Skip to main content

death

S

I spoke about death.

And in speaking about it, I think, I invited it in.
It hit close to home this time having steered clear of me for a while, granting me time to heal since it ripped father, mother, newborn, friend, in quick succession, in a brutal onslaught that I took very personally.

We became well-acquainted he and I.  I witnessed his handiwork firsthand and was pissed off. We had a serious chat, a chat which ended in the words, "Enough, jeez!" a few years back.

Now he is back, too close for comfort, making his return while I was distracted by work, commitments, fun, love, life...


But I'm over it, instead, celebrating Life. 

In the words of Bon Jovi http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bonjovi/itsmylife.html


"It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just want to live while I'm alive..."

I value living, appreciate life and love, and I live each day like there is no tomorrow. I am quite deliberate in this, making the most of time, it being so precious and fleeting.

One thing I know for sure, death cannot erase your imprint on the world.
It can destroy the physical, but the memories you make, the beauty you create, the love shared and the passion you inspired, the sound of your laughter to your son's ear, the caress of your hand or the touch of your lips, these cannot be undone. These remain, becoming a part of the tapestry of life.
Each one of us can say: "I was here!" 
Each one of our stories will leave an indelible impression on the world.

This was very obvious to me on that sad sad day of loss.
In a room filled with the soft mourning of his beloved and the melodious prayers for the dead, it became clear to me that my friend would live on forever: in the heart of his young widow, in his children, in the lives of the 100's of students whose lives he changed. They came to pay their respects to a man who took them in when everyone else turned them away. They came to say thanks to a teacher, a mentor who spoke to them in a soft voice, with the utmost respect and made them believe in themselves in spite of the world telling them different.


I became a better teacher through his example and for this I am eternally grateful. 
And I will always remember him.


I dedicate this to my friend:



Numbers and Letters

ADD, ADHD…
All the labels assigned to me
By teachers, parents, psycho’s and such
You guys really don’t know that much!

Problems, you say, with
Literacy
Numeracy
+ Calculations,
I am so much more than these classifications.

Hey you, Yes, you, Look!
See!
This is me,
I’m right here
standing with my heart where my designer label used to be.

I’m more IMportant
Than your 13th cheque
Your meeting at 16:00
Your IRP5
Your V6
Your Windows XP…

1 IS THE NUMBER  I SHOULD BE,
I AM, AFTER ALL, YOURS FOR ETERNITY.

Death is a part of the cycle of life. It should make us appreciate life more, not live our lives in fear of it. One day, when I am no longer, I hope the memory of me sparks a smile that spreads joy into the world.
And if that happens, my life would've been well-lived.

Popular posts from this blog

Right here, Right now.

The wind whistles & howls, shaking up Cape Town ; waking her weary chidren.

Dazed I wake up for a second time, opening heavy lids to find that Monday had dawned softly. Ribbons of red are slowly beginning to caress the darkness as I stretch out lazy like a cat, lying in the middle of the kingsize bed, my thick winter frame engulfed by fleecy bedding the colour of candy floss.
"Sweet!" I utter out loud to an already empty house as soft light filters in through aluminium blinds making stripes like tattoos on my pale skin.
I should get up, but I am perplexed by the day which stretches ahead of me demanding nothing!
I'm at odds, not used to so much time on my hands, "busy" being my usual setting.

I'm beginning to like this new reality.
The ticking clock by my bedside sets a steady rhythm, as all around me the world is on the go, moving in circles. It's as if the world's forgotten about this one, tiny space. In my cocoon I groggily sit up, twisting m…

Storylines

Furrows deep and pronounced line my brow. I contemplate them,  willing them away, stroking them gently, each stroke meant to iron them out. I am their canvas, they are my storylines.

I seize my ironing, and listen to their tales.
I feel the cold to my bones!

Not the usual Cape Town cold I grew up with in the Southern Suburbs, but an iciness matching any day spent in Tewkesbury more than a decade ago in the UK.  The kind of cold that requires down feather jackets and knee-high fake fur boots.  The kind of cold that leaves sleet on windshields, and soup pots full.
Central heating!Pah! Our homes in Cape Town are ill-equipped for this kinda torture!
I hug my hot water bottle to me like a long lost lover, it's squishy, and pot-bellied and jiggles when I squeeze it. Raising the white mug to my lips, I slurp the almost scalding coffee quickly. My fifth cuppa and it's only 10:42am. Two bars glow bright orange at me. Mikey hogs the heater, and Georgie sits on top of the TV cabinet like a …

The Road to Al Dhaid

I wake up from a deep sleep, startled by silence and a bed devoid of him. I lay spread eagled, entangled in white cotton sheet, a sense of solitude overwhelming me as soon as I open my eyes.

The desert heat clings to my body while a pale moon tries it's best to break through thick, brown silky drapes. I drag myself up, feeling a twinge in my lower back and pull the clawing nightdress down thick hips and thighs.
Middle age bringing unwelcome changes.

My feet hit lukewarm tiles as I stumble the short distance to the window, hanking the brown open to reveal the the mosque the colour of sand.  In the distance it's soft lights are alluring against a dark sky.
The call to prayer begins as I stand silently staring out at University City Road. No screeching tyres, honking horns, or irate drivers to disturb the peace. Only an ocassional early morning traveller making his way along the quiet streets of sleepy Sharjah.
The adhan is soothing and I am instantly alert, a sense of urgency gu…