A year ago today Greg and I left for South Africa to take care of my dad’s affairs, attend his funeral and pack up the house. It seems surreal that a whole year has passed, and:
a) My dad’s house is still no closer to being sold (although we’ve had a buyer for 11 months);
b) His estate, which is totally uncomplicated with no debt etc., has barely been started to be worked on; and
c) I haven’t been able to speak to my dad in over a year.
I’m a “daddy’s girl”. Always was. I look like my dad, sound like my dad, have the same sense of humour, wit and sarcasm that my dad had, and I’m constantly hearing “you’re just like your dad”, which is fine for me to hear. In fact, it’s a compliment.
When I was a little girl, I would always be following my dad around. If he had a hammer in his hand, I had one too. In fact, I loved hammering nails into things. Sometimes (ok, most times) not the right nails, and not hammering them into the right places either.
As I grew older, we butted heads – because we were so alike. I remember him yelling at me and trying to teach me trigonometry, while I was yelling back at him telling him that I can’t do it. Turned out I was right! He was a tool maker and used maths all the time. For me, once they introduced the alphabet into maths, they lost me, and I zoned out and never found a loophole to zone back in.
So, exactly a year has passed. Greg and I boarded a plane from St. Louis, to Atlanta to Johannesburg where friends met us at OR Tambo and took us back to the house. Dad’s house. My childhood house. As we arrived, we realized that there was load shedding going on and there was no electricity. We threw our bags down and exhaustedly just fell into bed. It was Spring in South Africa, still chilly in the morning’s and evening’s but beautiful during the day. I had 4 days to put a funeral together and then 3 more weeks to pack up the house, donate everything inside the house, decide what I wanted to keep and figure out a way to get it home. I kept having that feeling that it’s the last time I’ll be on South African soil. I grew up here, in this house, in this neighbourhood, in this province. It’s my home. My soul is here. My heart will always be here. I had a great childhood here, made wonderful, timeless friends who I still miss desperately. It’s so hard to emigrate. Every time we go back to Joburg I’m reminded about how hard it is to not be there. My lifeline to South Africa was cut when my dad died and it scares me that this could truly be “IT”.
We have a nice life in St. Louis. We are a happy couple and lucky enough to own a house and be owned by three cats. Our little family is complete. Memories are a funny thing. The good, the bad and the ugly can mess with your mind and sway you from happy to sad in a nanosecond.
We’ve been through a lot. More than most couples will ever endure (hopefully), but God doesn’t test you with more than you can handle, right? Hey God, I’m on the thin line here. Can you back off a bit and let me catch my breath? Sure would be great! Major catastrophes really are a great way to measure your faith, reflect on your relationship and test your decision-making talents and we’ve experienced most of them! I’m quite happy to forego the ones we’ve missed!
Stay strong, stay healthy, wash your hands, wear a mask!