Vic’s own journal 24.3.2003


Vic and her boys 1999
Vic and her boys 1999

A glimpse into Vic’s life and soul…a journal entry she made on the 24th of March 2003

“And so it begins.  Tomorrow is the first surgery of this year.  My poor children. My family.  This is so difficult.  I am panic-stricken, but not about the surgery. I promised Jared we would have a nice school holiday. It’s his first holiday and he was so excited about staying home with his mommy.  I’m his mommy….  Do you know that?  It doesn’t always feel like it. Do you understand? Do you know what I mean?  I’m sure you know what I mean. It doesn’t always feel real. I carried them.  I gave birth to them but there are days when they don’t even feel like my children.  What if I die tomorrow?  Are they going to remember me? What have I really meant in their lives?  Everyone is so amazing about my bone disease that I sometimes feel smothered by their love.  Does that make sense? Does that make me ungrateful?  I feel so guilty. People have been unbelievable.  I never knew that there were so many special people in this world.  I have been carried on the wings of their prayers.

My poor children.  I already miss them.  I know this sounds jumbled but that is how I’m feeling.  I feel like there is a hole in my stomach. I never slept last night. Again.  I always think that Col and I will be closer or at least loving the day before my ops because everyone else is.  But it never is that way. People are so amazing. Everyone phoning and wishing us well and saying prays for us, but then I don’t get to spend any time with the children or Colin. We land up shouting at the kids, because they keep trying to get our attention.  We try to eat and the phone rings. We try to bath and the phone rings. Colin asked me to send off some documents, to the auditors and I promised I would do it this morning and by the time he got home I still had not done it, which already irritated Col.  So I sent them off while Col and the boys ate dinner and my food stood getting cold.  What if I die tomorrow?  I wouldn’t even have enjoyed my last dinner with my family.

Mom does placements in East Africa and I help out by making the phone calls and making appointments for the interviews. (I get paid for it, very well at that). And I really enjoy doing it.  It is something that I know I am good at.  I am an organiser by nature.  I become obsessive with the details and the smaller details to make it go smoothly.  The only thing is that mom only found out last night that we needed to do 6 placements and the guys from East Africa are coming on Monday and mom still needs to do the filtering process before they arrive.  Today is Wednesday.  Tomorrow is hospital. Mom starts interviewing Friday. She is interviewing on Saturday as well. Mom always says if you want something done give it to a busy person.  But today, I feel swamped.  I like things in little neat packages. Not disorganised.  I specially kept Jon-Daniel home because of me going to hospital and I did not get to even have a game of fingerboard with the children. I only found out on Tuesday that I was being operated on Thursday.  I haven’t packed yet.  Col and I are bickering, because I’m not getting to him and today he had a very important meeting with his boss.  And we couldn’t get around to talk about it.  It was about his package.  We are really battling financially.  But that’s another story.  (I know you know what I’m talking about.  We all go through it at some point in our lives.)  I was so proud of Colin.  To approach his boss for an increase was extremely difficult for him.  It has taken him 4 months to do it. Colin is very proud. I think most men are, but Colin comes across as very blasé, which he really isn’t. 

I become tearful when I think of going back to hospital.  It is so difficult for me and people don’t understand that I’ve built up such a resistance to hospital.  What really hurts is that I spend so much time in hospital that people don’t come and see me especially if I’m only in for a few days.  Life just keeps going on. Nothing changes. It was the same after my father died 3 years ago.  I so wished life would stand still and mourn with me.”

Old habits die hard….


Yuri and his beloved aunt Vic
Yuri and his beloved aunt Vic

Today we had our first real family get together after Vic’s memorial service.  It was Esther’s birthday on the 20th of February.

I was uncertain about how the boys and I would handle it.  It was our first family get together without Vic.

I was amazed at how much less time the cooking and baking took….not because there was one person less to cook for, but because there was no interruptions….I was always up and down the passage checking on Vic, helping her go to the bathroom, giving her meds or injections, cleaning up vomit… Sometimes I would check on her and we would just end up chatting or watching Cake Boss….

Vic always tried to help…poor little poppet!  She would ask over and over again “How can I help Mommy?”  If the truth be known she only got in my way but I loved the “us” time… Sometimes I would ask her to add the cheese to the cheese sauce whilst I stirred…  She would take great pleasure in telling everyone that we baked or cooked….

Jared and I went off to Driving School this morning.  I would get home just in time for the boys to set the tables under the trees in the garden and for me to finish off the meal.

Everyone arrived and the house was filled with happy, excited voices and the sound of children running around.  It was a perfect summer day.  For the first time in a long time lunch was ready, not a single dish burnt or spoilt…. My grandchildren are ALL fussy eaters.  For once they ate all their food and went back for seconds and even thirds…

Esther told us that Yuri (6 years old), my youngest grandson, had a show and tell at school.  He spoke about his family.  He showed the class a photo of his mom, dad and brother.  He also showed them a camping photo of him and his daddy.  He told his class he was so lucky to have three grans and two granddads… His “gran number 3 is cool because she builds armoured vehicles and gives him lots of sweets”.  I am gran number 3….He showed his class a photo of Vic and told them that she was his “beloved” aunt Vic who is already in Heaven with Jesus…  Apparently the class of pre-schoolers all appropriately “ooh-ed and Aaah-ed”…

I cried a quiet tear.

Kari and Simone individually came up and hugged me.  “How are you Ouma?” they asked with real concern…All the grandchildren are sleeping over tonight.  The house is alive with their youthful enthusiasm and energy.

It was a lovely day and a wonderful evening.  I missed Vic so much – at times I walked away because I had teared up again… It will always be great to be with loved ones, but it has changed forever.

There was an extra setting at the table and an empty seat….The boys unthinkingly set a place for their mom….Old habits die-hard!

I missed you so much my Angle Child!!

 

4027 days


Vic

Eleven years and ten days ago Vic had her first blotched back surgery that lead to 81 abdominal surgeries.  She lived another 4027 days with excruciating pain, indignity and misery because of the ego and arrogance of a neurosurgeon.  Her little body systematically being destroyed by the sepsis left behind by an idiot doctor.

Dr FS, you arrogant fool, you stole my daughter’s life, you stole a mother from two young boys, you stole her smile, her joy, her laughter, her marriage, her hope!  You gave her despair, pain, a mangled broken body, faeces running out of her intestines into a bag,  an open wound.

You coward, you would not face me in the passages of the Milpark ICU.  You denied me the truth.  You stole my child’s life!

You called my child a morphine addict.  You withheld opiates from her after surgery.  You SAID that the sepsis in the Pro-disc could be stopped with antibiotics…It was not necessary to remove and replace it…. 4027 days later it took her life…. Her little body riddled with infection, her body burning up with fever!  For 4027 days she suffered!

You condemned my child to 11 years of horrific suffering and misery.  Not a single day of her last 4027 days was she without pain.

I wish you saw her tears of pain whilst she was packing her little boys lunch boxes.  I wish you heard her 4-year old son say “Don’t worry Mommy.  I made my and my brothers beds because your back is sore”.  I wish you saw the despair in her sons eyes.  She was never able to give them a “normal” life.  You ensured that they spent their childhoods in their sick mother’s bedroom and not in the garden playing ball with her…

I still hear her saying “Mommy I am so sore even my ears ache…”

What do you hear?  The crisp sound of money? Certainly not my little girl’s screams’ of pain!

If only you said those magic words…”I am sorry….”  You arrogant fool the only words you uttered were “I refuse to accept that I am the cause of Vicky’s condition…”

Coward!  I hate you.  You have my daughter’s death on your conscience.  I hope you rot in hell!

https://tersiaburger.com/2012/10/19/the-albatross/

Esther’s Living Eulogy


Esther was the first of Danie’s children that I met, when we started dating.  It was a couple of weeks before her wedding.  I was so thrilled when she asked me to go with her for the final fitting of her wedding dress

I will never forget her words to me in the car that day:  “Don’t worry about us kids.  Just worry about you and my dad”

I cannot remember whether I articulated my fear of her and her siblings, but she sensed it!

I was PETRIFIED of Danie’s four children.  I did not particularly like children.  Maybe my mind refused to accept the fact that I love children because I made the conscious decision to not subject a second or third child to Osteogenesis Imperfecta.  The OI gene was passed onto Vic by her Dad, but we had been divorced for many, many years and I accepted that I could not have another child.  I did not have space in my heart for another child.

I loved Vic with an all-consuming love.  I did not always like her, but I always loved her!

I met the kids and I was petrified.   They were livelier than any other children I had ever met with their own little quirks.  I actually never dated a man with children until I met Danie!

I blogged on the proposal before and will not bore you with the beautiful details of it again… https://tersiaburger.com/2012/10/05/danie-the-wind-beneath-my-wings/  .  You are welcome to read the post on it.

We have been married for 22 years.  For 22 years these amazing children have crept into my heart and firmly lodged themselves there.  They have accepted me into their lives.  They loved and nurtured my Vic.  I am a punker bunker granny to their children…

Esther, is very outspoken, to the point, honest and an amazing wife and mother.  She is loyal to a fault, independent and fiercely protective of her loved ones.  Esther is compassionate and unbelievably intelligent.  She has a superb sense of humour but very sensitive.  She is an amazing person.

Esther nursed her husband through Stage 4 Colon Cancer.  She researches nutritional sites for correct and healthy food.  She is totally focused on her family and will demolish anyone or anything that threatens them.

5.10.2012
5.10.2012

Esther was truly the sister Vic always wanted.  There were times when things were rough between them.  There were differences and some hurt.  But…there was a gentle love between the sisters.

Esther popped in to visit Vic almost every day.  They texted and BBM’d.  They shared war stories about their children.  Esther was Vic safety blanket… Esther would lie in bed with Vic and hold her hand.  She encouraged and helped.  As a pharmacist she was amazing in assisting us with Vic’s meds in the last couple of weeks.   As a sister she told Vic to let go; that the boys were safe; that she was loved and would never be forgotten.  She told Vic to go towards the light…. Jon-Daniel went to stay with her in the last days of Vic’s life.  She was there when Vic left home the last time.  She may have been there when Vic stopped breathing – I can’t remember.  I know that she sprayed Vic’s favourite perfume on her before Vic left home….

1.1.2013
1.1.2013

 

Esther and Leon with Vic 10.1.2013
Esther and Leon with Vic 10.1.2013

So Esther, if you read this know that I love you deeply.  Know that I respect you for the beautiful person you are and for being an amazing mother to my beautiful grandsons.  Thank you for the joy you bring in your father’s life.  He loves you with an intensity that is scary.  When Vic died he cried and said he cannot imagine it being you…that he hoped you would end up on the same cloud one day….

Esther and her dad
Esther and her dad

Thank you for loving Vic the way you did.  Thank you for comforting her in her hour of need.  Thank you for coaching her towards the end of her life.  Thank you for loving the boys and having compassionate conversations with them…. You know what I am talking about!

I wish you joy and happiness in the year ahead.  I love and admire you.

I want to be an eagle


Photo Credit:  http://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=a4HSdquhxAfXUM&tbnid=bvrLKK8OWwZQ2M:&ved=0CAcQjB0wADivAQ&url=http%3A%2F%2Fdaryl-hunter.net%2Fslideshow%2Feagles-nest-idaho-snake-river%2F&ei=UdAjUYbdBO6a1AWewoAQ&psig=AFQjCNHGyZZ71w_6bQPcV6e5EXHslosATg&ust=1361387985127753
Photo Credit: Google

My late father was pretty advanced in his journey with Alzheimers when I read that AD patients respond well to animals.  We got my Dad a little Maltese Poodle and it was love at first sight.

My Dad absolutely adored Tiger.  He carried Tiger everywhere and Tiger sat with him, ate with him and slept with him.

One day my Dad and I were chatting and I asked him: “If you could be any animal what would you be?”

I fully expected him to say a Lion – he loved the magnificence of lions…I love eagles.  I don’t think Dad quite understood what I was asking and said “You go first…”

“I would want to be an eagle…” I said

“Why?” he asked

“I want to soar high above the sky and experience that total solitude and quiet…” I replied

“Oh” Dad said.  “I would want to be this little guy”

Dad did not remember the name of his beloved dog but he knew that the dog was loved, nurtured and spoilt!

I have always equated the turmoil of teenage and parent relationships as an “Eagle” relationship.  The following is an extract from a site –  http://www.eagleflight.org/cyberstudies/actions-and-attitudes-of-a-growing-church/157-with-eagles-wings.  I have changed some of the headings and removed text that is not relevant but basically the content below belongs to http://www.eagleflight.com

Location is very important to the eagle and it’s young. If possible, eagles build their nests on the face of cliffs. They don’t build a nest in a tree unless they absolutely have to, because a nest in a tree can be easily accessed. They don’t build it on the top of the cliff, either, because on the top of a cliff it can be violated, too. Eagles build their nests in some inaccessible place.

The nest is built with consummate skill—not using little twigs, but great branches woven together in an immensely skillful way. If somehow an eagle’s nest is loosed from its moorings and falls, it rarely comes apart. In fact, eagles’ nests are so big, they have weighed in at half a ton! They’re comfortable, too. Their centers are carefully lined with feathers and leaves, and the eggs are placed there. When they hatch, the mother begins the process of feeding the babies.

After the eaglets get to a certain size, or maturity, everything changes! One day the mother eagle comes back from being gone, but this time there’s no food in her beak, and she doesn’t land on the edge of the nest. Instead, she hovers over the nest.

You may not know this, but an eagle can do almost what a hummingbird can do. Even though they are great birds, they can remain almost motionless in midair with those great wings just undulating in the breeze. They do this about three feet above the nest. I’m sure if little eagles could talk to one another—and maybe they can—one would certainly say, “My, what strong wings Mommy has.”

Why does the mother do this? She is demonstrating that those curious appendages on the babies’ backs have a useful function. Eagles, of course, were meant to fly, but they don’t know that. If we take an eagle and separate it at birth from its parents, it will never learn to fly. It will just grovel around in the dirt like a chicken. It might even look up and see eagles soaring overhead and never guess that it was meant to soar in the heavens.

Eagles have to be taught, and that’s the mother’s job. So first she just demonstrates.

The next thing she does is come down into the nest and surprise her young. One can imagine how warm it must normally be for the little eagles to snuggle with their mother and be enshrouded with her feathers, but this time she puts her head up against one of the little ones, and pushes that little one closer and closer to the edge of the nest. (“Hey mom, mom, what are you doing?”)

All at once she pushes the little one out of the nest, and the eaglet falls down the face of the cliff, surely to be destroyed. But not so! In a flash the great mother eagle flies down, catches the little one on her back, and flies up and deposits it in the nest. (“Whew! Mom, that must have been an accident.”) But it wasn’t an accident. The mother bird pushes the little one out again, and again, over and over.

Why would a mother do that to her young? Does she hates the little one? Not at all. It’s just that those little birds were made to fly, and they don’t know it, so she is going to push them out of the nest. She never lets them hit bottom, but she does let them fall, because they have to learn something they don’t know.

The next time the mother bird comes back she decides to clean house, and so she stands on the edge of the nest. The first things to go are the feathers inside; she drops them over the edge. Then the leaves go over the edge—heave ho! While this is going on, she’s not very talkative, either. (“Mom, what are you doing?”) She pays no attention. Since she built the house, she knows how to take it apart.

Next she decides to take the sticks out of the middle of the nest, and with her great strong beak and feet, she’s able to break them off and stand them straight up. (“Mom, it’s not comfortable in here anymore.”) Then she takes certain key sticks out of the nest and throws them over the edge. (“What are you doing, Mom? You are wrecking my room.”)

She seemingly pays no attention to the concerns of her young as she prepares to pull the nest apart, for she is determined that those little ones will fly, and she knows something they don’t. She knows they will never fly as long as they remain in the nest.

That is why teenagers and mothers fight…so they can learn to fly and “escape” home!

We all go through this stage with our teenagers.  Most of the time we don’t even realize the process….  But Nature is great and takes over from us.

I was never able to let go of Vic.  I wanted her close where I could hear her breathe.  The movie “Terms of endearment” shows a mother who walks into the nursery and climbs into the cot to make sure that her baby is breathing.  When the baby starts crying she promptly climbs out, marches out and says “That’s better…”

That is the mother I was!  I mothered (smothered) my precious baby until her last breath.  I do not regret that she never learnt to fly.  Hell, she never even learnt to ride a bike!

As a parent we can only do our best.  We love and nurture and then we set them free…

I just feel so lost and empty.

Wings of Stone


Johannesburg-20110817-00156

Reposted from http://sickocean.wordpress.com/2013/02/16/wings-made-of-stones/ – Aarthi is a very talented poet who manages to capture the essence of life and suffering.  Thank you Aarthi for your beautiful words.

she was forever alone
in her endless fights
through life and times
she stood where
she always was

embedded in earth
clad in stones
she was buried half
under the ground
in pain, in suffocation

her strongest wish was
to fly ever high
free herself and
reside in the sky
forever to come

her helplessness grew
her pain deepened
and her struggles rose
to new levels
deep within her soul

and she flapped
ever so hard
ridding herself of all the mud
and all that was keeping her
away from the vast blue above

and when she did come up
she realized that
her wings they were
made up of stones
of mud, of metallic bones

and she realized that
through years perhaps
or because of her birth
she was defined as
a woman made of stones.

i know this poem has a sad end.. and i usually prevent myself from writing this kind, but then the irony of life sometimes is that at some point in our struggles, and very rarely so, it does happen that we might be limited by what we have made ourselves or what we were born with… certain dreams tend to be impossible, certain hopes are meant to be thrashed… and though it is not the end of it, it is certainly an important aspect of life to be realized.  http://sickocean.wordpress.com/2013/02/16/wings-made-of-stones/

I know Vic is flying, feather light and unrestrained by pain.  Fly Angel Child!!

 

Why don’t I just go to sleep and never wake up?


IMG_7151Last year Vic said:  “Why don’t I just go to sleep and never wake up?”

This year – today – I am saying “Why don’t I just go to sleep and never wake up?”

Last year Vic said:  “My boys don’t need me anymore.  I have been sick all my life.  Even my ears hurt. ”

On the 8th of January 2013 Vic said “Mommy my room is full of angels…”

Tonight I reread something a friend sent me as a comment https://tersiaburger.wordpress.com/wp-admin/edit-comments.php?p=383&approved=1

Dear Tersia

I have been following your journey now for some time and my heart goes out to you and your family. It is NOT EASY to care for somebody that is terminally ill. It makes it even more difficult if that person is your child.
I would like to share something with you though. It is vitally important that you take care of yourself in this tiring time. Please accept all the help from family and friends that’s been offered to you. This will give you some breathing space. It will also allow Vic to know that it is okay if Mom is just having a little bit of “me” time. Her energy is very powerful and she proved it to everybody up to now that she wants to survive.

Allow all Angels and guides to assist you with the care that you and your family so much need right now. God allows you to call upon their assistance when you need them. When Jacob was struggling with an Angel he called the Angel Michael to assist him and Michael was there not only to help him, but also to guide him with whatever he was struggling with. There are many stories in the Bible and other scriptures about God’s Angels. What still amazes me is that God found it necessary to create Angels. HE knew that we and all other creatures would need assistance and comfort when we are lonely. It took me a long time to work this out. It was only after my mom passed away and I fell very ill that my awareness of these wonderful creations of God was awakened.

Dear Tersia, know they are there, they are with you. You just need to ask for their guidance and assistance. Please know that Angels come in all forms. It might be your neighbour, your friend, nursing staff or maybe a presence! Nurture yourself. Get all the friends, family and help that you can now and trust people. They will be guided and equiped with the knowledge to help you now. You need to be taken care of now and so does your family.

Your friend

Louise xxx

The angels did come to comfort my child in her most fear-filled day.

We have found many angels in human form.  Friends, family, acquaintances, WordPress Friends, Facebook friends…..

Thank you Louise for opening my eyes to the angels.   Thank you for the angels that comforted my child in her hour of need and thank you for the angels that came and took her by the hand and whisked her away to a pain-free, joy filled place.

https://tersiaburger.com/2013/01/08/gramps-was-here/
https://tersiaburger.com/2012/06/17/i-always-pray-for-you-but-you-dont-seem-to-have-a-guardian-angel-17-6-2012/

29 days – Promises Kept


My beautiful Angle Child

Today it was 29 long miserable days since you stopped breathing.

I have continued to breathe, walk, talk, eat, drink tea; I have attended meetings, cried and even laughed.  My life has continued yet part of me is dead.  I have lost my words today.  I just want to have a cup of tea with you.  I want to tell you how much I love you and how much I miss you.

Promises Kept

I’ve kept my promise,
of what I would do.
To continue to live,
my life without you.

I get up each morning,
I get through the day
struggling past tears,
every step of the way.

I go on with life with,
a forced happy face.
My heart aches badly,
for what I can’t replace.

I don’t know what to do,
to deaden this pain
It’s so hard, here without you,
where I must remain.

But I will keep my promise
and I must believe,
That you’ll be there waiting,
when it’s my time to leave.
-unknown

 

So we decided on extra maths…


Jared and I when I was only a grann
Jared and I when I was only a grann

Today I felt as if I was at the end of my tether.  Becoming a mom is a full time job.  Maybe I must just adjust to the different routine and responsibilities.  Up until a week before her death Vic was responsible for the boys.  Sure, I did a lot of running around but Vic was my main responsibility.  I was comfortable with our routine of waking, breakfast, showering, meds, nap, wake, lunch …… Vic would push the boys to do homework and their chores. 

I hate “moaning”….If the boys needed to be pulled into line I would just whisper in Vic’s ear and she would sort them out.  I could “ooch and gooch” and make soothing sounds…. I was the Oumie!!

Now I am the responsible person.  The bucket stops with me!

Don’t get me wrong.  The boys are amazing human beings.  Jared has however started battling with maths and as he wants to study Information Technology, he needs higher grade maths.  His maths mark is pathetic and he will never get accepted into a good university with a low maths mark.  So we decided on extra maths lessons….

Jon-Daniel wants to study medicine and needs a maths mark in the upper 90’s to be accepted as a medical student.  His marks are in the upper 80’s – good but not good enough.  So we decided on extra maths lessons….

4.1.2013 Jon-Daniel, Vic and I exactly 2 weeks before Vic died
4.1.2013 Jon-Daniel, Vic and I exactly 2 weeks before Vic died

So the boys need to spend an extra hour and a half, per day, on maths….  They have busy programs!  Mondays and Wednesday is archery and cricket.  Tuesdays and Fridays extra maths and we try to get to the gym 4 days a week….  Wednesday nights they have to visit their dad.

Long story short – the extra maths is being neglected.  Last week my Saudi partner was here and for 8 days we were in back to back meetings from early morning until late at night.  I did not mark the maths, but Danie promised to do so!  Today to my shock I discovered it had not been done!

I started marking the maths and as I went the angrier I became!  I was angry with the slap-dash manner in which the maths had been done.  I was angry that I was marking ~@£&~# maths papers and not caring for my child.  I was angry with Danie for not doing what he promised to do.  I was angry with the boys for not doing their maths properly, but mostly I was angry with Vic.  I was angry that she died and that I now have to fulfill her role!

This is not frigging fair.  I want our lives back.  I want my child back….

It is not really true.  I am grateful that her suffering is over.  My mind is blocking out the memories of how desperately ill she was.  I am remembering the good moments only.  I am grateful that I blogged or else I would lose my mind.  I read and reread the horror of Vic’s suffering just to wonder “was it really this bad?”  I know it was as bad as I am reading if not worse.

Today I join Steven Callahan, someone who can attest to choosing against the odds.  Steven Callahan, survived 76 days adrift in a broken boat.  He ate barnacles and did yoga, tossed in a leaky boat:   “I now have a choice: to pilot myself to a new life or to give up and watch myself die. I choose to kick as long as I can.”

I must kick!  I MUST survive!  For the boys sake!

The four of us on Christmas Eve 2012
The four of us on Christmas Eve 2012

Valentine’s Day killing


Tonight, there are two mothers in South Africa who is in more pain than I am. One mother is the mother of a beautiful young model,  a law school graduate and an entrepreneur committed to empowering women.  Reeva Steenkamp was a celebrity in her own right.  Reeva was one of FHM magazine‘s 100 Sexiest Women in the World for two years running, appeared in international and South African advertisements and was a celebrity contestant on Tropika Island of Treasure filmed in Jamaica. She was also the South African face of Avon cosmetics.

Photo credit: http://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/olympics/2013/02/14/reeva-steenkamp-oscar-pistorius-murder/1919001/
Photo credit: http://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/olympics/2013/02/14/reeva-steenkamp-oscar-pistorius-murder/1919001/

The second mother is the mother of Oscar Pistorius.  Pistorius made history when he became the first amputee to win a silver medal at the World Athletics Championships in 2011.  The following season he secured two more silver medals, in the men’s individual one-lap sprint and the relay event, at the African Athletics Championships in Benin.  Pistorius again wrote himself into the history books when he became the first amputee to compete on the track at the able-bodied Olympic Games in August 2012.  Pistorius reached the semifinals in the individual 400m event, and also competed in the relay final, with South Africa given a free pass after they were obstructed by the Kenyan team in the heats.  A six-time Paralympic Games gold medallist, the Blade Runner holds the men’s 100m, 200m and 400m world records in the T44 disability class.

Photo Credit:  http://www.google.co.za/imgres?imgurl=http://images.worldnow.com/AP/images/2193637_G.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.cbsatlanta.com/story/21193902/pistorius-involved-in-shooting-at-home-woman-dead&h=238&w=360&sz=12&tbnid=aLVESX2boMLwpM:&tbnh=80&tbnw=121&prev=/search%3Fq%3Doscar%2Bpistorius%2Bgirlfriend%26tbm%3Disch%26tbo%3Du&zoom=1&q=oscar+pistorius+girlfriend&usg=__ZkoSVh-KZ6Crr8OVTGPEqy5lBX4=&docid=ncYAlob0NGIuxM&hl=en&sa=X&ei=STQdUaKTCsSJhQeH8YHgAQ&ved=0CEAQ9QEwBA&dur=4471
Photo Credit: http://www.google.co.za/imgres?imgurl=http://images.worldnow.com/AP/images/2193637_G.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.cbsatlanta.com/story/21193902/pistorius-involved-in-shooting-at-home-woman-dead&h=238&w=360&sz=12&tbnid=aLVESX2boMLwpM:&tbnh=80&tbnw=121&prev=/search%3Fq%3Doscar%2Bpistorius%2Bgirlfriend%26tbm%3Disch%26tbo%3Du&zoom=1&q=oscar+pistorius+girlfriend&usg=__ZkoSVh-KZ6Crr8OVTGPEqy5lBX4=&docid=ncYAlob0NGIuxM&hl=en&sa=X&ei=STQdUaKTCsSJhQeH8YHgAQ&ved=0CEAQ9QEwBA&dur=4471

At this stage it is unclear whether Reeva snuck into Oscar’s home in the early hours of the morning to surprise him on Valentines Day and was mistaken for a burglar or whether she was cold bloodedly shot by her lover.

Oscar, South Africa’s golden son, is in prison tonight.  Reeva, one of South Africa’s golden daughters, is lying on a cold slab in a mortuary.

In at least two homes mothers are grieving their children.

Whose loss is the greatest?  The mother whose 29-year-old daughter is dead or the mother of the shooter who happens to also be one of the most determined and talented athletes in the world?

I do know I would not change places with either one of them at all!  I know my child suffered long and hard and her remains rest in a little wooden box…but her death was honorable, peaceful and “dignified”.  Her character will not be assassinated in the press or in a court of law… I do not have to worry whether she will spend the rest of her life in prison, whether she will go to bed with a full tummy, safe from other killers and rapists.

Tonight I will pray for the two mommy’s who both lost their children today.

The process of preparing for death


My beautiful baby girl
My beautiful baby girl

A while ago I read the following “When you, a friend, or a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness, a process is begun: the process of preparing for death. For many, this time of preparation can be transformed into a rewarding, comforting ending, giving meaning to life, and dignity to death.” Terminal Illness – Preparing for Death – Dealing with Illness

Today a mere 24 days after my child stopped breathing I re-examined this statement.

“When you, a friend, or a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness, a process is begun: the process of preparing for death.”  This is so true.  In one foul sweep everything changes!  The way one approach every day; every birthday, Christmas and New Year… One sets small goals.  You learn to appreciate the small things in life – having a cup of coffee with a friend, celebrating another Mother’s Day, living long enough to see the newborn of a loved one…

Last will and testament … setting up trusts for the children; sorting out photos; tidying up cupboards; making decisions whether to have a funeral or cremation….Just close your eyes and feel the terror of planning your own memorial service….  Feel the terror of knowing that your organs are shutting down….feel the terror of knowing that you will have to say goodbye to your loved ones – that they will walk out of your room and you will never see them again, feel the touch of their gentle hands, never hold your sons again…..  Imagine knowing that your life is running out.  Knowing that soon you will breathe your last breath!

This is what my Vic experienced.  She kept asking her BFF, Angela, “How do I say goodbye?”  Vic would cry  and hold onto Angela.  “Don’t go!  Please stay”.

Imagine being on death row with the execution date set.  The process has begun…. The condemned gets to make a will, meet his family for the last time, write his last letters, order his last meal and wonder what death will feel like…

Vic was scared.  She feared death.  She feared not knowing how death would feel….she feared closing her eyes and not ever seeing her loved ones again.

“For many, this time of preparation can be transformed into a rewarding, comforting ending, giving meaning to life, and dignity to death”….  What a load of hogwash!  No matter how much love surrounds the dying person there is no dignity in death.  How can death be rewarding?

It is however an amazing experience to witness the transition of the body when the soul leaves!

This time of preparation is a time filled with trepidation and fear.  Nobody KNOWS what lies beyond your final breath.  What is the Catholics are correct and you head for purgatory?  No one is sin free….What if Islam is correct and you are a Christian?  Then you are doomed to hell!  Hopefully the Christian faith will allow us entry into Heaven…. We will only know when we die!

Comforting time?  What comfort can there be in dying?  No more pain? Sure!  That is certainly comforting but what about the terrible, terrible knowledge that one will be separated from your loved ones?  The love that enshrouded you all your life will be plucked from your existence!  The love will continue but there is a divide between life and death that cannot be crossed!

Meaning to life?  Yes that is true I suppose if you are distant and removed from your family or loved ones or if you had a “purposeless” life.  Dying does give an opportunity to live each day, not waste time procrastinating or living in anger.

Dignity in death?  There is no dignity in a lingering death.  Bit by bit the terminally ill lose their dignity.  Every day there is some new loss to mourn.  The final days, if they are lucky, they will be sedated.  If not they will writhe in pain, choking on their own phlegm and gasping for breath, their hearts racing and delusional from fever.

People around the dying become scared and start praying for their deaths…I know because I did!  People stop visiting because they want to remember the dying person as a healthy, happy person….The terminally ill cease to exist to most of the world long before they die.

Stepping Stone Hospice has 26 patients.  We have had 12 deaths to date – Vic being the first.  Stepping Stone has allowed the dying to die pain-free.  Maybe the rewarding ending is for the living?

 

 

 

 

 

“Live like you were dying” – Tim McGraw


Vic and Esther 8.1.2013
Vic and Esther 8.1.2013

I read this post today –  http://daysnet.wordpress.com/2013/02/03/we-need-to-step-back-and-just-breathe/   I always remember the Tim McGraw song

“LIVE LIKE YOU WERE DYING

He said   “I was in my early forties
With a lot of life before me
And a moment came that stopped me on a dime
I spent most of the next days
Looking at the x-rays
Talkin’ ’bout the options
And talkin’ ’bout sweet time”
I asked him
“When it sank in
That this might really be the real end
How’s it hit you
When you get that kind of news?
Man, what’d you do?”

He said
“I went skydiving
I went Rocky Mountain climbing
I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying”
And he said
Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dying”
He said
“I was finally the husband
That most of the time I wasn’t
And I became a friend a friend would like to have
And all of a sudden going fishin’
Wasn’t such an imposition

And I went three times that year I lost my dad
I finally read the Good Book, and I
Took a good, long, hard look
At what I’d do if I could do it all again

It dawned on me that we have been luckier than most.  We have lived as if Vic was dying all our lives.  We lived every second.  Vic lived every second.  Only the last week of her life she went into dying mode.  Only once she was sedated did she succumb to dying.  The rest of her life she lived; we lived her life.  Every single birthday we celebrated Vic’s life.

We have a family tradition, (which the kids hate), of having eulogy speeches on everyone’s birthday.  So on our birthdays we would go around the table and everyone gets to say something nice of the birthday boy/girl…  We call it our “Living Eulogy”…  So often we only speak well of the dead.  We treat the living with contempt and disregard; we do not acknowledge their achievements and goodness…We are so focussed on success.  Success by our own terms!

I am grateful for our family tradition and I will not allow it to die off…  I am grateful Vic knew how much we revered her….

Vic did not have a career or a degree, fame or fortune.  Yet she has touched thousands of people’s lives worldwide and will continue to do so through Stepping Stone Hospice.  I am grateful that she heard how much we loved and respected her.   The most common words were “You are the bravest person I know…”

Vic was an amazing mother.  She loved and nurtured her boys.  I wonder whether they ever witnessed her tears of pain when she cooked for them or made their lunch for school…. I did.

We will continue to honour Vic’s life through our actions and words.

There is no limit


I have received many words of encouragement and support from so many people.  Some just say “hugs” and other’s offer advice.  One of my most loyal supporters is a lady called Miss Morgan’s Mom – She lost her 16-year-old daughter in a senseless accident.  She lives her loss and grief pours from her posts.  I remember one of her first posts I ever read on her blog she was counting the days (still does) and her grief was so raw and all-encompassing.  I recall thinking “Oh God, is this what awaits me?”  At the time I could only comment “hugs”….  A couple of posts ago she wrote that 14.5 months after Morgan’s death she is finding it more difficult to blog.  People want her to move on….  get on with life.  
 
Last week, a mere 3 weeks after my most precious child’s death I was told by people “Let her rest….Concentrate on the boys” ; “don’t let the boys see you cry…”
 
On Thursday I cried in front of the boys as I did this morning in the supermarket.   I will not apologise for my tears.  My child deserves my tears.
 
I realize people want me to move on because I scare them when I am sad.  They are used to me being strong, fighting for Vic’s life, always laughing, always in control.
 
On Saturday Esther, Vic’s sis, asked me “So what does Google say?  When do sisters start feeling better?”  I replied “Never.  you just get used to the pain”
 
I read this amazing post and had to share it.  Reposted  http://missmorgansmom.wordpress.com/2013/02/04/there-is-no-limit-to-ones-time-for-grief/
 

THERE IS NO LIMIT TO ONES TIME FOR GRIEF

broken heart When someone is grieving i believe in my heart that many if not all outsiders have the best intentions to help I truly do, but understandably  they have no real concept  on how long and how often the mourning need support or just understanding. People that lose loved ones, I have come to find that there is no limit to the time it takes for each individual to find their new normal. I think that sometimes when people view the lives of the sorrowful, they think that the person or people grieving should have come to terms with their loss after a certain amount of time. I have found  this not to be true, I have sadly gained the knowledge that every moment to everyday is different. It is so hard to help people understand that we need to grieve as long as it may take. We all seem to have our own way to do this, whether it is to submerse our time into our work so that our mind has little time to feel the pain, or that we become some what of a recluse trying to understand our torture. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, there are no rules.  I personally try to battle the pain by writing my feelings at that moment. I think some may not understand and my God am I thankful for that because I would not wish this on anyone. It is so important to me to put out there that when you see someone struggling and they may seem as if their path is destructive, it might not always be as it seems, sometimes we must  look outside the box! This is  because anyone who is grieving that keeps having emotions whether negative or positive has not given up the fight. I cannot identify my grief with anyones else, I have learned to accept the death of my father and step mother and although it still hurts, I have learned to move forward. I have found that burying a child is a completely different kind of grief for me anyway. I am moving forward, I am fighting to become a new normal.   I have found that  not just me but all other parents who are trying to win the fight are on this similar  path and they may feel like there is no end, keep fighting. I want to post this link for those that may be fighting this fight to maybe offer support that you are not alone. I also want to post this for people who may just want to understand some of the process grieving parents may be going through. I am also posting some writings from this site that have heart felt meaning to me. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Grieving-Mothers/162680380444494 no limitDear Clueless I would like to share with you my pain but that isn’t possible unless you have lost a child yourself and that I wouldn’t want you to have to experience. So with that being said, I would like to say this. I will try to my best to understand you if you try to understand me. I lost my child. My life will never be the same. I will never be the same again. I will be different from now on. I no longer have the same feelings about anything. Everything in my life has changed from the moment my child left to go to heaven. I will, on some days be very sad and nothing you say will changes that so don’t feel like it is your job to make me feel better on those days, just allow me to be where I am. When you lose a child you not only lose your reason for living, you lose the motivation to go on. You also lose your sense of self. It takes a long time to come to some kind of understanding for why this has happened, if ever. Of course we who have lost children know we have to go on but we don’t want to hear someone else tell us too. Especially from someone who has not lost a child. It makes me and anyone who has lost a child want to say who are you to tell me that? Did you bury your child? I don’t want this to sound like I don’t appreciate everything you say because I know you mean well, but I just want you to appreciate where I am coming from too. I want you to understand that some of the things you say hurt me and others like me without you really knowing it. I know it must be pretty hard to talk to people like myself, not knowing what to say. That is why I am writing this letter. If you don’t know what to say, say nothing or just say I’m sorry. That always works for me. If you want to talk and say my child’s name feel free I would love to hear her name anytime. You not saying her name didn’t make me forget it, or what happened to her. So by all means say her name. When special dates come or holidays come please forgive me if I’m not myself. I just can’t keep it up on those days. I may wish to be by myself so I can think about my child without putting on a front. Most of all I want you to know I’m having a hard time with the death of my child and I am trying my very best to get back into life again. Some days it may look like I have accomplished that, and other days like I am at square one. This will happen the rest of my life periodically. There are just no words to explain the living hell this feels like. There are no words that could ever do it justice. So please bear with me and give me time and don’t put your own timetable on my grief and let me be the person I am now and not have to live up to the person you think I should be. Allow me my space and time and accept me for me. I will try my best to understand you. Love, Your Friend in Grief forward

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Children are so fragile…..


IMG_7913
Christmas 2013

Day 22 has finally arrived.  Day 21 dragged on and on…  I waded through a haze of misery today.  Jared had an horrible day.  I could see he had cried.

Jon-Daniel has a friend sleeping over.  He is a young boy of 14 who lost his dad to a drug overdose a year ago.  I asked whether he had been for counselling.  He said he had but that it had not really helped.

“I had to get over it by myself” this old soul said.

“The shrink kept telling me I must forgive my dad.  I hated my father for using drugs.  So I stopped going.  He wasn’t listening to me so there was no point…”

I have to travel to an exhibition in the UAE from the 16th – 21st of February.  Upon my return the boys and I will go and see the Hospice psychiatrist again. I think we would have worked through enough grief to be able to cope with this part of our journey.

Children are so fragile.  On the surface they appear to be coping yet the pain lies shallow…

Last night Jon-Daniel cried.  Today Jared battled to breathe.

21 days


It is exactly 21 long, miserable days, to the second, since my precious child stopped breathing.