not around. My mom and dad’s relationship seem to be pretty normal to me. However, my dad abuses my mom physically from time to time when they are back, and sometimes I just think that is how marriage is like. Even I, when I am in school I sometimes have that urge to vent my emotions on my girlfriend, more especially when she doesn’t agree with me about something, or if I feel disrespected by her. I honestly don’t want to end like my father but sometimes I feel like I am slowly becoming just like him.

Just yesterday my girlfriend’s parents came over at my house to warn me that if I lay my hands on their daughter again they will have her press charges against me. I know you’re probably judging me right now but thing is I don’t know how it all started. There is nothing I would love more than anything in this world than for my family to at least be normal. It is one thing to see your mother being abused by your own father and feel helpless, but it is another when all of you as a family struggle to sit down and engage in a civil conversation like any other normal family would. My father has always been someone who worked away from home and was never around. But all of us grew up around him then they decided to move us back to the village because they thought it was best to grow up out here than in the city. People say that my father murdered his mistress in cold blood and that case is still haunting him but he wasn’t found guilty due to lack of evidence. I have never told my mother about this and it led me to being terrified of my father because of what I had discovered about him. It makes me fear for my mother’s life whenever they are away together.

Anyway, I am writing in my journal at the moment and thinking about my life. My sister barely sleeps at home and my brother and I always fight. I despise everything about my family, from myself to the very same people that gave me life. I have a friend who doesn’t have parents and I feel like me and him are alike because I hardly see my parents. I think they come home once or twice a year. Financially my parents take good care of us, they send us money for groceries and toward the end of the year they send us money for clothes. I know they take good care of us financially but they are never here like normal parents should for their children. I have been living like this for years now and I feel like I don’t even know my own parents. My mother is the strangest woman I have ever met. She doesn’t say much to us, she would talk only when she needs something or when she is asking us about school, which barely last for a minute. You know, I sometimes feel like they didn’t plan on having us or perhaps we are not their children. At some point I had the impression that we are not their children. Maybe we are my mother’s sister’s kids. From my mother’s side of the family I only knew her sister who visited us once and never came back. I do not know my cousins or my grandmother and grandfather. My siblings and I don’t ask a lot of questions because we do not understand what is happening. I think my sister knows. However, women are very good at keeping secrets so Michelson and I will probably never find out.
I have a few memories of me as a child; I remember when my mom used to walk me to kindergarten every day. She would give me an embarrassing kiss on my cheek and then tell me that she loved me. She was an affectionate woman, and I wonder what happened to her. My father is worse! He doesn’t seem to really care if we’re jumping or limping. He hardly asks us how we are or know which grade I am in. I remember back in 7th grade when I went to fetch my report card and found that I passed and by then they were home, so I ran home so excited to share the news with them and when I told mom and dad, the only thing my father said to me was “you still have a long way to go, so relax.” I was stunned. I was just a little boy and I expected my father to at least say “congratulations son, I am proud of you.” But no! Not my father. When he said so, mom looked away and didn’t say anything. However, my brother and sister seem to have gotten used to it, I mean they hardly tell them anything. You know, my sister is repeating her 11th grade for the third time now and she didn’t even tell them that. They never even bothered to talk to her about it, so she just let it be. As for my brother, he dropped out. When I asked he told me where to get off, which ended in a fist fight between us. My sister tries breaking our fights but recently she doesn’t bother after I accidentally punched her, and as a result she doesn’t talk to me anymore. It then became apparent that my parent showed a great deal of neglectful parenting because they did not know anything about us and how we were. When they came back it seemed like we were invaded by strangers. As years went on my father became a money machine and my mother was an image of someone who was once our mother.

It is winter now and I think my supposedly parents might be coming home over the weekend like they promised. I am not looking forward to it. Sometimes I just wish they can stay where they are and never come back. One time my dad upset me and I shouted “I wish you die on your way back to work! Life would be better.” Man, he beat me up till I wasn’t able to move. I spent weeks in my room not going to school because of the bruises. Nothing hectic though, I’m used to getting beaten from time to time. Lord I HATE THAT MAN!!!! I did mean it when I said I wished he died because I really wish that he dies. There is no point of having them here when they don’t even notice us.

Here’s a little something to give you an idea about me. I am 15 years, in my 9th grade (yes I fail a lot) and I am sexually active. That’s what happens when you have freedom around here. My friends are older than me, they get to hook me up with a couple of girls and some alcohol since they are allowed to buy. I’m an African boy staying in a rural area, South Africa. Well we have established the fact that I hate my parents and my life in general. I am the last born and my sister Dora is the first born, Michelson the second. I am the only one that was born here in the village but I was raised in Johannesburg where my father works. Dora and Michelson were born there and judging by their childhood photos they were happy. We never get to talk much as a family but there is a great deal of psychological problems affecting this family. I wish I knew the source of it but I don’t.

Anyway, my girlfriend’s name is Stacey and she told me a week ago that she thinks she’s pregnant. I didn’t tell my parents this since it’s pointless and I don’t have any idea what I will do about that. I am not even worried about what my parents would say or do because my life is none of their business. Her parents don’t like me as they believe I am a bad influence and she should leave me. If they find out that I had impregnated their child they will disown her. I have no idea how we will take care of the child because I am still in school and very behind for me to drop out. If my father finds out I am a dead person and he might possibly kick me out of his house. Before I met my friends I used to watch my brother brings different girls at home and I found that really interesting. I couldn’t wait to be old enough so that I too can be like him. Around here 15 is the new 18 and if you are not sexually active by then you are considered an idiot. Now me and my brother compete about who brings more girls in a week than the other. Dora hates all the girls we bring over because she doesn’t know who she should get to know as she might be seeing them for the last time.
My father usually finds out about the events that take place in his house. There is a neighbour of mine named Miss Mnisi and I call her ‘Miss Snitch’. She tells my father about every even that takes place here and about every person that comes over. I wonder if my father asked her to keep tabs on us or she just voluntarily decided to add fuel to this already messed up family. I sometimes look at Miss ‘Snitch’ and her family and ask myself if she would appreciate it if someone told her about what her gay son whom she brags about in church that he is a good boy and will someday bear her grandchildren gets up to at the clubs when he sneaks out of his room through the window every weekend. She would appreciate it, but yet she has the audacity to ruin the little relationship we had with our not so much of a father. It frustrates me to see village people investing their lives into other people’s lives. The people here do not have anything to do besides gossip all day about other families. They are even tired of gossiping about us because there is always something “out of the ordinary” happening at my house. However, my mother doesn’t seem to like Miss Mnisi. I can tell by the way she reacts when my dad raises her name regarding what she had told her. All I ever hope is that my mother talks some sense into him that this woman is destroying this family.

“Babe, I don’t know what to tell my parents, you know if they find out that I am pregnant, they will freak out.” “What should I do then? We both know they will find out sooner or later, there’s just no hiding this. So tell them” Honestly, I don’t think me and my girlfriend would work, if that fool of a dad of mine finds out I will not get my allowance anymore. I don’t know what to do, he would probably use this as an opportunity to dump me at that handy work school like he always wanted to. He sees me like a lost cause, he doesn’t even believe in me. That maybe someday I will make it, although I am failing a lot but I do have a promising future. My girlfriend and I just happened, I wasn’t even sure what I was doing. I would invite her over at my house and she would arrive and then we would have sex. The person that introduced me to this life is my brother, he has always been sexually active. Well that’s from when I started being aware of such. Now that we don’t get along he doesn’t advise me about girls. He’s 4 years older than me and he doesn’t have a kid, I think he’s very careful.

Because my sister is hardly ever at home, my brother and I invite girls over and things get hot. Sometimes two girls would pitch at once and they would start fighting. In most cases it is the parents and the boyfriends that come by. The funniest thing is that, although my brother and I don’t get along most of the times, we have each other’s back. No one would insult me in front of my brother, he would beat the shit out of them. My sister jokingly said “you two are like a couple. There is a love hate relationship going on and you don’t like it when outsiders bully one of you but it is better if you beat each other up. It is just funny that you care about each other like that.” And she is right, we fight a lot but we don’t like it when someone else bullies one of us. I usually sit down and ask myself what is it that makes my brother and me to fight a lot and I can’t find the right answer. Sometimes I can see that he tries but I shut him out. I hope writing in this journal will help me a lot.

I think the problem with me is that I do not have any sense of remorse. I know my parents hate us and part of me doesn’t even care about that because I have managed to accept it. I get in a lot of fights and mostly it’s when I attach my teachers. I just hate it when they stick their noses in my business. I guess that’s why I hardly keep friends for long because everyone thinks that I am a troublemaker and I think it is silly having to put up with all the bullshit that comes with friendship, so I prefer just chilling with random guys. I don’t have friends at all, apart from the guys that get me girls and the alcohol. It is just one of those guys that I get to meet at their favorite sport and they would hook me up with some alcohol. Well I recently started smoking weed too. My brother does smoke from time to time and I sometimes steal his weed to smoke (which would lead to a fight about weed and somehow my dad would find out). Everyone on my street sees me as a trouble child. They don’t want their children anywhere near me, but can you blame them? Anyway I have no intention of chilling with their bastard children anyway, I sort of like the respect I get from all these fools on my street. When one of their folks sticks their nose in my business, I get to sit them down without feeling guilty because none of their children is my friend. Something I recently did with Mnisi. I went to her house and told her where to get off. I was tired of her being some sort of a neighbourhood watch that only focuses on how children of a specific household behaves. I hope she got the message; I would hate to put her at her place by proving that her children are not perfect.
You know sometimes we do things not because we enjoy doing them. You have no idea whatsoever how I am feeling inside. I have this anger that’s boiling and I sort of feel like a time bomb. I don’t want to blame it on my parents but somehow it kind of feels like they are responsible for my emotions. There was a time when my dad completely gave up on me and didn’t send me any money so I can buy a couple of things. I came across this other woman from town near the bushes and she was alone. I looked around and didn’t see anyone, I went up to her with a broken bottle and threatened to kill her if she screamed and didn’t give me money. She gave me a couple of hundred rands. More than I had hoped for actually and it felt so good. That adrenalin rush overwhelmed me. I wanted to do it again, I covered my face so that she doesn’t see my face and it was dark. Sometimes when I am with the guys I have that urge to tell them about what I had done, but since they are not my real friends I pull back. Something tells me that they get down to some dirty deeds though, I mean just the other day while with them a girl passed wearing a really short skirt and I heard the other guy threatening her that if it was dark he was going to get it whether she liked it or not. I don’t know but there is something fishy about those guys.

My sister is the wisest person at home. It’s like she can tell that I am not coping well. At one time while she passed the place I hang out with the guys while smoking weed, the other one started mocking her and I told him that he better leave my sister alone, she saw me and appeared to be disappointed. The guys respect me, they just like the fact that I am not consumed by my parents’ achievements and I am not a brat for that matter. If only they knew how much I hated them, but I didn’t want to give them that satisfaction since they would suggest something silly. As I was saying about my sister, when I got home that evening she sat me down and started warning me about the guys. That is before I accidentally punched her, so now she is still giving me that silent treatment. She said to me “Little brother, I don’t want to tell you who to hang around and how to live your life but even a blind person can smell trouble with those guys that you are always with. There is something about them that is really odd, you know, whenever I pass that place I pray to God that those guys don’t touch me and I am really scared for you. There is a saying that goes ‘show me your friends and I will tell you who you are’ I just hope that it doesn’t apply with you, and being with people that don’t school while you do, will only motivate you to stop schooling since you will envy their freedom.” Yes my sister is wise and all but she doesn’t have any idea how I feel human with those guys. When I am around them, I feel like I belong. I don’t have to stress about my parents’ behaviour, the only thing that worries me is changing. I do want to be a career person someday, but the environment that I am in, scares me.”

David last left his journal here and never had the opportunity to finish it. A few months ago he and his friends went to rob a convenience store nearby and there were armed security guards that shot at them. I warned my brother about the company he keeps and he didn’t listen to me. Reading his journal made me see a lot of things that even I was not aware of. David described me as a smart person but he was. It is a pity he did not realize his true potential. Unfortunately my brother didn’t make it and the remaining ones were arrested and sentenced for 15 to 18 years in prison. My parents still don’t say much, however it damaged my mother that David is gone that she is now at a rehabilitation center being treated of depression. As for my father, he hasn’t changed. He is still the same old man but he is retired now. He spends most of his time working at the farm he bought to keep him busy here at home. We never talk about David as there is little change here at home but I can tell that my father has been thinking long and hard about how he missed out on a lot of things. Michelson is in Johannesburg looking after their house; he dropped out of school and is now working. I don’t get to see him a lot as he seems to be enjoying it that side because he hardly ever comes home, but it doesn’t surprise me because facing my father is the last thing he wants to do. I hope that the family will be able to unite as he had hoped because clearly the reason he started writing this journal was because he was hurting inside. My little brother grew up too fast, he had a bright future and I hope that his son Kabelo will take after him. Dora

a letter to her father’s daughter

i worry about, how i will keep her from all the evils of the world, how i will teach her of the great things, the wonderous places the curious people. so i decided to write her a list of things i think she ought to know, i case i don’t do/ say it right. Or i’m not around to help her
1. You are not beautiful, or pretty or ugly; or anything constricted to your genetic features. you are a being created in god’s image, take comfort in that.
2. It is more than okay to love yourself, not just okay but normal. that is how you learn how to be good to others; once you decide what is good for you.
3. Friendship is complicated but it is the only relationship that truly lasts and is unequal to all the others. So play your part so that if something does go wrong, you don’t hold any guilt.
4. never stop loving the outside. Get fresh air every day! Go for a run or a walk or a hike or whatever you feel for. the wind carries stories across the oceans and i hope you never lose your ability to hear the voices of the world.
5. Honesty and philanthropy are rare qualities to have and you will be brought up to know the value and hopefully you will live them but be careful who you show them to because people hunt rarities for sport.
6. Beware of the boy who will tell you that you do not need wings to fly, chances are, he will not hang around to catch you when you free fall.
7. Do not be afraid to run home to your mother and father and cry to them. There is no part of you they have not kissed to make it better.
8. It is delightfully agonizing to make a living off of what you love. But there is something liberating and lyrical about choosing your own punishment in life that makes bitter coffee and no hot water to take a shower in worth it. just ask the poet who teaches, a musician who begs or even the dancer taking your order.
9. Do all the things in life you feel will make you better.
10. Please try and make us understand before you do something we’re not accustomed to.
I hope you get to read this and that it is in time so you make better decisions in life. All my love, your father.

Death thy success

A few years ago I visited my mother at the hospital when she got admitted. I did not know a lot of issues that happened in my family as my mother did not share much with us, I think it’s because she assumed I was too young to understand. I was 16 at the time and the eldest of my two brothers and sister. Growing up in the village things were difficult for all of us because my mother tried her best to ensure that we were all fed but it was tough for a single unemployed woman with four mouths to feed. Sometimes I would notice that she had no plan whatsoever as to how we will get through the night. At the hospital bed she appeared to be soulless, and I almost did not recognize her when I walked in. She said to me “Lerato is that you?” part of me wanted to run as fast as I could. Every time I saw her she seemed to be getting worse. I had mixed feelings, from wanting her to be better to hoping that she passes on. However, we had no one at home apart from her, she was the only person who knew how to keep the family together. I replied “yes mother, it is I” and she closed her eyes to what seemed like a sharp pain that just attacked her. I looked down and the nurse who was standing beside me squeezed my shoulders, and then she nodded to signal that it is okay to walk closer my mother’s bed. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. Getting there and seeing her like that. I could not look at my own mother, she suddenly became a stranger.
“Thank you… (coughs) thanks for coming to see me baby.” It was peculiar because my mother was the strongest person I knew, and seeing her like that seemed like a dream I could not wake up from. My mother would get through anything that life threw at her, she always told me that we are from a family of strong genes. She said that because her mother was 92 and still strong. She was really proud of that. When we suffered at home, I thanked God that we were healthy, and that no matter how hungry we may be, as long as it does not take our lives, it is okay. “Mom, are we losing you?” We teenagers don’t have the right things to say, it is honesty I loved about being a teenager and my mother always said I have a bright future ahead of me. Back then she would say it during supper and whenever she said that, somehow my stomach would growl of hunger because of the little food we had. Although the food was never enough I just appreciated all that I had and my mother always ensured that we are always happy despite our problems. “Remember that we are from a family of strong genes baby… I… (Coughs) I will be alright.” I wanted to believe her, I really did, but the nurses’ faces expressed worry and concern, and whenever I went to the hospital, on my way there I’d pray, just pray that she is still there.
My mother was suffering from cervical cancer. The painful thing about the disease is that earlier on it doesn’t have any symptoms whatsoever, she was just bleeding and she thought that it was menstrual cycles and certainly not thought it could be cancer. I mean let’s face it, we black people tend to believe that cancer isn’t a disease that affects us. I still remember the day that she found out she had cancer, she said to the doctor “no, there must be some sort of a mistake. I can’t have cancer. Where have you ever heard of a black person with cancer? Please doctor do more tests.” The doctors assured her that it was cancer and it had already spread, the only solution was chemotherapy.
Six months later she ended up being hospitalized. Something about life is that, when you find out about something it then becomes clear that it’s there, it becomes a part of you. Just like her cancer, she seemed okay before we found out about it but afterwards it was evident that she was dying. All of a sudden I noticed how skinny she had become, while the doctors were telling her about the disease all I could notice was her arms and legs. Her dress appeared to be too big for her, it was though she would collapse. Why did I miss something like this about my own mother? I asked myself. Here is a little history about my family. My mother like many women was a single mother, never married and she never told us who our father was. What she said was that he did not want to with us, in fact he chose to be with his “other” family than raise us with her. My mother moved out of her parents’ home after she had me at 16, she built her own home from ground up. Somehow her and our father made their way to each other and went on to have three more children. It was when she gave him and alternative that he never came back. I don’t even recall seeing him at our house or anything, but she says that he was in my life and he loves me a lot.
My mom worked as a domestic worker. She said that she never had the opportunity to go to school as they were poor at home. It’s apparent that poverty seems like it’s socialized. I mean, my mother’s parents were poor, her parents were poor and now we too live in poverty. But with how she was very protective of us it was clear that she wanted the best for us, she wanted us to be better than she was and be educated.
That day when I saw her at the hospital I felt like it was the end, like I will never see her again. “You know Lerato, there is something about the hospital. I think that everyone that ever slept her a night or two, even more, sort of hoped that God gives them a second chance so that they can better their lives. But ironically, I am actually thinking about you every day.” From believing in the family genes to a talk about her losing faith in living, I did not understand it at all. “Mom, why do you say that, don’t you think you will be better?” She looked at me and said “Baby, God know his plans with me. I could say I will be fine but be gone tomorrow. It is the ‘now’ that the hospital taught me about. I appreciate every moment I get to open my eyes and find myself here. I don’t know where I am going. Perhaps heaven is real, or not, but all I care about is to leave here having said goodbye to my children.” Suddenly the reality of her disease hit me, I sat there holding her hands that somehow felt like I was holding her skeleton. There were no muscles left in her. “Mama, the kids won’t make it here and you know it. We don’t have any money. I wish that they could but they can’t. I had to walk to the hospital today, luckily enough I got a lift from Mr. Mashaba in his taxi, and he said he will fetch me and sent his love.”
“Tell him that I said thank you.” She closed her eyes and I squeezed her hand. She looked at me and smiled “Oh Lerato, you watch too much television.” I laughed a little and then broke off into tears. Somehow my mother still maintained her sense of humor even after all the things that she went through. I didn’t understand how children could possibly live without their mothers. Mothers are the ones that hold the family together, somehow they know how to best deal with us children. I wanted her to stay alive, I wanted my mother to be given a second chance to raise us, and I had no idea how we were going to manage without her. “Don’t cry baby, all will be well you will see. Mommy will always be with her babies, you guys are the pillar of my strength. This disease should have taken me a long time ago but I held on for you guys. I wanted to see you become a woman, get married and have a family of your own. But I do believe that life has the best of things for you. Please Lerato, don’t ever lose focus. Be there for your siblings and ensure that they the best in life.” I wanted her to stop, the nurse just looked at me with sadness. Somehow I knew that I had to listen to her because if I did not I would have regretted it. She said a lot that day than she ever did all the years I knew her. My mother was not the talkative type but she was a good mother, she would tell me stories about how she grew up and that she hoped to be a doctor someday. I knew that she told me all these stories because she did not want be to turn out like her. The thing she feared the most was me falling pregnant as a teenager.
The following day I went back to the hospital to see my mother and I found that she was no more. After the conversation that I had with her I knew that I would never see her again. I didn’t shed a single tear, I just stood her looking at her bed all made up. I wondered about where she could be and how she is. It was hard to believe that someone would just cease to exist. Someone whom you shared a lot with, joked with and even shed tears with. My mother was the biggest part of my life. She told me not to worry about anything so I figured that she was there with me and will guide me with making decisions. There is a saying that “parents shouldn’t bury their children.” But to me I think that children should not bury their parents. It is as hard losing a parent just as it is with a parent losing a child. Walking into the person’s room hoping to see them sitting on their bed or the dresser. My siblings asked where mom was and I couldn’t tell them that their mother had passed away. Instead, I went to my uncle’s house and told him to come and tell them what had happened. It was a difficult day for all of us, but mom was in and out of hospital so they managed to handle it. I guess it was because they were young and did not know how to react. My aunts and uncles assured me that everything will be okay so I had hope for the future.
Today I am a medical doctor at one of the busiest hospitals in the province. After my mother’s death I developed love and passion for medicine. My uncles say that my mom’s death changed me. As hard as it is to think about but it’s true. The day that I sat down with my mother at the hospital she told me a lot about life that I knew the right thing to do when I walked out of there. One of the things I love doing is healing cancer patients. As much as it is a deadly disease I try by all means to raise awareness and encourage people to test so that they can be cleared of cancer. My brothers are currently in university and my little sister is still in high school. I am not yet married but I do hope that in the future, once my brothers have completed university I could meet someone who I would settle down with. I don’t want to rush it now because of the responsibilities I have at home. One of the lessons I learned from my mother is to never turn my back on family, not even for love. I hope that wherever my mother is, she is resting in peace. Her spirit guides us in all we do.

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