An Elephant On My Chest

The anticipation of death is a strange thing.

I don't know if anyone can ever prepare themselves for the death of a loved one. Even if you know that the inevitable will happen, as it will with all of us, I don't think that there is anything that you can do to make it any more bearable.

For the past few months there has been a slight nagging at the back of my mind after every time I spoke to you. You have stopped walking in the mornings, a ritual that you have taken part in for the past forever number of years, come rain, hail, sleet or snow (but not when the South Easter is blowing). You haven't seemed able to shake the last of the winter chills, and boy, you guys have had a long and nasty winter. You tell me how the rain and the cold feels like it has been biting into your bones, and how you cannot wait for the summer. Even now that it is blisteringly hot, the cough that you have suffered with hasn't left you completely.

You are the antithesis of drama. Stubborn, yes. Pedantic, most definitely. Dramatic, decidedly not. When your wife nagged you enough, you went to see the doctor. He wanted you to go straight to a specialist, but you were off a few days later on your annual summer vacation, and you definitely weren't going to have anything upsetting that plan! You enjoyed yourself, but again when I spoke to you, you were saying how this would be your last year and that you were getting too old for the five hour drive down there.

Finally, you went to see the cardiologist yesterday. Not the news we had hoped for.

I need you to fight this out. I am just so not ready for this.
I feel like the slight gnawing I have felt over the past few months has taken over and become an elephant sitting on my chest. Each time I start entertaining the possibilities and what the next few months may hold I feel like the elephant gets heavier, and starts tucking into a Big Mac just to torment me.

I cannot go there yet. I am not sure if I ever can. Yet I know I will have to, sooner or later. I need you to make it later. I know that this is not about me alone. There are so many different relationships held in our family. Some tenuous, some strained, some unconditionally loving. I know that losing you would rip huge, gaping holes in the fabric of our lives, and I worry for all of us.

More than anything, and against all odds, I want you to be well and healthy.
I want this elephant on my chest to go away, and to get up, put my blinkers back on, and pretend that the inevitable is not just that.

And I miss you

I can't seem to shake the feeling that something is missing. It's a low-grade buzz that every now and again grabs me by the throat and reminds me that you aren't here any more. It's amazing how we become so reliant on having a person around, even if they aren't in close proximity to us all the time. It becomes a knowing. Knowing that you are there. Knowing that when the storm hits that you will come to me. Knowing that your words will not always be gentle, but they will always be what I need exactly when I need them.

You have been my pick-me-up and kick-me-in-the-bum friend for a very long time. A lifetime. I think it has been about 15 years but I haven't bothered to count. And then you left. Off to fulfil your own dream and live your own life. We had left each other before - the odd business trip that took you away, my gap years and contract work, but there was always the knowing that we would be there all the time. Even when it was only a short time that you would be away I always felt that there was something missing.

I hope that lasts. I hope that because our continents of choice and contexts are different now that we still hold enough of each other to always have that. I get a little scared that because we have this vast distance between us that you will not turn to me, and I will fall out of touch with what is important to you a little more each time there is an event or happening in your new life that I'm not there to witness. I hope not. Even from before you left I have been planning to come see you. To sit on your couch and play with the dogs and giggle at how the texture of the dog's tongue tickles my leg when he licks me.

Happy birthday for tomorrow, my friend.

"And I miss you, like the deserts miss the rain".

Hit or Mrs.

Marriage is a bit of a hit or miss thing, isn't it? I mean, it's just not one of those things in life that comes with a money back guarantee or a return policy. I suppose there is the big D if it really isn't working out for you, but then that does seem a bit dramatic. Unless you are Elizabeth Taylor, in which case it's quite run-of-the-mill stuff.

I got real lucky. Maybe it's too early to tell? I'm not sure, but if I measure it on a day-by-day basis, then my days are blessed and good.

Looking back, I am so content with where we are. I admit that I wasn't sure I would be this happy. There was just so much of my damn picture that you didn't fit into! For a start, I wasn't the marrying type. I wasn't looking for a relationship (ok, maybe deep down on some invisible plain buried deep in the dreams of my subconscious I wanted one, but I would rather have dug my own eyeballs out with a blunt pencil then admit that to anyone, let alone myself). We met in a non-conventional environment. I thought you were ok, but it wasn't love at first sight. You told me that after our first meeting, you called your mom and told her that there was something different about me. We met again. Still no great shakes, even though you were a seriously good kisser! Then I got a nasty cold and you called, came round with a pharmacy full of medicine, made me tea, gave me meds, and sat perfectly still for almost 2 hours whilst I slept with my head in your lap, sweaty and drooling. When I woke up, I had a butterfly thought that fluttered through my mind but never settled - I could be with someone like this.
The picture of who I thought I wanted fought back hard and strong ... we are from different religious backgrounds; you are a loner and I am gregarious; you are painfully shy and I am loud and often abrasive; you were an artisan and I am in corporate; I come from a crazy but close family and you don't have contact with yours. You have 2 kids and an ex-wife! Hell no!
But still you gently persevered. You became my one-night stand. Then one night became many nights. There was some drama, some external influences, and every 2 months I dumped your cute ass.

Then you left. You took a job at the coast, got in your truck, and just left.
A week later we got engaged.

We have been married around a year and a half.
I think the most important thing I have learned since I have been married to you is that I like you. A lot. You're a really nice, down to earth, solid guy. Sure I love you, more than I ever thought possible, but I also really like you.

It's not that I was incomplete in any way without you, it's that with you I feel my purpose fulfilled.

A Wow Quote

Seen on Post Secret:
"We accept the love that we think we deserve".

Wow.

Saturday Night Memories

A weekend that started of with all the promises of happiness and togetherness. Mellow Fridays with dvd’s and take out.
An early start on Saturday morning to go drool over cars that are worth more than our house.
A call to make a reservation at the pub for the two of us to go watch the game.
A quick snoozle before heading out to go cheer for our team.
A great vibe, laughing and joking, just the two of us. Kisses stolen across the table.
The phone call.
It all changes…

We leave. He goes out to turn the car around quickly so that we are pointing to the entrance to make a quick getaway. I pay, begging the waiter to hurry up. It's an emergency.
It's raining gently.
Drive carefully, I beg. Hazard lights. High emotion, yet all feels so calm. Another panicked call. Tears. Sobs. Helplesness. Trying so hard to reassure. We’re almost there baby …

Damn! The gate won’t open! Out in the rain. Push the gate. Take one look at someone you love. Helpless. Broken. Distraught. At the end of what she can deal with. A reassuring hug. Quickly inside. Time seems to race, but all seems in slow motion.
A box of sleeping tablets swallowed.
A cold running shower. A toothbrush down her throat. I grab under her shoulders, he grabs her legs. All of us now sopping wet. I wonder if she is still alive. The dead weight under me starts slipping. I can’t make it to the door. Swap positions. I grab her legs, he grabs under her arms.
She opens her eyes. Dazed. The look of the lost and the dead. I don’t know whether or not I feel relieved. Even in this very moment, I know that the look on your face will haunt me forever. We manage to get her in the car. On her side. She has gone so thin. As ugly as the wheezing and retching sounds, it gives me some reassurance that she is still alive. Don’t you dare die on my beat. It all comes rushing back to me.
The rain belts down.

The drive to the closest hospital. Senses on overdrive. Hyper alert. Adrenaline rushing. Find the clinic. Find the entrance. Shout at the blank faces that greet me to get a stretcher. Run back inside when I see them not moving. I want to punch them. Run in to the ward. Get a stretcher myself. Push it back outside.
The rain is falling in sheets.

We are soaked. Get her inside. See that there is a competent looking doctor there. Rush back outside. Move the cars to the parking lot. Back inside. Doctors. Drips. Questions. Tears. More questions. Fill in this form. Medical Aid details. Walk outside. The adrenaline has subsided. My body starts to ache. Hot tears burn my cheeks. I squeeze his hand a little harder. He looks at me, wipes the tears away, and squeezes my hand back. Smoking outside. Questions. How can one person feel so alone and be so sad?

The rain falls persistently.
Back to casualty. Lukewarm tea with no milk. We wait. Read some magazine left in the waiting room. My eyes going over the same sentence three times, not reading, not caring, just waiting. Stable. Transfer to ward. Sighs of relief. Time to go home.

Back home, emotions rush over me like tidal waves. Memories flood back. I’ve been there. I’ve done this before. Do I look like the damn suicide patrol? I cry. I don’t sleep. I cry more. I crawl into his arms and listen to his breathing, wishing that I could crawl under his skin and be safe there from all of these memories.
The rain falls gently still.
It gets lighter.
It’s a new day.

Well blow me down with a feather!

I decided that I would do my own tax return this year, as opposed to paying my (very wonderful and competent) tax advisor to do it.

I didn't quite believe the SARS advertisement campaign that said they had simplified the process. Come on now boys, this is South Africa, where things never ever work as they should take a while to get right.

All I can say is "whoop! whoop!"

Tax return submitted Tuesday evening. Assessment received last night. I'm getting a refund, which they expect to pay me by the end of THIS WEEK!

Yeeehaaaa!

I *heart* the internet and new e-filing system.

What makes it all bearable

"And one last thing, I love Reisies Pieces."

I love every analytical thing about you, Poo Poo head.

Good Job America!

I was driving to work just after 06h00 this morning when I heard that the race for the White House had been won. Congratulations America. I hope that the Change That You Can Believe In becomes the change that you want to see. I can assure you that the rest of the world is ready for it.

I rushed the last bit of my journey, hearing Senator McCain concede defeat on the radio just as I pulled in to the office car park. I dashed upstairs, logged in, went straight to CNN, and watched the most beautiful oration by the new President elect, Barack Obama.

I am really glad that there were not too many people around the office at that time, because I sobbed like a baby! All that, and I'm not even American! I can only imagine the emotional high that the US is on as the news settles in. I remember the feeling of cautious hope I felt in 1994 here in South Africa and I am glad to be alive during these exciting times.

Enjoy the moment. The hard work lies ahead, and the proof of the key lime pie is always in the slurp-slurp.

Growing up is hard to do. Now get on with it.

There is not much more that irritates me in life then people who simply refuse to take responsibility for their lives and the situations that they have created for themselves. I see red. I want to scream and grab them by their shoulders and shake them, yelling at them to wake up, grow up and get a spine. I did not create your problems, and I was not the one who made the crappy decisions that got you to where you are now, so why the hell is it that you expect me to be the one to fix your mess. Stop it already! You make the last inkling of respect that I may have left for you bleed out slowly through the seeping pores of my anger.

I must ask myself why I seem to land up with these characters somewhere in my life. The losers, the unaccountable, the shrug-their-shoulders types. I am no longer the rescuer. I get my kicks elsewhere now, thanks very much.

The only other question that I have is why is it so damn hard to say no?
Maybe I need to work on growing my own spine some more.

Missing In Action ...

My personality.
Last seen approximately two weeks ago. If found, please return to grumpy, bitchy owner. No reward offered, but I will be eternally grateful (as will my husband), and more importantly, the world will be saved from having to deal with me in this very blah state.

Every so often, I seem to hit a patch of the Big Funk. Thinking about it, it seems to have happened a lot less frequently over the past few years, but it still has the uncanny knack of surprising me. I wake up one arb morning standing on the platform of Bluesville station and can't quite remember how I got here. This seems to have been the tone of this week.

Nothing extraordinary has happened. In fact, life is good and I am abundantly blessed in so many ways. Hell, I even found bras that fit me, a skirt for summer, and not one but two pairs of casual pants on a recent shopping spree. How cool is that? I just seem to be shrouded with this low grade buzz of enthusiam-lacking anger, and I have this whole princess thing going on where I can't understand why everyone else's life is continuing so damn normally when mine feels like it is falling apart at the seams . I also have family members that suffer from bipolar depression, so I am a bit hyper-sensitive to depressive moods.

I am attributing this irritating stop in FunkTown to any one of the following, or all of the below:

• It has been three weeks today that I kicked my 25/day nicotine habit, and damn I miss it. It's almost starting to get easier, but not quite yet.
• I am eating my way through the no nicotine, which makes me feel even worse. Blech. It's really not like I can afford to pack any more weight on. Love handles? I have the whole kitchen, honey. Oh well. Pass the peanut butter (and toast, and chippies, and roast chicken, and steak, and chocolate, and the rest of that packet of chippies).
• I have period pain
• I am tired. Really tired. Is this year over yet, because I need some leave. Stat.

Go figure. Life is good.

Sensory Overload

Tastes I relish:
Chili, ginger and garlic combos; a rich and decadent chocolate anything; sturdy home cooking; peanut butter straight up off a teaspoon; coriander; melted cheese with mustard; the burn on my tongue of single malt scotch.

Smells that make me melt:
The Highveld after it rains; a heady perfume with spicy undertones; vanilla/ginger/milk bubble baths; babies just after they’ve been bathed; hair after its been washed; fresh bread being toasted; fabric softener that reminds me of my childhood; freshly laundered clothes; real leather; the smell of fresh fruit after its just been cut; a just showered man who smells like soap.

Sights that excite:
Thrashing lightning dancing across a black clouded sky; colours of autumn; good interior decorating; fresh flowers; the sky just before sunrise when its all pink.

Sounds that make me smile:
Silence; wind blowing through trees; giggling kids; music, music, music; the content sigh of a lover just before they fall asleep; water flowing; rain falling.

I like to touch & feel:
Soft skin; an expressionful face; fresh crisp linen on a bed that’s just been made up; soft grass under my bare feet; fleecy blankets in the winter.

Morning

I woke up to the feel of your warm skin next to mine, and my face nuzzled in your neck. The smell of your hair gently tickled my nose, and my arm wrapped over your waist rose and fell with your breathing. It feels so good to hold you again, your perfect body a blessing in my bed.
Your smile is infectious, and as you open your eyes it spreads warmly from your lips to mine. The sun rises outside. Your arms open and envelop me. As I lay my head on your chest I hear your heart beating steadily, and I feels like I am home.

If you are my reward for all the good stuff that I try to do in this world, then whomever it is who determines my fate, has recognized my efforts and has given me the greatest gift I could ever have dreamed of.

It's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)

It's one of those mildly irritating songs. I can't remember the band's name that sang it, I can't remember any more of the lyrics other than the chorus, and I keep messing it up with another tune, but for some reason I always seem to sing those words to myself when the smelly stuff seems to be hitting the proverbial fan and slanking its way down the walls.

When I woke up on Sunday morning South Africa had a president. Granted, we can all say what we want about the country and its state of political affairs (chaos?), but I, like millions of the masses, managed to ignore it as things that seemed to be progressing in the way that we were used to. Then I read the papers. Oops. Seems we don't really have a president after all. I laughed it off after listening to his resignation address to the nation on Sunday night, and the subsequent reports by some intelligent nutty-looking professor type about how this is 'normal for a democracy' and how 'in other countries, heads of state come and go'. I felt much better, and shoved my head back in the sand and my arse high up in the air. After all, I have always been a keen supporter of noone but Uncle Trevor Manuel, and the man everybody loves to hate, Mr Tito Mboweni. No, I don't care what he earns either... do you see a sub-prime lending crisis in South Africa?!? As long as we had them, we were good to go for at least another 14 years of corruption, greed, and all other normal political playings in a fledgling democracy.

Imagine my suprise when I read that my favourite Uncle had resigned today. What? Somebody tell me that you are joking. Pretty please? The Rand plummeted through its own arsehole, the million remaining whites in the North Eastern suburbs started phoning emigration attornies and shipping companies, and I furiously tried to keep up with all the breaking news on every website I could think of. An hour later, he had said something like he is resigning as he was appointed at the pleasure of the (now, but only until Thursday) president, and in light of Mbeki's resignation that he had also resigned, but he would certainly be open to serving a new president and cabinet if asked to do so. Erm, I don't mean to jump the gun here, but for poo's sake, can somebody ask already? Quickly. Preferably with a smile.

Safe and secure with the 'knowledge' that Uncle Trev is going nowhere, and Mr Mboweni really likes his new salary so he ain't about to up and jump, I can gratefully assume the ostrich position. Don't slap my arse as you walk past please. It wobbles and makes me terribly upset.

PS. oooh! oooh! I googled it. How could I forget that it's classic R.E.M
PPS. What the hell did we do before Google?
PPPS. I really have no opinion on politics, I just find it fun to watch the effects on the rand performance everytime one of our dear politicians opens their mouths