Epic Parenting Fail

School has just gone back to begin the second term and Tomato has decided to start a new extra mural. Because the extra mural ends later than usual, I collect her on my way back from work, so it's just the two of us in the car driving home.

While driving in the congested traffic, we discuss many different things. Yesterday we were stuck behind a truck for, what seemed like, an eternity. After covering numerous topics, I noticed the number plate on the truck started with the letters FRT. I was suddenly reminded of how, as kids, we used to make up names from the number plates. So, chuckling to myself, I said to Tomato "what word would you come up with using FRT?" [Now let me mention at this point, I was actually using this as a "teaching moment" because Tomato struggles with spelling and English in general, so I was very surprised and impressed with her answer.]

"First" said Tomato proudly! I had to do a second take, because as kids, we just added in a vowel and that was the word, so I was not expecting an extra letter, so I said "oh *gulp* yes, very well done, but if you just add ONE vowel what word do you get?" I saw her straining her brain to get to the answer that was so obvious to me that I was almost ready to blurt it out. But wait...... I saw the realisation dawning on her face..... she looked at me with a naughty look and said "Mommy!! That is a bad word!" Yay!! The teaching moment was paying off, I thought to myself proudly.
"Yes I know it's not a very nice word, but just say it"
"Do you really want me to say the bad word mommy?" she looked shocked. Hmmm now here's a bit of an ethical dilemma, I don't usally allow bad language at home, but now I was asking her to say it. Not ideal, but teaching wins over bad words, so I replied "Sure, just this once, becaise I want to know that you got it right. What vowel did you use?"
"I used a U" [Huh? That alone should have sounded a warning bell.]
"'U'? No it should be an 'A'. Sound the word out."
"I've got it!" She shrieked. "Must I really say it?"
"Yes! Say it!" I encouraged her, so pleased that she had finally worked it out........

"F*ck" she announced proudly! I nearly crashed the car.
"Whaaat?? NOOOOO!!! FART! IT SPELLS FART!! There's no 'C' or 'K', how on earth did you get that from FRT?"

*silence*

Tomato was upset with me because she got the word wrong and I was stunned that she got that word from those letters. She was mad because she had sworn, but madder that I had told her to do it and then got mad. I was lementing my foolishness for starting the conversation in the first place.

I will never forget the day that I not only made my daughter say "The F-word" out loud, but I encouraged her to say it. Needless to say, the rest of the drive was about "very bad" words and just "bad" words and how to tell the difference. *Sigh* parenting.

Divorce is Not The End, it is the Beginning of a New Chapter

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine's ex-husband passed away after a long illness. It was incredibly sad. He was in his 40's and his children are still of school-going age.

I'm not sure of the exact details, but my friend dated him at school and they were married for quite some time before they divorced. Both parties eventually re-married and life continued. With children in the mix, there was always a fair amount of organising to ensure both parents got to spend quality time with their children. In order for this to happen, constant communication between the two was necessary. I'm sure in the beginning the conversations were strained, with emotions running high, having to talk to "the ex" but as the years passed, the conversations had grown into friendly, respectful and upbeat encounters, instead of sharp and abrupt messages. Both parents had wisely nurtured this relationship as co-parents to their beautiful children.

This is what good parents do, they put their childrens' needs above their own and build a new relationship with their child's other parent. I'm sure there were debates and disagreements along the way but these children weren't made to feel like pawns in a chess game, which often happens with divorce, they felt loved and had good relationships with both sets of parents.

The reason for this post, is that I watched the social process of this death from the outside and it really disturbed me. When the dad died, Facebook lit up with messages of love and sympathy and support for the family (social media really comes into its own during drastic, life-changing events.) Many messages were generic but some were intensely personal, remembering specific events that friends and family had enjoyed with the deceased, some knowing him for longer than 30 years. The messages were heartbreaking and everyone reached out to his wife and children, often tagging them and offering support. This was really lovely and must have given the family so much strength during their darkest hour.

What disturbed me, was that NOT ONE person mentioned "the ex," the mother of the deceased's children who now has the difficult task of helping her children navigate the turbulent waters of life without their father's guidance. The woman, who once stood at the alter, starry-eyed, imagining loving this man to eternity, the woman who had loved him and had his children, who had shared her hopes and fears and opened her soul to him during their time together, was hurting. She too had suffered a massive loss. I understand that the marriage was over and I'm not saying that she was still IN love with the man, but she definitely still loved him. He would always have a special place in her heart that nobody else could have, not romantically, but in a shared life-experience way, as her children's father. There will never be another call to talk about the kids, to rejoice in their achievements and commiserate in their disappointments. Having someone in your life for 28 years and then having them yanked from it, leaves a hole.

When I sent my friend a message to give her some support as she prepared for the funeral, I addressed this issue with her and she admitted that she was incredibly hurt. She knew her place, she was not the widow, but she was something. Those long-term friends who had posted personal messages and sent condolences to the family, had once been friends of hers too, they had been at her house, eaten at her table. Obviously in a divorce, friends will pick a side, but they knew her and they must have known that she was hurting, if nothing more than for her seeing her children lose their dad, but not a word was uttered typed to console her. Her final words haunted me, enough to write this post to remind people that although it's a tricky situation, keeping the peace with the new wife and not treading on toes, a simple text or phone call to "the ex" to express condolences, would not go amiss.

The words she wrote were as follows:
Reading all the messages has been heartbreaking. Not one acknowledgement to me the ex-wife.Who says my heart is not as sore as any one else? I just want to scream "Hello! I'm here too!" I'm so sad. It's like I was and am now nothing. I will just have to face the ugliness of it all. I am dreading the funeral but will be there to support my children, and my husband will be there to support me, as I say my final goodbye to the man who once was my life.

Meeting Dr Aron - A Dream Come True

For over a year we have used a medication on our young child, from a Dermatologist whom we had never met. Crazy huh? To be honest, when we started this treatment on our daughter, my husband and I told very few people. We only told our "inner circle." These are the people who had walked the long road of severe Atopic Dermatitis with us and had seen the way it destroyed relationships, family cohesion and eroded our child's self-esteem. The non-judgemental people who realised that we were desperate, sleep-deprived and had tried everything possible to save our little girl from her life of hell and understood why we were reluctantly putting our trust in a specialist who we had discovered on the Internet. Well it wasn't long before I was shouting it from the rooftops! We had found relief! It wasn't a cure but it was the start of the first "normal" year of my family's life! "Quality of life" now has new meaning to our family.

My mom passed away in September and as Christmas drew closer, I knew that I couldn't stay home and have Christmas in the same way I had done since my childhood, it would be too sad without my mom. I kept thinking of a song she liked from Joseph and His Technicolour Dream Coat with the lyrics "There's one less place at our table, there's one more tear in my eye" and I knew I couldn't handle that empty chair. So we decided on the spur of the moment to go away. Hubby and I asked the kids where they wanted to go on holiday and they all agreed on one place. Since her skin had healed many months before,Tomato had asked begged almost daily, to fly to Cape Town to meet the doctor who had helped her. After being put through the trauma of visiting doctor after doctor and applying cream after burning cream for five and a half years, it was amazing that this invisible doctor on the other side of an email, had achieved what no other could. It just didn't seem real. Tomato and I loved this man whom we had never met and only seen on an Internet video. I agreed with her, we had to go meet and thank this man.

Tomato with her hero

We compromised on the flying, borrowed Grampa's car (with TVs in the back - thanks Grampa!) and drove down to Cape Town. The trip was pretty amazing with 3 little noses glued to a screen! Our family has a "no screens during the week" policy, so they couldn't believe their luck at being able to watch movie after movie on an eighteen hour trip.

"What did you just say?"

Before we left I contacted Dr Aron's lovely wife Kate and asked if we could pop in for a visit. The Arons were on holiday but went out of their way to make a plan for Tomato to meet her hero at their holiday home, three days before Christmas. We drove the extra distance and all five of us descended on the Aron family! Tomato is a very sensitive child, so she began getting nervous as we got closer and I was reminded of how she used to tear her skin apart when she was nervous before. I have always watched TV shows with interest as people eventually meet their hero, usually a pop icon or actor. I have never been star-struck with any star, even my favourites, so I could imagine the excitement but I never felt it, until that day! Even I had started to become a bit nervous and excited as I was about to meet the man who had put his hand out to pull us all out of the black hole, where many others had purely dangled the carrot of hope without follow-through. 

Sharing a joke with Dr A

The poor man was attacked by us as he walked out his front door! After a year, we eventually got to meet, hug and thank the man who gave us back our daughter and allowed our lives to have some semblance of normality! It was surreal. He was human, with a great sense of humour too. We had a lovely afternoon with Dr A and Kate and the kids loved playing with the dogs and meeting Dr A's daughters and grandson. I think I was a bit gushy so eventually Dr A dryly stated that he would be at their holiday home for a few weeks and proposed that I come through each day between 2 and 4pm for hug-time haha! Little did he know that if he had been closer to where we were staying, I would have taken him up on that offer!!

Many patients had travelled to meet Dr Aron in Chicago where he presented his Aron Regime, and I think Tomato felt a bit left out that other children were meeting her hero but she hadn't. As we were leaving Tomato whispered to me "I think I'm the only special one who has been to Dr Aron's holiday house" and she was on cloud nine! After having one two more hugs and thanking the Arons for their hospitality, we started the two hour drive back to where we were staying, along the beautiful Cape coastline. It slowly dawned on me that both Tomato and I could tick one more item off our bucket lists. 

Thank you Dr Aron and Kate.

Tomato, Me, Kate and Dr Aron

Links to other blogs I have written about the Aron Regime and our journey with Atopic Eczema:

Skin Deep
The Eczema Chronicles
Is Avene the miracle we've been waiting for?
The Day I Found Dr Richard Aron and our Healing Journey Began
What is TSA and RSS?
Three Months After Starting with Dr Richard Aron
Nine Months Later with Dr Richard Aron

#eczema
#atopiceczema
#draron
#drrichardaron
#sufferingwitheczema
#eczemasense

www.draron.com

Moulding the Young Minds of the Future Generations

I've said it before and I'll say it again, one of THE most boring parts of my job as a marketing and business lecturer, is having to invigilate exams. Yes I get a lot of steps on my pedometer, but I would prefer to be lecturing. One of the most fascinating things about exams though, is how students react to them. First they are panicked and then they turn to their "good luck" charms and paraphernalia. I have dedicated a blog post to this in the past called Testing testing 1-2-3 which goes into how I have kept myself amused during exam times and a few more posts relating to things my students have said and done.You can find them here: Pearls of Wisdom, We Digress..... and We Don't Need No Education if you haven't seen them yet.

But as I embark on my 5th year of lecturing, I have decided to document some memorable moments that I have encountered during the dreaded invigilating as well as exam answers. Please show these to your children and explain why spelling is so important!!!

I don't have photographic proof for them all, but these actually did happen:

QUESTION 

Give 2 examples of a stereotype and explain why each would be considered stereotypical.

Answer 1
White people can't dance and keep rhythm. [yes 1 mark, because some white people can dance]
This stereotype is usually promoted by black people because ALL black people are born with a NATURAL rhythm for music and white people aren't. [and there you go losing this mark and the previous one]

Answer 2 (same student)
Rugby supporters are aggressive.
It will be very dumb to walk in Pretoria and tell a group of Blue Bull supporters that the Bulls team are a bunch of gay queens [um, well yes that would make most sport supporter aggressive, but how do I mark this?]

*****

50% chance of getting this answer right, but hey, let's just leave it out because I'm not sure.

Seriously??  No we do not have negative marking.

*****

Within the first 30 minutes of a final exam, a student called me over to discuss how the allocated marks for each question did not total the 100 marks as indicated. Good thing she wasn't doing a maths exam because sure enough, when all added together, they did in fact equal 100. Nothing like using your allocated writing time wisely!

*****

At the varsity where I lecture, it is customary, to put up the times in half hour increments, on the board so that students are able to immediately check how long they have left to finish the exam. Students may not have their cell phones with them during the exam, so this assists students who use their phones as a time-piece. I kid you not when I tell you that a student called me over to the back of the class to tell me that I should wipe the next time off the board. When I checked the time, I still had 1 minute before the time was up! (sigh)

*****

A student wrote me a note on the exam paper. It simply read "this is hard." lol sorry.

*****

Then I get other notes:

Why do I need to know this??

*****

Another student left a blank space for a specific question. If that wasn't enough to let me know that he didn't know the answer, he then added into the blank space "sorry I didn't think we'd be tested on this."  Yes, I understood that you didn't know the answer, when you left a HUGE BLANK SPACE. Thanks for confirming that you spotted for the exam!!

*****

Sunlight Dish washing Liquid - "the major benefit of Sunlight is the many flavours"  I am not sure who is eating / drinking Sunlight Dish washing liquid that the taste would make an impact to increase purchase?

*****

Sucking up:

My all-time favourite "below the belt" and spelling errors:

How did we get to an example of tampons on a VAT question?
Oh yes, apparently they are an essential item alongside bread!

Took me a while to realise he meant Coke!

I must admit I have no experience of the Israeli vibrator market

The last 3 lines are an example of a single mother!

Remuneration is important to your staff stuff members

Sleasy Slizzy Italians!

Beef pettis had me for a while.... ~ Ahhh beef PATTIES!

 Polite messages:

Yes I can see that you don't know!

I'm not confused. If it states 4b then I mark it as 4b.

All students finished before the last 15 minutes

  

Don't be sorry, write neater!!

Some make me smile:

Love the slang in this example and of course GODLY!

As you can see, lecturing is very interesting. My students keep me entertained and we have some really good laughs! These young people truly are the future, as Whitney Houston sang "I believe that children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way." Here's to another fun-filled year of teaching and learning.

50 Shades of Grey

When the book 50 Shades of Gray was all the rage, hubby kindly purchased me a copy so that I could see what all the fuss was about.  I even wrote a blog post about it. 50 Shades of Gray Book Review. In a nutshell, I thought it was ridiculous and it really didn't appeal to me but I understand that sex sells and that E.V.E.R.Y.B.O.D.Y knew about the book after the marketing machine had swung into action and everybody wanted to read it to see why it was so popular.

I've often mentioned that I am a frustrated author and I would love to write a novel but don't know where to start, so I think of topics and ideas all the time. When my mom was alive, I regularly used to pop in to visit her at the Retirement Village. It was perfectly located on the way to school and we literally drove right past it, shouting out "hi Mema" every day. When I fetched the kids they would beg to stop in to see Mema and we would often just arrive for a quick pop-in. Other days I would drop in to take her somewhere or we'd just chat over tea and frooty tooties (her homemade speciality). On the many times that I drove through that village, the title of the book 50 Shades of Gray always came to mind because I think it would be the perfect title of a story set in a retirement village. 50 Shades of Grey - get it? Their hair is grey! Ok now that you're with me......

After my mom died, I have felt a bit lost not going there, because it was an almost every day occurance. To make myself feel closer to her, I sometimes go back to the village to have some "oldie time" with my mom's friends. I know it sounds crazy but it really does make me feel closer to her somehow, even though these were "new" friends, as she had only lived there for 14 months before she passed.

Every time I go there, it hits home. There are so many lonely people, living seperately, together in a building in lovely surroundings. When I see the ladies my mom knew, their whole faces light up as they take my arm and invite me into their pristine apartments for a cup of tea. Each one takes so much pride in their little piece of privacy and I love looking at their photos and ornaments on display. Even the ladies with families, seldom see their children, the lucky ones get a visitor about once every two weeks (and that is considered a lot.) But when they wake up every morning, get dressed and sit in their little apartment, 14 days must feel like a lifetime. They sit and wait for an organised activity so that they have an excuse to get out and mingle. My life is so busy and yet their lives are so empty. It fascinates me how life works. When you are younger, you are manic, working, raising kids, cooking, cleaning, doing all the chores that are required. Extra murals, fetching and carrying kids and then....... nothing. I would rush in and rush out and my mom would always be grateful for a visit but I knew that she was lonely. She was considered lucky because some of these residents have no visitors, ever.

The elderly are often forgotten and as I grow older, I realise that I too will be their age one day (hopefully) and I'm still going to be me (with my sense of humour), just in an old body. If one of my elderly friends fall over, I'm still going to laugh when I'm 75, I know I am, that's just me! Often when we see the elderly, we only recognise a wrinkled person who has nothing in common with us, but if we stop to to ask and to listen, we realise there is a whole life that was led by that person. They were also young once. I like to imagine them when they were younger, what they did, how they acted. Where they kind or mean?  Were they outgoing or reserved? What mistakes did they make? What are they most proud of? Who were they "in their day?" I love hearing their stories and they love dusting them off and remembering them, their faces priceless as they relay the well-worn stories that they have re-told over the years, but they're new to me. I always listen to old people's stories, they are so interesting as I get a glimpse into who they were. Some people worked, some didn't, some married, some didn't, some devoted their lives to raising their children and some have lost their children and husbands. Some are friendly and some are downright grumpy. In each case, there is an entire lifetime of memories bottled up in their grey, perfectly- groomed heads and they truly are the product of their experiences. I think I like the fact that they all think I'm young haha! I feel so young when I'm there and they always say that my visits and my kids kept my mom going, she loved us. So maybe it's also a little boost for me to hear that. I think my 50 Shades of Grey a the Retirement Village could also be a best seller!

One of the great facilities at this retirement village, is that they have a library with a take-read-and-return policy. Simple and effective. There is no record of who takes out what book, it works on an honesty system, where you read the book and then bring it back for others to enjoy. Due to the size of the village, some people kindly (or lazily) leave books on the entrance table for others in their block to enjoy without having to walk to the library in the main building and the books are returned to the library by staff if they have been out for too long. The system works really well and in the past I would also leave old magazines on the entrance table and my mom would leave her newspaper for those who didn't get a daily delivery, like she did. Everyone benefits.

My mom used the library extensively as she was an avid reader and it helped pass the time. When she went into hospital I brought her book to her, but she was too weak to read it. (Thank goodness she didn't because I read it and it was really bad and it would have irritated my mom.) The book taunted me, because it sat on my desk for weeks and then months and I kept meaning to return it, but I kept forgetting. My mom would not be happy with me and the guilt was getting the better of me. I was going through my cupboard and found my almost pristine copy of 50 Shades of Gray hidden in the back. Tomato has started reading quite well so the book was not on my bookshelf with all the other books, as I didn't want her to have access to it. Hopefully she will read it when she is older and able to understand that domination and abuse do not equate to love and the book will seem ridiculous to her, as it was to me, but right now she's far too young and impressionable, so I needed to get rid of it. An idea was brewing.......

Yesterday I decided to pop in to see my mom's friend and I remembered to take along the book that my mom had borrowed. As I walked from my car I saw another lady who greeted me and invited me into her home. We chatted and when I left her, I put the borrowed book on the entrance table of the building, where I had often put my magazines in the past. But this time, I placed my copy of 50 Shades of Gray on top of it and went to find the lady who I had planned to visit. I walked up the flight of stairs, knocked twice on her door, she wasn't home. I walked back down the stairs to my car. I couldn't have been gone more than a minute. I chuckled to myself as I noticed, walking past the entrance table, that the novel my mom had borrowed was still there, but the 50 Shades book had already been borrowed! Throughout our youth body image is extremely important and few people honestly look beyond the shell (body) and see the soul inside. It takes getting old to realise that your body is just a vessel to move your soul around. I was reminded again, just because their bodies have changed, doesn't mean their minds have!

Until We Meet Again

This afternoon my phone rang and when I saw the name of a school-friend of mine on the screen, I turned to hubby and said "oh no" because I just knew something was wrong. I answered happily, hoping to smother the bad news with my fake happy "hello". But within 15 seconds she imparted the words that she had phoned to say. "Louise passed away this morning." She had no details. I was shocked and saddened.  This beautiful soul had had such a tough life. She had been dealt hand after hand of bad luck and now she was gone.

My surprise 16th birthday party in 1987

Although Louise and I have not been close in recent years, she has been in my life for many years, actually, basically forever. This is our story as I remember it:

We met in primary school and continued being friendly throughout high school. She was always a kind, loving girl and I remember many functions at her home, for birthdays, swimming and watching the Miss South Africa finals. We were in the school concerts together, the choir and we sat together at break time, sunning ourselves to get the elusive tan we were always lusting after. We both tried out for the Rand Youth Choir and when I went in for my audition they called me Louise and I corrected them. Louise was accepted, I was not. Deep down I knew that they had messed up the results and the choir teacher pulled me aside and said as much to me. She arranged for me to have another audition and I was accepted. I didn't want Louise to know because that would mean that she should not have been accepted. I never told her and even though the choir teacher was furious with me, I told her that I had to work on Friday nights, which is when the choir would rehearse. That was hard for me but Louise had a ball at the rehearsals and met her boyfriend Michael there, who she really cared about. 

Matric dance before party at my house 1989

Lou and Michael

Matric dance after party at Lucy's house 

We had loads of fun. We both had a crush on the same teacher, we scrounged money to buy the new chocolate bar - an Inside Story, which we would share amongst our group, we each got one of the five blocks. We designed our matric dance dresses together and we had a lot of fun. Lou was not only part of my group of friends, she also had other groups of friends. The friendships she made throughout her life were long-lasting. 

Sadly, Lou had a bone disease which made her unable to wear a ring on her fingers, except her ring finger, she was desperate to find the love of her life and wear a ring on her wedding finger.  Her one leg was longer than the other and her arms too, but she took it in good humour. She had had an operation to reduce the lumps on her hands but the surgeon wasn't able to improve them much, so she took that in her stride too. She was adopted but had no intention of ever finding her birth mother, she loved her adoptive parents dearly, as well as her baby brother Chris. It always amazed me how similar their family looked even though the children were adopted.

After school we didn't see each other very often for the first few years but we stayed in touch. Lou went to Wits to study law. She became a bit of a wild child and rebelled terribly, giving her poor parents grey hairs. Even at her 21st I remember there being a punch up with her dad and a guest! She had a few boyfriends but she always had a knack of choosing her partners poorly. She was just too trusting. She took up smoking at varsity and thought it was a well-kept secret, but everyone knew. She also enjoyed clubbing and drinking and the freedom from being a goody-goody at school. She enjoyed varsity immensely and made good friends. She often visited the pub that hubby and I ran at my townhouse complex clubhouse. We spent many Sunday evenings together laughing, drinking and playing pool. She had a huge crush on Paul (we called him Lofty because he'd built a loft in his apartment.) She also really liked a pilot named Martin who we went to school with and they were both often found at the Mont Serrat Pub with his group of friends. I think they dated for a while and it fizzled out. Lou used to drive me crazy with her indecision about where to do her articles. She used to procrastinate and when she had been drinking it was worse, but she was always a loyal friend, although she could be quite self-centred, we loved her.

Our group at school 1989

Lou got her law degree and started working. She drew up mine and hubby's Ante Nuptial Contract and Will, as well as handling the private sale of hubby's townhouse when we got married. She quickly purchased a home in Fourways Garden Villas and then due to her job being in town, she moved to a beautiful cluster just off South Road in Sandton, where we met quite often for wine or coffee and a chat. Lou's life seemed to be going really well. She was successful and she loved her job and all she wanted was a knight in shining armour to sweep her off her feet. Unfortunately her knight was a fraud. 

Around this time she met a man who I immediately didn't like. She would tell me stories about him and they just didn't ring true. The two of them would go on huge drinking sprees and I was sure there were drugs involved too. She was besotted. One day she asked me to meet her for coffee at her home. She had a broken leg. There had been a scuffle between her boyfriend and his friend and she had tried to separate them and fallen backwards down the stairs and broken her leg (and her nose which I only found out later). But it DEFINITELY wasn't his fault. Alarm bells were ringing in my ears! She then proceeded to tell me how she had met his ex-girlfriend who warned her that he was abusive and that had caused their break up. I cautioned her but she was in love and the ex was "just jealous". Lou couldn't drive with her broken leg, so the boyfriend moved in and took over, which was fortunate for him because he had nowhere to live and no car. Lou was doing really well for herself and had a beautiful home and a sporty Audi. One night she phoned me hysterical, they had had a fight and he had stormed off in her car and hadn't come home. She suspected an affair. But he was smooth. A few weeks later they were engaged and she couldn't have been happier. I'm quite sure she purchased her own ring but it looked beautiful on her one straight finger and I was happy that she was happy. But I had a sick feeling in my gut which I couldn't tell her about. Later she confided that she wished I had.

My 21st. Both Lou and Andrew have passed on.1992

On their wedding day, I arrived early as I was to hand out the order of service leaflet. When I kissed him hello, he reeked of booze. I really really didn't like this guy. I can't find any photos of the wedding, but Lou looked beautiful and I'll never forget her brother's speech, he ended off by looking directly at the bridegroom and said "if you hurt her, I'll kill you." He must have foreseen what was to happen......

The happy couple left for their Thailand honeymoon and when they returned we were invited to their new home in Craighall (because her cluster was too small for him). We had dinner with the newlyweds and his mom and his child from a previous marriage, and they were raving about Thailand and how the food had finally made her eczema disappear so they were only eating Thai food from then on. But when we got into the car I said to Hubby, I get such a bad feeling about them. He turns my stomach. It wasn't 18 months later when I met Lou for a drink and she looked skeletal. Lou didn't eat when she was stressed, so I knew something was up. She admitted to weighing 38kgs and then broke down and told me the horrors that she had endured. 

At my wedding in 1997

Her husband was an alcoholic. He never had a job during the marriage. He was drinking and partying her money away. The harder she worked, the more he spent. He became physically abusive after months of verbal abuse and she was battered and bruised. One night he almost choked her to death. She lost consciousness. He never remembered ever hurting her while he was drunk. She was devastated but thought she could help him by taking him to AA meetings etc but he wasn't interested. She told me that the seed for divorce was planted by the wife of a fellow AA member that she met at a meeting. It was this lady's husband's 5th time at AA and she was supporting him, yet again. Lou asked her, if she knew what she was in for, would she have stayed married to her alcoholic husband and the lady said "absolutely not, he has ruined my life and my children's lives. You will never be able to trust an alcoholic and it takes just one sip....... and your first indication that he's drinking again is when he hits you." 

It wasn't long before the abuse began again and it was worse. No flies on Lou, she found her inner strength and called the cops and had him thrown in jail. Just when I thought there was no hope for her and that she was going to be a battered wife for the rest of her life, she mustered all her strength and took her power back. I sobbed with her as she told me the story. And then I laughed with her when she told me the cops refused to arrest him because there was no evidence of abuse and she let rip with a recital of legal jargon, stating previous cases which had set a precedent and that they could in fact arrest him and keep him for one night on the word of a woman afraid for her life! Apparently the cops were so scared of her legal sprouting that they hurriedly arrested him. She then packed up his things, drove to his mom's house, dropped them off and told her "fetch your son at the jail tomorrow because you can tell him we're getting divorced and I never want to see him again." I was stunned. I was so proud of her! Little Mightly Mouse. When she moved out of their home she said there were literally hundreds of bottles of spirits hidden all over the house.

At a friend's wedding in 2000

Lou took her Ridgeback dog Zinzi, who she adored, and moved to a townhouse in Sunninghill where she tendered her garden beautifully. Unfortunately her estranged husband was off the rails and was stalking her and leaving hour long drunken voice messages begging her to return and then threatening to kill her if she didn't. She changed her number and was in fear of her life. She took legal action against him. The calls became less and less and in 2005 we got together again when poor Lou, who had been sickly for most of her life, had then contracted tick bite fever. I'll never forget the day when she phoned me and said "now don't freak out, but I've become happy clappy" wahahaha I had a good laugh. She was always an open book. The next time I heard from her, she thought that that particular church was something of a cult and she had cut them off because they would phone her if she missed any function and she became claustrophobic being harassed by them. A year later I gave birth to Tomato and then Bacon and life got busy. I hadn't spoken to Lou in about a year except on her birthday and I remember that I had just started my new position as Business Unit Head in 2008 and I was holding a high level meeting when my phone rang. It was Lou. I remember putting my phone on silent and thinking: Ah, how nice, I'll phone her for a catch up when I'm done. Then it rang again and again and again and again. I was chairing the meeting but I just couldn't concentrate. Something was wrong, why would she phone me repeatedly like that. I excused myself and phoned her back. My heart almost stopped when her dad answered her phone.

My 30th birthday in 2001

Lou had an inoperable brain tumor. Her condition was critical. I was stunned. I asked what that meant. "Can't they do anything? Is she going to die?" Her father's voice was flat. He just said "we don't know but we've been told to prepare ourselves." I cried like a baby over my desk. My PA postponed the meeting and I rushed through to Milpark. There was this little body tied up to machines, her head shaved in parts, there were probes and bandages and drips dripping medication into her. I tried not to let my fear show. Although she recognised me, it took me a while to realise that she was delirious. She would come in and out of awareness. I kissed her goodbye and as I rounded the corner of the ICU, just out of her sight, I slid down the wall and sobbed. Eventually someone helped me to a visitor's chair. How could this be happening? She was only 37. Later I realised that obviously the doctors would try radiation and chemo on an inoperable tumor, which they did. I visited her many times in hospital, it felt like she was there for months. She then went to a rehabilitation centre in Rivonia. The first time I visited her at the centre, the nurse told me she was in the garden. There were 5 people sitting in the garden. I looked and looked and eventually said to the nurse "which one is Louise?" and the nurse said "she's wearing pink." She looked terrible. She was very sick from the chemo and she must have weighted 30kg. She was sitting in a wheel chair, bald with her hands shaking so much that she couldn't hold her tea. I helped her drink her tea. Then I got into my car and cried for the umpteenth time. 

I visited Lou at the rehab centre a few times and one time she told me that the cancer was still there although the chemo had done a great job in reducing the size of the tumor. She said the doctors wanted to do another round but she wasn't strong enough. When she told her father that, he cried. For the first time he cried and begged her to try one more time. She said she felt guilty but she wanted to die. We talked about death and I asked if she really wanted to go. She told me she really did, she didn't want to fight any more. I asked her "what can I do to help you?" and she said "I want two things. I want to see my nieces (they were kept away so as not to scare them as Lou really looked like a skeleton) and I want you to tell my parents that I don't want to have any more chemo." That wasn't going to be a good conversation. I dreaded doing it, but I mustered up the courage and did it. I made the call that night to her father. As I expected, he unleashed all of his grief on me and told me that he would never allow it. As a mother, I understand wanting your child to live as long as they can, but I had made a promise to tell him, so I took the tongue-lashing and then...... wait for it..... I got off the phone and....... yes, you guessed it, I cried. What an emotional call. After begging from her parents, Lou agreed to do one more round of heavy chemo. That session took it out of her, she was weak and sick, but it worked! It shrunk the tumor so she had a lot more of her cognitive function back. Things were looking good at last.

Lou moved in with her parents in Lonehill to recouperate. She was bedridden. Over the past 5 years I have visited her very few times as it has been hugely uncomfortable and stressful for me. Firstly her parents obviously are acutely aware of what I had discussed with them and probably hate me, but also, Lou was not herself. Sometimes she slurred her words so badly I couldn't hear her and other times she would tell me long stories that didn't seem accurate or to make sense. She had had a cold and when she sneezed, her bones were so weak that the sneeze broke 2 ribs and crushed a vertebrae. She was weak and very fragile. Always bed-ridden and needing round the clock care that her retired parents provided themselves. It was tough going for them. Eventually Zinzi also came to stay and her Sunninghill home was sold. She hadn't worked in years and I didn't see her ever working again. I remember telling her the story of how Lettuce was born on the bathroom floor and she didn't fully comprehend what I was saying. After that, with 3 children, it was hard to find a time when one of us wasn't sick with something and I was too afraid to make her sick and compromise her health further, she was always weak and a common cold could turn to respiratory failure in a flash. To be honest I dreaded going there because it was emotionally draining and I felt guilty for my great life and particularly my good health. Why did Lou have to have one bad experience after another? Unfortunately I think all her friends felt the same way and her visitors were few and far between.

Looking back, should Lou have gone on her own terms? Was it worth going through excruciating chemo just to get a few more years of bedridden life? What life did she really have? I look at my children and know that without a doubt, making that decision would be the hardest decision any parent could make. We all want more time. But as I saw with my mom, more time is not always a blessing. But when you're talking about a 37 year old, obviously hope of recovery and the allure of her potentially regaining her previously prosperous life, is a strong determiner. I take my hat off to her parents, who cared for Lou selflessly for years, nursing her, when they should have been enjoying their well-deserved retirement. Their unconditional love is phenominal and they are heartbroken to lose their beloved daughter, who fought so long and so bravely. My heart goes out to her mom, dad, brother and family as they take their first steps along the long, sad path of loss. I hope they will find comfort in the fact that Louise has touched the hearts of so many people and she will never be forgotten.

Rest in Peace my dear friend Sarah Louise McCreedy. You are in a better place now, free from pain, free from medication and free from the confinement of your diseased body. I hope my mom was there to meet you and give you the hug that I wish I could. Fly high little bird, fly high.

Until we meet again.......

Sarah Louise McCreedy

12 October 1971 - 10 January 2016

Sarah Louise McCreedy

Back to Life Back to Reality

September was the longest month of my year. Yes I know it's only 30 days but it felt like 3 months. The bottom of my world fell out on the 2nd of September when my mom passed away. Nothing can explain how that feels. But what also caught me off guard, was the tidal wave of love and support that engulfed me. I was overwhelmed by all the love that I felt from near and far as the phone calls, messages and visits began. My Facebook wall lit up and although I hardly grasped what was said at the time, I have gone back and re-read those messages and feel so grateful for every one of them. There were many lovely messages, but these two really stood out for me: 

"I haven't written anything in a while, but after reading my friend Lisa's blog post If Tomorrow Never Comes, I had to write what I felt. This is in memory of a lovely lady and dedicated to all who have lost loved ones to soon...

Tonight I cried
I cried for things lost
For things taken
For memories gone
For futures broken
I cried for the person left behind
For the person moving on
For the soul left damaged
And the heart less strong
For the lessons not learned
For the pain now to carry
For the child now grown
For those left to tarry
It was more than a tear
But less than a keen
It was for sorrow unspoken
For a life yet to be"

My 16 year old niece wrote this:"Gramma, you have been at every birthday party, every Christmas and every celebration. It is now our time to celebrate your life. You gave me your sarcasm and the love for chocolate that every Bayne member has. Your ever present tootie fruities will be missed. I will miss you, even if you draw funny ducks. You told me that you love me, that you will always be watching over me. I love you Gramma." 

Never underestimate the impact of a quickly-typed message or a kind word to someone grieving, even on one-dimensional Facebook. 

After my mom died I went home and told my children. Lettuce and Bacon didn't really grasp the gravity of the situation but Tomato understood. She wailed and sobbed and was inconsolable. She said she'd never see Mema again and she would never go to her house and she named everything she could think of that she would never be able to do again and the two of us just cried. I remembered that I had seen in my mom's handbag, a small, open packet of speckled chocolate eggs which she always had on hand to give to the kids each time she saw them. I thought that might cheer them up, so I told Tomato that Mema had left her something. When I got the packet out, she broke down and hugged the packet, it was heartbreaking. After I shared out the remaining sweets, Tomato neatly folded the packet into a little square and put it in her "treasure" box as the last thing to remind her of Mema. I was finished.

That night we quietly gathered as a family to have dinner and grieve. I talked and cried on the phone to my brother and sister overseas, who obviously weren't able to attend the dinner in South Africa. Being far away, they didn't get to see what we saw, and had to experience my mom's decline on the phone for the two weeks leading up to her death. But they were feeling the same hurt. The hurt from the loss of the most pivotal person in their lives, the person they both called every day, my sister on her way to work and my brother on his way home. That night for the first time in months, I slept without waking. I was emotionally drained and physically exhausted.

With death comes a plethora of new items added to an already cumbersome "to-do" list. As my mom's children in South Africa, it fell to my brother and I to organise the undertaker, funeral, church, minister, eats etc, all while still in shock. One thing I can say about my family is that we are fantastic in any crisis. We make things happen. We are all "do-ers". My mom taught us to be independent and boy she certainly over-achieved in that department! I'm not convinced that this strategy is beneficial to us emotionally as we do first and feel later, but boy stuff gets done! 

My friends arrived with their children that night to to prepare dinner for all of us. One friend had lost her mom a few years before and the other her son only 11 months earlier (see her story RIP Kyle Du Preez Lowry here). It should have been a sad evening, but they managed to take my mind off the sadness. The next day more friends arrived. The support was incredible. 

With all the sudden activity, after 2 weeks of 3x daily hospital visits, I needed to be alone. I left early to fetch the children from school and went to my mom's house on the way. The sadness engulfed me. I was with her stuff but she wasn't there and I couldn't feel her. I went into her bedroom and lay on her bed. Although she hadn't slept there for weeks, I felt her there, I smelled her smell and I hugged her pillow while I cried and cried and cried. Everyone was arriving the following day, the pace of my life was about to accelerate. My mom's unit was rented so we would have to pack her things and vacate quickly. There was no time. I needed time, but it was a luxury not afforded to me. This was the last chance I'd get "to be alone with her," in this place where we often were alone, having tea and solving the world's problems or laughing or arguing or planning or eating sweet treats that she had made. Everything reminded me of her. I cried for my children who had lost one of the few people who loved them unconditionally, I cried for my family who were feeling like me and I cried for me, for everything that I had lost when she took her last breath in my arms. Logically I know that she had lived a long life, but it wasn't long enough for me. I wasn't ready, but I had to get up and face the world again, children needed fetching, lunches needed making, work needed to be completed. There was nobody waving me goodbye as I left this time. I whispered "totsiens Ouma" as my kids jokingly used to shout in unison every time we left, pretending to practise their Afrikaans. There was silence. Nobody shouted back "totsiens Ouma se kinders." I had to wipe my glasses when I got to the school.

The mayhem that followed made my children think that a death in the family = a full blown party! My cousin flew in from Cape Town, my sister, her husband and two children from California and my brother came from Perth. As soon as the cousins arrived, the playing began. Tomato, Bacon and Lettuce were spoiled by all the visitors and the never-ending food and sweet treats (that are usually limited in our house), kept flowing in. Friends and family were in and out, bringing flowers and food and drinks and snacks. My BLT really had a ball, there was no time for sadness. In the quieter moments there were tears, but there was a lot of laughing too. It was so amazing to have everyone together again, but as the words of one of my mom's favourite songs go "There's one less place at our table, there's one more tear in my eye. Joseph Mummy we'll never forget you, it's tough but we're going to get by." There was always an empty seat as a reminder. At one time my sister and I were arranging to meet my mom's friend for tea and I suddenly said "Ooooh we mustn't forget to invite Mummy, she'd love to see.....!" and then I burst into tears as I realised my mistake. Everything became past tense. "my mom used to say...., my mom was....., my mom couldn't" 

Where the "skirt incident" took place

There was lots to arrange, so many people to see, but no time to think, no time to process. The funeral service was held on Tuesday 8 September at the church which my mom and dad joined when they first got married and moved into the area. The church that holds many childhood memories - it was the best of times, it was the worst of times: weddings (mine included), funerals (including my dad's), christenings, confirmations, nativity scenes, carols by candlelight and midnight mass Christmas services that we always attended with my mom. The late night Christmas services were always a fun event because, as long as I can remember, our family tradition was to have our Christmas meal on the evening of the 24th, with plenty of champagne, turkey, gammon, trifle and... mom's homemade pickled onions. 

Nobody wanted to sit next to my brother in church after he had consumed those onions! 3-4 hours post consumption seemed to be "the perfect storm" in his digestive tract, if you get my drift. And the pews are made of solid wood, no cushions like the catholic church, so the put-putting could become audible, especially during the singing (not as noise-cancelling as one would expect), and the pungent aroma could engulf an unsuspecting parishioner sitting too close. Then there was the time that one of the older church ladies who was sitting up front ready to assist with communion, had her skirt wedged securely in her belt. With her sitting on a raised stage, we could see things that should really be left to the imagination. Mom was not impressed with our snorting as this lovely old lady (who had taught me Sunday School many moons before) moved around the church, with her dress hitched up around her waist, passing around the mock wine and bread. But I glimpsed a faint naughty smile on my mom's lips, even though she of course denied it, it really was funny! Then the shock of me insisting on wearing my Santa hat during the entire service ("it's a darn nice hat!" vs "Lisa! that is not for church!") and I wore it at every Christmas service for years. All these memories in this one place, but now we were there to say goodbye to the person who brought us there for the first time..... She was always there for the firsts of many things. 

The Flowers were beautiful

How do I say goodbye in 20 minutes to the woman who brought me into this world, who held me and loved me, nurtured and taught me pretty much everything I know. She was there for my first word, my first step, my first suitcase, my first lunch box, my first uniform, my first teacher, my first book, my first play, my first everything. She roller skated with us, she played tennis with us, she swam with us ("don't get my hair wet!"). My mom made every one of my birthday cakes, sewed all my play costumes and shlepped me all over the place. How do I say goodbye? 

To break the ice, just as the service began, my nephew, while attempting to switch off his cell phone, hit the Siri button, and Siri loudly announced "Siri is not available, connect to the Internet." He was mortified! I chuckled. My sister had told her daughter, my little niece that if she ever saw me crying, she should give me a hug, so during the whole service, she kept checking on me and when she saw a tear, I had a tiny body squeezing me hard and patting my arm! That just made me cry more. Soon the service was over and as we followed the coffin out of the church, it felt surreal. This was the end of the road. My own pre-recorded voice came over the speakers as I sang Josh Groban's "To Where You Are." I was holding Bacon's hand and she whispered "who's that singing?" to which I replied "it's me" and she whispered back "but why aren't your lips moving!" 

These are a few of Mom's Favourite Things

My sister-in-law had set up a table of my mom's favourite things. It was really lovely. Including her favourite cherry liqueurs, tootie-fruities and chocolate crunchies as well as a "tree" with all her sayings on it. So many people took the time out to come and pay their respects. I cannot begin to express my gratitude. Mom hated an empty church at a funeral, she always said she wanted a full church, and she got her wish. Friends and family supported us, gave us their condolences, mingled, had some food and then it was over. The ceremony was over and now we were expected to carry on without her. And although we didn't want to, we had to. Life is for the living. Life goes on. Dammit.

Ice cream cake

Construction site cake

It has now been 2½ months since mom died. I still can't believe it. I still want to phone her, I still miss her every single day. Some days I miss her by myself and other days I tell my family how much I'm missing her (spread the grief and make them sad too, why should I suffer alone?) and then some days I go to visit her friend to get my "mom" fix. But no matter what I do and no matter how sad I make everyone else, she's still gone and she's not coming back. Her special tea cup in my cupboard taunts me. I don't want it but I can't throw it away. Lettuce's 4th birthday party just wasn't the same, she'd have loved his cakes..... or would she? Maybe she would have said it was a mess haha maybe she wouldn't have liked it at all! Maybe she would have said ice cream cake is not real cake or she would have told me that he didn't need two cakes, that I was spoiling him. But he would have been so proud to show her, with his beaming little face, that she would have told him that she loved it. He loved Mema and she loved him. They had a special bond. All three of my BLT came to me during that day and said that we couldn't have a party without Mema, it isn't the same without Mema here, she's always here for our birthdays and little Lettuce, so excited for his day whispering "I wish Mema was here." The whole thing is just so sad.

To all those friends and family out there who haven't stopped calling, texting and visiting, to the moms at school who give me hugs and ask how I'm doing - thank you. The pain doesn't end after the funeral, in fact, the low constant pain that remains in the pit of your stomach, only really begins when the house becomes quiet and things go back to "normal." We are now dipping our toes into this life that is our "new normal." Mema is not here, but she is. We can't just pop in for a visit like we used to, we have to look for clues, like feathers. There are signs of her everywhere. My friend and her mom told me that a feather had floated into the church and landed on their hymn sheet right in front of them during the service. This same friend decided then and there to move to another province, she said she just felt something while she was there.

Whenever my children see feathers they say "hi Mema." In fact my kids see her all the time. One morning I was standing making breakfast when Lettuce said "Mema is standing right next to you!" I was a bit stunned so asked what she was doing and he said "she's come to wash the dishes!" which is exactly what she liked to do, she couldn't stand anything not washed immediately after use. Tomato and Bacon both chimed in "hi Mema" and then they told me that she was putting her bag down and when I asked where, they all pointed to the same place and it wasn't where she usually put her bag. I got all teary. Another night, while cuddling with Lettuce, he told me that Mema was with him and I told him I was happy about that. He then said sleepily "Silly mommy, Mema's not in heaven like you said, she's right here with us!" On another day while making puzzles with Tomato, I said "Mema was BAD at puzzles, she used to squash pieces in that didn't fit." Tomato was horrified! "Mommy!!!! She's right here, she can hear you!" 

While watching the world cup rugby I didn't want an opposition kick to go into the goals so I kept saying "miss, miss" as I watched the screen. The player missed the kick, so Tomato leaned over and whispered to me "I asked Mema to make him miss hee hee." The kids take it in their stride, although sometimes one of them will come to me and say things like "I miss Mema's hugs." One day Lettuce was over-tired and he was crying and eventually he just blurted out "I WANT MEMA, I MISS MEMA, MEEEMA, MEEEMA!!!" Well that got us all going as he cried himself to sleep shouting MEEMA MEEMA!

Early in the morning on the day that my mom died, I visited my oldest friend. We first sat next to each other in grade one. She is very talented and I always get a private viewing, to see what art piece she is working on, when I visit. She showed me a piece that I loved but she explained that she lacked the motivation to complete it, she said nothing inspired her, it just didn't feel right. A few weeks later we met at a coffee shop, as we do from time to time, and she said she had something in her car for me and that I knew what it was. Well, I had no idea! I walked with her to her car and she opened her boot and took out the art piece that she had shown me before, but it was finished and handed it to me! I was confused. She said that as soon as I left her house, she was inspired to work on the picture. She worked the whole morning and finished it just before she got the message that my mom had gone. She told me that she believes my mom inspired her and helped her finish it. She said the colours and style are completely different to what she usually does. I was speechless. There in the underground parking I hugged her and went into "the ugly cry." Onlookers must have thought I was bonkers. I went home and immediately put it up in my dining room so that I can "see" my mom all day. I am blessed to have amazing, talented, intuitive and supportive friends.

Mom's Picture

So life, with all it's happy and sad and fun and scary and lovely and horrible and thrilling moments, goes on whether we like it or not. People are getting married and having children and living their lives and the cycle of life continues. But my mom isn't here any more. Having lost my dad 23 years ago, I know the pain will become less raw than it is now. I know that slowly I will forget the horrific scenes that are emblazoned in my mind of her final days and hours. I want time to pass quickly to blur the bad memories, but I also want it to slow down. Because with the loss of the searing, raw pain, also comes the loss of the vivid, chrystal clear memories that I have of spending so much time with my mom. Sometimes I struggle to remember my dad's voice, his mannerisms and I think my memory has glossed over many unpleasant things and narrowed down my recollection to some great stories and blurred the rest. Right now my mom is vivid in my mind. I can remember every little thing about her, I can almost conjure her presence. With time, I know that will fade. There is nothing nice about death. As my mom would often say: "The problem with death is that it is so final."

Treasure your loved ones each and every day. Make good memories or bad memories, but make memories that last because none of us know how much time we have here.