Africa Prayers for the Dead


“Christianity is the predominant religion in EuropeRussiathe Americas, the PhilippinesEast TimorSouthern AfricaCentral AfricaEast Africa and Oceania.[8] There are also large Christian communities in other parts of the world, such as Central Asia and the Middle East, where Christianity is the second-largest religion after Islam. The United States of America has the largest Christian population in the world, followed by Brazil and Mexico.[9]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christianity_by_country


Christianity has grown enormously in sub-Saharan Africa and the Asia-Pacific region, where there were relatively few Christians at the beginning of the 20th century. The share of the population that is Christian in sub-Saharan Africa climbed from 9% in 1910 to 63% in 2010, while in the Asia-Pacific region it rose from 3% to 7%. Christianity today – unlike a century ago – is truly a global faith.http://www.pewforum.org/2011/12/19/global-christianity-exec/

Despite the increase in the number of Christians in Africa superstition still plays a big role. 

In the religions of Africa, life does not end with death, but continues in another realm. The concepts of “life” and “death” are not mutually exclusive concepts, and there are no clear dividing lines between them. In many African languages, the words “we are living a little,” means that the individual is ill, and their “level of life” is very low. Death does not alter or end the life or the personality of an individual, but only causes a change in its conditions. This is expressed in the concept of “ancestors,” people who have died but who continue to “live” in the community and communicate with their families.

 

The African Concept of Death

Death, although a dreaded event, is perceived as the beginning of a person’s deeper relationship with all of creation, the complementing of life and the beginning of the communication between the visible and the invisible worlds. The goal of life is to become an ancestor after death. This is why every person who dies must be given a “correct” funeral, supported by a number of religious ceremonies. If this is not done, the dead person may become a wandering ghost, unable to “live” properly after death and therefore, a danger to those who remain alive. It might be argued that “proper” death rites are more a guarantee of protection for the living than to secure a safe passage for the dying. There is ambivalence about attitudes to the recent dead, which fluctuate between love and respect, on the one hand, and dread and despair on the other, particularly because it is believed that the dead have power over the living.

Many African people have a custom of removing a dead body through a hole in the wall of a house, and not through the door. The reason for this seems to be that this will make it difficult (or even impossible) for the dead person to remember the way back to the living as the hole in the wall is immediately closed. Sometimes the corpse is removed feet first, symbolically pointing away from the former place of residence. A zigzag path may be taken to the burial site, or thorns strewn along the way, or a barrier erected at the grave itself because the dead are also believed to strengthen the living. Many other people take exceptional pains to ensure that the dead are easily able to return to their homes, and some people are even buried under or next to their homes.

Many people believe that death is the loss of a soul, or souls. Although there is recognition of the difference between the physical person that is buried and the nonphysical person who lives on, this must not be confused with a Western dualism that separates “physical” from “spiritual.” When a person dies, there is not some “part” of that person that lives on—it is the whole person who continues to live in the spirit world, receiving a new body identical to the earthly body, but with enhanced powers to move about as an ancestor. The death of children is regarded as a particularly grievous evil event, and many people give special names to their children to try to ward off the reoccurrence of untimely death.

There are many different ideas about the “place” the departed go to, a “land” which in most cases seems to be a replica of this world. For some, it is under the earth, in groves, near or in the homes of earthly families, or on the other side of a deep river. In most cases, it is an extension of what is known at present, although for some people it is a much better place without pain or hunger. The Kenyan scholar John Mbiti writes that a belief in the continuation of life after death for African people “does not constitute a hope for a future and better life. To live here and now is the most important concern of African religious activities and beliefs. . . . Even life in the hereafter is conceived in materialistic and physical terms. There is neither paradise to be hoped for nor hell to be feared in the hereafter” (Mbiti 1969, pp. 4–5).

The African Concept of the Afterlife

Nearly all African people have a belief in a singular supreme being, the creator of the earth. Although the dead are believed to be somehow nearer to the supreme being than the living, the original state of bliss in the distant past expressed in creation myths is not restored in the afterlife. The separation between the supreme being and humankind remains unavoidable and natural in the place of the departed, even though the dead are able to rest there and be safe. Most African people believe that rewards and punishments come to people in this life and not in the hereafter. In the land of the departed, what happens there happens automatically, irrespective of a person’s earthly behavior, provided the correct burial rites have been observed. But if a person is a wizard, a murderer, a thief, one who has broken the community code or taboos, or one who has had an unnatural death or an improper burial, then such a person may be doomed to punishment in the afterlife as a wandering ghost and may be beaten and expelled by the ancestors or subjected to a period of torture according to the seriousness of their misdeeds, much like the Catholic concept of purgatory. Among many African peoples is the widespread belief that witches and sorcerers are not admitted to the spirit world, and therefore they are refused proper burial—sometimes their bodies are subjected to actions that would make such burial impossible such as burning, chopping up, and feeding them to hyenas. Among the Africans, to be cut off from the community of the ancestors in death is the nearest equivalent of hell.

The concept of reincarnation is found among many people. Reincarnation refers to the soul of a dead person being reborn in the body of another. There is a close relationship between birth and death. African beliefs in reincarnation differ from those of major Asian religions (especially Hinduism) in a number of important ways. Hinduism is “world-renouncing,” conceiving of a cycle of rebirth in a world of suffering and illusion from which people wish to escape—only by great effort—and there is a system of rewards and punishments whereby one is reborn into a higher or lower station in life (from whence the caste system arose). These ideas that view reincarnation as something to be feared and avoided are completely lacking in African religions. Instead, Africans are “world-affirming,” and welcome reincarnation. The world is a light, warm, and living place to which the dead are only too glad to return from the darkness and coldness of the grave. The dead return to their communities, except for those unfortunate ones previously mentioned, and there are no limits set to the number of possible reincarnations—an ancestor may be reincarnated in more than one person at a time. Some African myths say that the number of souls and bodies is limited. It is important for Africans to discover which ancestor is reborn in a child, for this is a reason for deep thankfulness. The destiny of a community is fulfilled through both successive and simultaneous multiple reincarnations.

Transmigration (also called metempsychosis) denotes the changing of a person into an animal. The most common form of this idea relates to a witch or sorcerer who is believed to be able to transform into an animal in order to perform evil deeds. Africans also believe that people may inhabit particular animals after death, especially snakes, which are treated with great respect. Some African rulers reappear as lions. Some people believe that the dead will reappear in the form of the totem animal of that ethnic group, and these totems are fearsome (such as lions, leopards, or crocodiles). They symbolize the terrible punishments the dead can inflict if the moral values of the community are not upheld.


In the village of Eshowe in the KwaZulu-Natal Province in South Africa, a Zulu Isangoma (diviner), with a puff adder in his mouth, practices soothsaying or predicting, with snakes. It is impossible to generalize about concepts in African religions because they are ethno-religions, being determined by each ethnic group in the continent.

GALLO IMAGES/CORBIS

 Burial and Mourning Customs

Death in African religions is one of the last transitional stages of life requiring passage rites, and this too takes a long time to complete. The deceased must be “detached” from the living and make as smooth a transition to the next life as possible because the journey to the world of the dead has many interruptions. If the correct funeral rites are not observed, the deceased may come back to trouble the living relatives. Usually an animal is killed in ritual, although this also serves the practical purpose of providing food for the many guests. Personal belongings are often buried with the deceased to assist in the journey…. Various other rituals follow the funeral itself. Some kill an ox at the burial to accompany the deceased. Others kill another animal some time after the funeral (three months to two years and even longer is the period observed). The Nguni in southern Africa call the slaying of the ox “the returning ox,” because the beast accompanies the deceased back home to his or her family and enables the deceased to act as a protecting ancestor. The “home bringing” rite is a common African ceremony. Only when a deceased person’s surviving relatives have gone, and there is no one left to remember him or her, can the person be said to have really “died.” At that point the deceased passes into the “graveyard” of time, losing individuality and becoming one of the unknown multitude of immortals.

Many African burial rites begin with the sending away of the departed with a request that they do not bring trouble to the living, and they end with a plea for the strengthening of life on the earth and all that favours it. According to the Tanzanian theologian Laurenti Magesa, funeral rites simultaneously mourn for the dead and celebrate life in all its abundance. Funerals are a time for the community to be in solidarity and to regain its identity. In some communities, this may include dancing and merriment for all but the immediate family, thus limiting or even denying the destructive powers of death and providing the deceased with “light feet” for the journey to the other world.

Ancient customs are adapted in many South African urban funerals. When someone has died in a house, all the windows are smeared with ash, all pictures in the house turned around and all mirrors and televisions and any other reflective objects covered. The beds are removed from the deceased’s room, and the bereaved women sit on the floor, usually on a mattress. During the time preceding the funeral—usually from seven to thirteen days—visits are paid by the community to comfort the bereaved family. In the case of Christians, consolatory services are held at the bereaved home. The day before the funeral the corpse is brought home before sunset and placed in the bedroom. A night vigil then takes place, often lasting until the morning. The night vigil is a time for pastoral care, to comfort and encourage the bereaved. A ritual killing is sometimes made for the ancestors as it is believed that blood must be shed at this time to avoid further misfortune. Some people use the hide of the slaughtered beast to cover the corpse or place it on top of the coffin as a “blanket” for the deceased. Traditionally, the funeral takes place in the early morning (often before sunrise) and not late in the afternoon as it is believed that sorcerers move around in the afternoons looking for corpses to use for their evil purposes. Because sorcerers are asleep in the early morning, this is a good time to bury the dead.

In some communities children and unmarried adults are not allowed to attend the funeral. During the burial itself, the immediate family of the deceased is expected to stay together on one side of the grave at a designated place. They are forbidden from speaking or taking any vocal part in the funeral. It is customary to place the deceased’s personal property, including eating utensils, walking sticks, blankets, and other useful items, in the grave. After the funeral, the people are invited to the deceased’s home for the funeral meal. Many people follow a cleansing ritual at the gate of the house, where everyone must wash off the dust of the graveyard before entering the house. Sometimes pieces of cut aloe are placed in the water, and this water is believed to remove bad luck. Churches that use “holy water” sprinkle people to cleanse them from impurity at this time.

In southern Africa, the period of strict mourning usually continues for at least a week after the funeral. During this time the bereaved stay at home and do not socialize or have sexual contact. Some wear black clothes or black cloths fastened to their clothes, and shave their hair (including facial hair) from the day after the funeral. Because life is concentrated in the hair, shaving the hair symbolizes death, and its growing again indicates the strengthening of life. People in physical contact with a corpse are often regarded as unclean. The things belonging to the deceased should not be used at this time, such as the eating utensils or the chairs the deceased used. Blankets and anything else in contact with the deceased are all washed. The clothes of the deceased are wrapped up in a bundle and put away for a year or until the extended period of mourning has ended, after which they are distributed to family members or destroyed by burning. After a certain period of time, the house and the family must be cleansed from bad luck, from uncleanness and “darkness.” The bereaved family members are washed, and a ritual killing takes place. The time of the cleansing is usually seven days after the funeral, but some observe a month or even longer. Traditionally, a widow had to remain in mourning for a year after her husband’s death and the children of a deceased parent were in mourning for three months.

A practice that seems to be disappearing in African urban areas is the home-bringing ritual, although it is still observed in some parts of Africa. A month or two after the funeral, the grieving family, slaughters a beast and then goes to the graveyard. They speak to the ancestors to allow the deceased to return home to rest. It is believed that, at the graves, the spirits are hovering on the earth and are restless until they are brought home—an extremely dangerous situation for the family. The family members take some of the earth covering the grave and put it in a bottle. They proceed home with the assurance that the deceased relative is accompanying them to look after the family as an ancestor. Some Christian churches have a night vigil at the home of the deceased, after the home-bringing. The theologian Marthinus Daneel describes the ceremony in some Zimbabwean churches, where the living believers escort the spirit of the deceased relative to heaven through their prayers, after which a mediating role can be attained. The emphasis is on the transformation of the traditional rite while providing for the consolation of the bereaved family. This example shows how these churches try to eliminate an old practice without neglecting the traditionally conceived need that it has served.

These burial and mourning customs suggest that many practices still prevailing in African Christian funerals are vestiges of the ancestor cult, especially the ritual killings and the home-bringing rites. Because a funeral is preeminently a community affair in which the church is but one of many players, the church does not always determine the form of the funeral. Some of the indigenous rites have indeed been transformed and given Christian meanings, to which both Christians and those with traditional orientation can relate. Sometimes there are signs of confrontation and the changing and discontinuance of old customs to such an extent that they are no longer recognizable in that context.

African funerals are community affairs in which the whole community feels the grief of the bereaved and shares in it. The purpose of the activities preceding the funeral is to comfort, encourage, and heal those who are hurting. Thereafter, the churches see to it that the bereaved make the transition back to normal life as smoothly and as quickly as possible. This transition during the mourning period is sometimes accompanied by cleansing rituals by which the bereaved are assured of their acceptance and protection by God. Because the dominance of Christianity and Islam in Africa has resulted in the rejection of certain mourning customs, the funeral becomes an opportunity to declare faith.

“In the west, marriages are often the biggest life-cycle events. In Africa, it’s funerals by far,” said professor Michael Jindra, co-editor of “Funerals in Africa: Explorations of a Social Phenomenon.”

Jindra explains that such large events, designed to pay respect to the dead and honor one’s roots, also provide a kind of “social glue” for communities in many African societies: They are at the heart of social and cultural life, with status concerns, succession issues and family bonds also at stake.

Counting the costs of saying goodbye

The business of death

Yet, honoring those who’ve passed away can also exact an enormous financial toll on the already emotionally vulnerable relatives.

In South Africa, bereaved families often have to spend significant amounts to host lavish funerals and burial ceremonies. They are expected to host and feed extended relatives who visit from all over the country and can stay for weeks. Other costs include slaughtering a cow or a goat to honor the dead, renting hearse tents and arranging transportation to the burial ground for mourners.

“In many areas, a lot of people spend a lot of money on funerals. Sometimes, it’s out of choice for reasons of status, but other times, it’s simply out of the social pressure, and it is certainly putting burdens on people when they don’t have a lot of money,” said Jindra.

A 2009 report by economists Anne Case and Alicia Menendez found that the average price tag for an “honorable” funeral in South Africa between 2003 and 2005 was about 3,400 rand ($415), which is equivalent to 40% of the average annual household expenditure.  Read more: http://www.deathreference.com/A-Bi/African-Religions.html#ixzz2dBIpmftM


We Africans carry in our heritage the cradle of humanity. We carry the deep sorrows of slavery. We carry the suffering of AIDS leaving whole villages of only children.

We are living on the dark continent with yet so much light. In our African prayers. In our dances. In our stories. In our living. In our dying.

An African farmer used to sit in church for long periods of silence. When he was asked about this, he spoke of his God saying: “I look at him, and he looks at me and it is enough.”

Our prayers take many forms, especially when slavery took us to places far away from Africa. Jamaican reggae is one form. Christian gospels are another form. Yet they are still our prayers. African prayers.


Praise Ye Lord,
Peace be with us.

Say that the elders may have wisdom and speak with one voice.
Peace be with us.

Say that the country may have tranquillity.
Peace be with us.

And the people may continue to increase.
Peace be with us.

Say that the people and the flock and the herds
May prosper and be free from illness.
Peace be with us.

Say that the fields may bear much fruit
And the land may continue to be fertile.
Peace be with us.

May peace reign over earth,
May the gourd cup agree with vessel.
Peace be with us.

May their heads agree and every ill word be driven out
Into the wilderness, into the virgin forest.

– Kikuyu Peace Prayer –

http://www.godprayers.org/Kikuyu-Peace-Prayer.htm




Morning has risen;
God, take away from us every pain,
every ill, every mishap;
God, let us come safely home.

– Pygmy Women’s Prayer –
– The Prayers of African Religion. –
– London. S.P.C.K., Maryknoll. Orbis, 1975. –
– p.32. –


Praise Ye, Ngai … Peace be with us.

Say that the elders may have wisdom
and speak with one voice.
Peace be with us.

Say that the country may have tranquility.
Peace be with us.

And the people may continue to increase.
Peace be with us.

Say that the people and the flock and the herds
May prosper and be free from illness.
Peace be with us.

Say that the fields may bear much fruit
And the land may continue to be fertile.
Peace be with us.

May peace reign over earth,
May the gourd cup agree with the vessel.
Peace be with us.

May their heads agree and
every ill word be driven out
Into the wilderness, into the virgin forest.

Praise ye, Ngai … Peace be with us.

– Kikuyu, Kenya –


Wonderful one, you live
among the sheltering rocks.
You give rain to us people.

We pray to you,
hear us, O Strong One!
When we beg you, show your mercy.

You are in the highest places
with the spirits of the great ones.

You raise the grass-covered hills
above the earth,
and you make the rivers.
Gracious one!

– Rozwi, South Africa –

http://www.dailyom.com/library/000/000/000000461.html





Great is O King,
our happiness
in thy kingdom,
thou, our king.

We dance before thee,
our king,
by the strength
of thy kingdom.

May our feet
be made strong;
let us dance before thee,
eternal.

Give ye praise,
all angels,
to him above
who is worthy of praise.

– Zulu, South Africa –

http://www.dailyom.com/library/000/000/000000461.html


Lyrics to:                     Three Little Birds by Bob Marley

Dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin: dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right!

Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, this is my message
to you-ou-ou:

Thanks for the reminder, Felix!


Ope ni fun Olorun,
Gratitude to the Owner of the Realm of the Ancestors,
                                                               Iba Olodumare, Oba ajiki,
Homage to the Creator, the King who we praise first,

                                                                       Mo ji loni,
I awake today,

                                                               Mo wo’gun merin Aye,
I behold the four corners of the World,

Iba Elawori,
Homage to the Spirit of Purity,

Agbegi lere, la’fin ewu l’ado,
He who carves the cloth at Ado in the form of a sculpture,

Eiti Olodumare ko pa’jo iku e da,
The one whose date of death
has not been changed by the wind,

Omo Oluworiogbo,
Child of the Chief Priest who made
all the Heads that exist in Creation.

Iba’se ila Oorun,
Homage to the power of East,

Iba’se iwo Oorun,
Homage to the power of the West,

Iba’se Ariwa,
Homage to the power of the North,

Iba’se Guusu,
Homage to the power of the South,

Iba Oba Igbalaye,
Homage to the King of the Seasons of the Earth,

Iba Orun Oke,
Homage to the Invisible Realm of the Mountains,

Iba Atiwo Orun,
Homage to all things that live in the Invisible Realm,

……….

Iba Okiti biri, Oba ti np’ojo iku da,
Homage to the Averter of the final days,
The King who could change the time of Death,

Iba ate-ika eni Olodumare,
Homage to the mat that cannot be rolled up once laid out,

Iba Odemu demu kete a lenu ma fohun,
Homage to the power that extracts Goodness
from the Realm of the Invisible,

Iba’se awon Iku emese Orun,
Homage to the dead, the messengers of the Invisible Realm.

………..

– Iba’se, Parts of the Ifa Prayer of Praise, West Africa –


http://www.ijfm.org/PDFs_IJFM/02_3_PDFs/2_3%20Brown%20african%20funeral%20ceremony%20fixed2.pdfhttp://www.thefuneralsource.org/hi01.html#

http://www.deathreference.com/A-Bi/African-Religions.html

APA:
Bizarre rituals know of any? – Page 13 – David Icke’s … (n.d.). Retrieved from http://www.davidicke.com/forum/showthread.php?p=1059082053

The boys grief …


He is six-foot tall and wears a number 11 shoe. He has a beautiful open face, perfect teeth and a brilliant smile. He is very bright, a gifted sportsman, he is the “silent” type. He is Vic’s youngest son.

Last night he received an award at the school’s prize giving. His aggregate for the year 84.7% with 8 distinctions.

This is the most difficult year of his life. He lost his mom in the beginning of the academic year.


Jared is the perfect older brother.  He is fiercely protective of his younger brother.  Jared is gentle and caring.  He has a white soul…

On the surface the boys are coping well. They are “getting on” with their lives.


Thank goodness for social media…It gives me an insight into what is happening behind their stoic appearances.

Jon-Daniel’s WhatsApp status is “Live until you die.” That is the example his Mom set…

Jared posted on Facebook on the 18th of September “Can’t believe that it has already been 8 months… Miss you mommy… It feels like a lifetime already… Love you mom  always in our heart♥ forever in our memories…

On the 18th of September Jon-Daniel posted: “How? I ask myself.. It already been 8 months without the greatest Mommy in the world! Time has flown since January, but the memories have stayed. And they will always stay, along with that special place in my heart that is only for MY MOMMY! Love you always Mom, miss you stax!”

 On the 26th of September Jared posted on Facebook “Missing you mommy… you were always there for a laugh

The day of Stepping Stone Hospices’ official opening Jon-Daniel posted “Stepping Stone Hospice was officially opened this evening. Amazing to see 1 person’s dream can turn into something so big! And so amazing how much people will do for somebody they don’t know. Thank you to all that attended!”

 He cried in the doorway of the Vicky Bruce Room

 On the 11th of October he posted on Vic’s Facebook page “Mommy, I miss you! When are you coming home?”

 I am helpless in taking the children’s pain away. Their pain and grief is still so raw and deep.

The stress started years before Vic died. The boys grew up knowing that their Mommy was ill and in a lot of pain. They grew up living with Vic’s imminent death and dreadful suffering.

Teenagers appear to feel grief more intensely than adults, especially if one of their parents has died. The Adolescent Life Change Event Scale (ALCES), which mental-health specialists use to help quantify the events that are the most stress-inducing in teenagers, ranks a parent’s death as the number- one cause of adolescent stress. Second is the death of a brother or sister, followed by the death of a friend.

Teenagers are embarrassed by displays of grief and struggle to express their emotions. The boys seldom talk about their grief. They will tell me when the other brother is having a rough day….

 Jared was very concerned about how his little brother would cope with his first birthday without his Mom. He went to great measures to ensure that his little brother was “protected” from the grief on his birthday. He blew up 40 balloons so Jon-Daniel would wake up to “fun”. (Vic always had lots of balloons on the boys birthdays.)

 The firsts are coming fast and furious now. The first birthdays, prize giving’s, confirmations without their Mommy… Jared and my birthdays, Christmas and New Year is looming…

 I love the boys with every fibre in my body. I hate that they occasionally walk in on me when I am crying. I hate that I cannot make their pain better. I hate that I am so helpless.

 I wish I had died and not Vic. I wish that I could change places with my child. I wish I could rip the heartache out of my grandsons’ lives and hearts. I wish I could protect them.

 I wish I could shake the cold world out there and make them realise how much pain the boys are in….

Please pray for Vic’s boys. Pray that they will heal. Pray that God will hold and protect them. Pray that they will learn to be happy again. 

I pray that one day I will hear their happy, uncontrolled laughter echo through the house again.


https://tersiaburger.com/2013/03/20/i-love-you-angel-child/

https://tersiaburger.com/2013/09/18/the-shadow-of-grief/

https://tersiaburger.com/2013/09/11/your-children-are-not-your-children/

https://tersiaburger.com/2013/06/07/mommys-dream-is-coming-true/

Happy birthday angel boy


Today Vic’s youngest son turned 15. It is his first birthday without his Mommy. As a family we have dreaded it.

Vic was a birthday person. Banners all over the house, balloons, singing, speeches and lots of laughter. Vic loved parties especially when they were her sons’ birthday parties.

We cannot do what she did. It would not be right to do what she did. We need to create new traditions around birthdays.

It is a day filled with pride and heartbreak. I know many people will think and say that Vic is smiling down from Heaven on her baby boy today. I know she is weeping. Vic never wanted to die. She so desperately wanted to live. She wanted to be at her sons’ birthdays, tell them how proud she is of them…Vic wanted to mother her boys herself…

The day has come and gone. We all hid our feelings so well. We laughed, smiled and sang….

Tonight when I get into bed I will weep with my child for my grandson…

10th birthday
10th birthday
Pregnant with Jon-Daniel
Pregnant with Jon-Daniel

Jon-Daniel 13th birthday
Jon-Daniel 13th birthday
Vic wrapping Jon-Daniel's gift
Vic wrapping Jon-Daniel’s gift
Jared smearing cream all over the birthday boy's face...
Jared smearing cream all over the birthday boy’s face…

The Anniversary


There are times in the life of a terminally ill person that death is no longer the enemy but rather a friend.  Vic too surpassed all anniversaries and eventually I though she was invincible.  But with invincibility comes pain, indignity, despair, depression…  Thinking of you Mike in your brave journey.

I just can’t do it…


Today is a bad day. This past week has been a horrific week. I have missed Vic and her unconditional love so much this week.  Not only her unconditional love of and for me and her boys  but also the love that she radiated into the world…

1172314782066

I have looked through photos of Vic and going through her Facebook page, and I know I cannot do what she did.

I cannot bring the joy in her boys’ lives that she did. Vic was a fun person, and if she had one spare breath of oxygen in her little body she would organize a party. I looked at Vic’s photos, and I saw the fun she had with her boys.

100_8093 (2)

 

Alberton-20120114-00781

Vic would space bank energy and willpower to watch Jon-Daniel play tennis or cricket…  That took serious commitment!

I know I am their safe haven.  I can just never be what Vic was in their lives.

I miss laughing.  I miss being happy.

Your children are not your children…


Of course I have read the words of Khalil Gibran many times. Yet this morning I read these words with and through different eyes. I read the blog post of one of my favourite bloggers –

http://deodatusblog.wordpress.com/2013/09/10/your-children-are-not-your-children-they-are-sons-and-daughters-of-lifes-longing-for-itself-says-khalil-gibran/ and was overwhelmed with the exquisite words of guidance contained in this beautiful poem.

Read this with me.

Your children are not your children.

“Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.  
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the make upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness.
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He also loves the bow that is stable.”                        
– Khalil Gibran

As a mother who carried a precious baby in her womb for almost 9 months my eyes lingered on the words “They come through you but not from you.” Vic came from me? An umbilical cord that was never severed, bound us together from the first second she were conceived. Even though death took my child from me the umbilical cord of love that bounds us cannot be severed. My love for Vic supersedes the bonds of death.

So no, I don’t agree with Gibran although I understand what he is saying. In this case I prefer literally translating his words…

                                      And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.                                                                    You may give them your love but not your thoughts,                                                                 For they have their own thoughts..

 How poignantly true these words are. As a parent it was horrible watching Vic make mistakes…knowing that her actions and decisions would lead to heartache and tears. How I wished that she would see things my way! My way would have been the safe way. Vic would have been spared rivers of tears and mountains of heartache. My way would have deprived her of great joy and happiness. As a mother I picked up pieces, held her and loved her. I could not protect her. Vic had her own thoughts!

IMG_3456

You may house their bodies but not their souls,     For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

 I housed Vic’s little body. The moment of greatest sadness in my life was when Vic’s soul left her body. I was grateful that her suffering was over but devastated that our journey as mother and daughter was over. I knew that she instantly became an elevated being removed from the hardship and indignity that she suffered on earth. I knew that she would never be prod, cut, hurt or be humiliated again. As her mother, I bathed her and dressed her one last time, as I did when she was born. No other prying, clinical hands would touch her again. I was beyond grief knowing that I would never be able to talk to her again. I would never hold her again. I would never hear her say “Love you Mommy” again. My soul mate, my life was gone. My child’s soul now dwells in the house of tomorrow that I cannot visit or even comprehend.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.  For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.  For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

 I never wanted Vic to be like me. Vic was strong, brave, loved, cherished, admired, gentle, loving, forgiving and vulnerable. I am tough, logical and emotionally distant. I allow very few people close to me and, if they betray my love and trust, I cut them out of my life. As a little girl, Vic said to me “I don’t want to be like you Mommy. I just want to be a normal mummy.” Vic was the one who taught me patience, unconditional love, forgiveness and to take a chance on life and love. Vic lived every second of her life. She did not fear emotion. She did not fear love and trust. I pray that her sons will remember these qualities their mother possessed. I pray that they will be more like her than me. I did however love Vic first and everyone else second… Jon-Daniel(1)

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.  The archer sees the make upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.  Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness.  For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He also loves the bow that is stable.”

 I was the bow that send my precious girl-child forth. 

The boys do archery as an extracariculum activity. To be a good archer you need consistent anchor points: An anchor point is the place on your face where you pull the string back to consistently. This anchor point should be exactly the same all the time for a consistent grouping of shots. My parents taught me, by example, the importance consistency in values, discipline and love.

An archers grip on the bow handle should be lax and comfortable. My first instinct as a parent was “to grip the bow hard to stabilize it”. My parents taught me to be a comfortable parent. I did my best. I could not do more. No amount of tightening the grip on Vic, her discipline or my love and caring for her would have made me a better parent. My grip was lax and comfortable. My child was an amazing example to the world.

 Whether you’re doing target archery, 3D archery, or bow hunting, it is vital to concentrate and focus on one precise spot that you want to hit. As a parent is was difficult to stay focused all the time. Lots of things “get in the way” of parenting. A new love, work, own dreams and ambitions…Yet I gave birth to my incredible baby girl and I knew I had to remain focused. Vic had to come first. She did not chose to be born. I chose to give birth to her.

 Archers are told that to be relaxed whilst aiming, is one of the great secrets to success… As a parent it was almost impossible to relax. I spent my child’s life trying to keep her alive. If I relaxed I know it could have led to her death. When your child is sickly, you are overprotective… Today I wish I had relaxed more. I wish I had spent more time discussing things that, mattered to Vic than the number and colour of her bowel movements and vomiting sessions. I wish I had relaxed about her smoking. Smoking did not kill her. Doctors did.

 “At the heart of it, mastery is practice. Mastery is staying on the path.” With parenting we practice as we go. We don’t ever stop or give up. I wish that we had more gladness in our lives and less sorrow and pain.

 What I am certain of is that I was a stable bow. I was unwavering in my love and commitment to Vic and now her boys. The Great Archer held us in His great Hands.

 I found this beautiful poem on http://warrenlgdemills.com/2013/05/11/umbilical-cords-a-mothers-day-poem/. Warren is an amazing poet and I have found much solace in his words.

Umbilical Cords – A Mother’s Day Poem
Posted: May 11, 2013 in Affections
Tags: love, mother’s day, poems, Poetry 1

Umbilical cords
Are but metaphors
To represent the eternal
Connection between mother
And child.

Though that cord may be severed
That love supersedes the bonds of death.
For they are the cords of life!

When a child is born
so is a mother.
It is the graduation of a girl
To a woman.
The transition from
Woman to mother.
The ascension of adult
To goddess, creator of life.

Oh great goddess,
Would you understand
The power within you?
Would you fathom
the role you play
On the stage of life?

By your love
Is a great man groomed.
By your neglect
is his future family doomed.
By your touch
Is intimacy first understood.
By your hand
Does he separate bad from good.

Oh great goddess,
For every good child
Reared from your breast
There is a star in the cosmos
To be named after you.

Though that cord was cut
You replaced it with one unseen
Your care, patience for years,
To provide the world with one more
Decent young man to make this world
A better place.

-WLGDM

All Rights Reserved. Property of Warren L.G De Mills. Copyright @ 2013.

Jared♡ĶįƦƧƳ.Ș♡(1)

Selfless love


Albrecht_Dürer_-_Praying_Hands,_1508_-_Google_Art_Project

“Selfless love means to love regardless of your personal needs. You love whole heartedly without loving yourself, without any personal gain. It is the opposite of selfish love.” http://www.ask.com/question/meaning-of-selfless-love

We live in a world where we are encouraged to develop our own individuality. We are brought up in a competitive world.  The desire to “win” or “be superior” to others often dominate our lives and the lives of our children.

We subconsciously seek to gain “something” from situations and persons we encounter. Many people enter into relationships in order to fill the huge gap of longing to be whole. This desire-based motivation is the main obstacle to loving unconditionally.

When we evaluate and categorize everything through the filter of past experiences, we calculate love through feelings of attraction, aversion, or indifference, and our behavior reflects this.

In this process, we miss any possibility of true love.

When I read this amazing story about selfless love I felt I had to share it.  True and selfless love is rare…

Reposted from http://morningstoryanddilbert.wordpress.com/2013/08/13/2616/

Vintage Dilbert
August 13, 2003

Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder’s children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.

After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines. They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.

Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht’s etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.

When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht’s triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, “And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will support you.”

All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated over and over, “No … no … no … no.”

Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, “No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look … look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother … for me it is too late.”

More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer’s hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer’s works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.

One day, long ago, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother’s abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply “Hands,” but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love “The Praying Hands.”

 

A picture of the "Praying Hands" Can be found at:
 https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10201402047003494&l=1d9c179e7e

 

Share this:

 

Mother and Child


In the 206 days since Vic died I have never missed her as much as now.

My UK daughter-in-law and her three girls are visiting. The poor little poppets have all had a gastric bug. The girls are amazing and I love them with every fibre in my body and they love me too. What struck me once again this week is that incredible bond between a mother and daughter. When a child is ill they want their Mommy. There is no substitute for a Mommy.

Dr Christiane Northrup, author of the book Mother-Daughter Wisdom (Hay House), says: “The mother-daughter relationship is the most powerful bond in the world, for better or for worse. It sets the stage for all other relationships.”

No other childhood experience is as compelling as a young girl’s relationship with her mother. Mothers impart on their daughters how she feels about being female, what she believes about her body, how she takes care of her health, and what she believes is possible in life.

Jennie Hannan, executive general manager of services at counselling provider Anglicare WA, agrees. “How a woman sees herself, how she is in her adult relationships with partners, and how she mothers her own children, is profoundly influenced by her relationship with her own mother,” she says.

When Vic was ill she wanted her Mommy. Last year, when she had her arm operation, she was so distraught in ICU that the staff asked me to stay with her around the clock. With each and every major surgery she ever had (excluding one knee operation), my face was the first she saw. Vic knew that I stayed outside the ICU until she was released into the ward. More often than not, I was not allowed to sit with her all the time but she knew I was there.

I am not exactly gifted in sewing or knitting… (It was the only subject I ever failed at school) yet I knitted Vic a massive blanket in 2007 sitting outside ICU and next to her hospital bed. I only ever knitted at hospital and I am a very slow knitter. If we had buried Vic I would have buried her wrapped in her blankie… My life ground to an absolute halt when Vic was in ICU or hospital.

Witnessing this incredible bond the past 2.5 weeks has brought back incredible memories of Vic sitting on my lap, her little arms curled around me and her head nestled into my neck. That incredible trust and reliance between us.

My daughter-in-law and I sit and chat into the early hours of the morning. She has a happy disposition. Her life revolves around her family. She has an easy laugh and great sense of humour. If ever I went into a Quiz Show and there was show business section I would want her next to my side. When she goes to bed she gives me a hug. I love this woman for her kindness and compassion.

I realised how much I have missed that companionship, our chats into the early hours of the morning. Somehow it truly made me realise that my child is dead and I am alone.

Jared, Vic’s eldest has come down with the girls’ gastric bug. His dad brought him home early because he wanted to be home…. He got straight into bed. I sat down next to him and asked him how he was feeling. I could hear the tears in his voice when he said “really ill…” I could hear the forlornness in his voice; his longing for his mother to be sitting on his bed.

Dear Mommy…                                                             Words could never explain what you mean to me…It always meant so much to me that no matter how bad you felt or how sick you were, you always went out of your way to do anything and everything you could for us… Always going out of your way to make everyone’s life easier especially mine…

You were always my hero… No matter how sick you were every morning you woke up and got dressed. Even if you didn’t do anything you always looked your best…

I love you so much mommy… You made such an impact on everyone’s life that you will never be forgotten…you will forever live in our memories as the bravest woman and best Mommy of all time…

No one will ever be able to replace you…

Jared

Jared is alone today. Jon-Daniel lit candles for Vic when he arrived home. Jon-Daniel is alone today.  How can such a tiny, sickly person leave such a horrific void in our lives? A mother and a child cannot be substituted or replaced. It is as simple as this.

Precious Vic, we miss you so much!!  We are all feeling miserable without you.  We miss that incredible bond we had with you.  We want you back at home.

I am alive


Vic and my eldest UK grandchild in 2010

I am having a wonderful visit in England with my UK grandchildren and kids.  The house is filled with the patter of little feet and shrieks of laughter and despair.  Toys lie scattered on the floor and little arms and legs curl around their Oumie.  It is a happy home, and I am fresh meat…

“Oumie, please can we jump on the trampoline?”

I have spent two days jumping on a trampoline…Thank God it rained today!!!

I have been consumed with the feeling of “life” in the household.  Life, joy, movement…easy laughter and sibling rivalry. Everything that poor Vic never really experienced.

How desperately she wanted to live. How desperately she craved a normal life. How desperately she craved to LIVE! How desperately we wanted her to live.

We never have enough time. We always want more. Vic wanted more time. On the 24th of September, last year, when the Hospice doctor came in for Vic’s evaluation, Vic said “I thought I had more time…”  https://tersiaburger.com/2012/09/24/mommy-i-thought-i-had-more-time/

Six days before her death she cried and said she wanted to live. “If only I could live for another year…”

How little we know of what there is to know. I wish that I were going to live a long time instead of going to die today because I have learned much about life in these four days; more, I think than in all other time. I’d like to be an old man to really know. I wonder if you keep on learning or if there is only a certain amount each man can understand. I thought I knew so many things that I know nothing of. I wish there was more time.” –Ernest Hemingway.

I am wordless.

I know that I am still numb.

I am sad.

I am happy.

I am alive.

I wish I wasn’t…

I don’t want to ever leave my loved ones – as my child did not want to…..

Vic and the Girls
Vic and the Girls

Life is so unfair!!!!

176 days…..4234 hours


In the words of William Shakespeare…

“Time is very slow for those who wait;
very fast for those who are scared;
very long for those who lament;
very short for those who celebrate;                                                                                            but for those who love, time is eternal.”

It is Friday again.  I hate Fridays.  A mere 176 days ago my precious child died.  It seems as if it has been a lifetime.  It makes more sense when I say Vic died 4234 hours ago…

Yet, it seems as if it was yesterday.  292718_395925797163521_948785461_n

Vic’s ashes


I truly felt that I should shatter some of Vic’s ashes at Chaka’s Rock. Once I got there I started doubting the wisdom of my decision. We walked on the beach and I waited for a sign….for a white feather to find me.

Friday morning it was time to return home. I had still not received a feather….and Vic was coming home with us – all intact!

The boys and I decided to scatter flowers for Vic. She loved symbolic actions!

It was a pretty dismal day. It was as if the angels were sad for us too… It was gently drizzling when we made our way to the beach. We decided to go to Vic’s favourite spot. Every single year Vic would insist on getting to the beach at least once! She walked with drips stands, we pushed her in her wheelchair, and we carried her to the edge of the water.

The tide was coming in. For a while we just stood on the beach staring at the sea. Looking at the gentle waves crushing on the sand I knew that the flowers would be washed out again.

I tossed the first flower. The boys followed suit…

I stood there mesmerised by the ethereal life of the crashing waves. It was as if the waves whispered “I was here and I lived a life”… Waves formed, were pushed toward the shore, where they collapsed and returned to the ocean. Sometimes waves leave behind ocean treasures they have picked up and carried along with them. Sometimes, the foam, created when air mixes into the water, is the only thing left behind. On Friday the waves carried the flowers back and forth – back and forth crushing the flowers and disposing of the gentle pedals.

The boys and I wrote on the sand. The waves erasing our words….

We stood and our tears mingled with the salty sea water.

The flower pedals were strewn on the beach in the shape of a half heart…

After a long time we left. Our faces wet from the rain and our tears.

Strangely we were at peace. We had survived another first. Next year we will return to Chaka’s with some old memories but also with new memories!

https://tersiaburger.com/2013/07/03/i-am-waiting-for-a-sign/

 

I wish you peace…


Peace is not the absence of trouble; it is the presence of God



You are strong… when you take your grief and teach it to smile.






You are brave… when you overcome your fear and help others to do the same.






You are happy… when you see a flower and are thankful for the blessing.





You love… when your own pain does not blind you to the pain of others.






You are wise… when you know the limits of your wisdom.






You are true… when you admit there are times you fool yourself.





You are alive… when tomorrows hope means more to you than yesterday’s mistake.






You are growing… when you know that you are but not what you are becoming.






You are free… when you are in control of yourself but do not wish to control others.







You are honourable… when you find your honour is to honour others.





You are generous… when you can give as sweetly as you take.






You are humble… when you do not know how humble you are.






You are beautiful… when you don’t need a mirror to tell you.






You are rich… when you never need more than you have.







You are you… when you are at peace with who you are not.





I wish you peace, today, tomorrow and forever


I am waiting for a sign


I came to Chaka’s Rock with the intention of scattering some of Vic’s ashes here. The rest we would bury in her Angel Garden at home.

When we arrived we went shopping and came back with beautiful flowers. Vic’s photo and ashes are in the dining room that has a beautiful view of the ocean. Her flowers next to her…

Somehow I have just not been able to make my way down to the beach with Vic’s ashes. I know that I will receive a sign from her that this is what she wants… When a white feather finds me I will know it is the right time and place.

Vic and I often spoke about what to do with her ashes.

“Mommy, you can decide what to do with my ashes…”

“What would you want me to do with your ashes Angel?” I would ask

“You can decide Mommy. You can put me in the Wall of Remembrance with my Father if you want?” Vic would reply

“Maybe we will just make a memorial garden for you and keep you with us…” I would say

“Oh, that would be good Mommy!” Vic would say “That is what I would do for you…”

I am waiting to see if a white feather finds me…

New memories…


20130628_162429 20130628_163721 20130628_16561220130628_163704

Funny/scary faces...
Funny/scary faces…

Chaka’s Rock 2013

A Mother’s Love for her Sons


A year ago I posted this.  As I said in my previous post – Chaka’s 2012 is a separate story.  I am reposting the separate story…

I have been researching the effect of a mother’s illness on her children.  The boys are two beautiful, well-adjusted, honest and compassionate young men.  Vic’s illness has certainly deprived them of a childhood in the true sense of the word and prematurely matured them into compassionate, caring, young men far too early in life.  At the tender age of thirteen Jared was cooking for the family…  This must certainly have an effect on how the boys perceive relationships with people.

Now according to my research the boys have become what is called ‘parentified’ children. These children solve the problem of sick and inadequate parenting by taking care of their

parents. They in effect become     parents to their parents, giving to the sick parent what they need from the parent. Now the roles are reversed. This seemingly creative solution is unfortunately too self-sacrificing to be healthy in the long run.

“‘Parentified’ sons who take care of their sick mothers in order to cope with their inability to parent, struggle to suppress obvious needs for love and feelings of loss. They learn to work hard taking care of the needs of others and living off of the scraps that come in the form of reinforcements for their competence and reliability. Their needs for love are overlooked and overshadowed by everyone else’s needs.”  The boys, especially Jared, falls into this category 100%.  When his little girlfriend was hit in the eye by a hockey ball, he immediately went into caregiving mode,  At the time I thought it to be extremely unhealthy that he already has this caregiving character trait.  He used to always make the tea and offer to do so much around the house and for his Mom.

I have put a stop to this.  I pray it is not too late for the boys to adjust to a “normal” household…

It is however important for them to realize that death is a part of the circle of life and that it is not something dark and something to be feared but rather, if happening in a timely fashion, something that one can embrace. The boys appreciate and respect Vic as their mother.   Vic has raised her sons to be respectful.

“The power of a mother’s strength comes from her heart, from her unabashed, unconditional, and unwavering love for her child. There is, as J.K. Rowling wrote in her Harry Potter books, a magic in that love. No matter what happens, a mother is always there for her child. A mother’s love is never to be questioned, and – though she may not know it at first – neither is her strength.”

Vic literally rose from her deathbed to be there for Jared with his operation on Wednesday.  When my Mom died I related her final moments to someone jumping from a diving board into a deep pool, reaching the bottom and kicking to rise to the surface of the water for one more breath… only to sink again.  This is what Vic does.

Before Jared was wheeled into theatre he whispered into his mom’s ear.  She took his hand and said “I promise”.

Vic, drip in hand, walking with Jared to theater!

The surgeon said the operation would last two hours.  Vic dutifully went back to bed and rested.  One hour and forty-five minutes later she was, IV drip in hand, standing outside the theatre door, waiting for her son.  I begged her to at least sit on the chair, but she refused.  “Mommy, I promised Jared my face would be the first thing he sees when he comes out of theatre!”

It took a superhuman effort, but Vic’s love for her son drove her to keep her word.  It is true that no mother wants her child to suffer in any way, but life is unfair like that. So, we as mother’s do what we can to provide support, comfort, and protection. And we grow strong enough to bear their hurt as well as our own.  As Vic did.  As I do. Motherhood cuts deeply, brings you to your knees most days; but it also brings a strength that may surprise you.

The vicious cycle of anger truly rose to the occasions on Wednesday.  I got angry with Vic because she was not putting her health first!  I KNOW I would have done the same but it was terrible seeing my child do herself harm to be a Mother.  I want to wrap her in cotton so she would be spared that extra day…

Yesterday Vic said she doubted whether she would see the end of the year.  She is however adamant to be at Jared’s confirmation…one more goal…

Go Girl!!!

Well, Vic is home.  I am so grateful.  She is conceding that she is too sore and ill to go to hospital…Saturday Jared comes home!!

Share this: