Where there's life...

Almost halfway through my 60s, with some dreams achieved and many more not (yet), I find myself wondering how much longer I have on his earth, and - more worryingly - what those years will be like. I think that old people worry about three main things - health, money, and family.    

By the time your health problems start, it's generally too late to reverse them, and all you have are regrets. I should've .... I shouldn't've.... I suppose the same could be said about money problems, and, to a certain extent, family problems too. 

But there's this saying, "Where there's life, there's hope", attributed to Cicero (106 - 43 BC), that has been one of my guiding stars throughout my adult life. When my father died, in Dec 2005, I became acutely aware that he no longer had any opportunities, but that I still did. At that time, I was 44, I was working in the TEFL industry, it was three years since my divorce, and I was in a new relationship. Three months after my dad died, one of my younger cousins, Judy, died. She was the first one of my maternal cousins to die, and one of the younger lot, so it hit us hard. I had never felt the finality of death so strongly. That was 20 years ago, and the rest of the cousins (14) are still around. With Judy's death, I was once again filled with thoughts of how I could live my life to the fullest, given that there were no guarantees I'd live to see old age. 

And here I am - 64 years old, and thinking about life and death. When I was 23, I entered into a relationship with someone 15 years my senior. Eight years later, I got out. Interestingly enough - or proof of how successfully manipulated I was? - we'd split up many times, including for as long as three years.  Now that I understand life better, I understand that that relationship was doomed from the start. The important thing is that I got out. I gave myself a new beginning. I landed on my feet, and entered a new chapter. 

Less than a year later, I met someone completely different, and we got married about eighteen months later. Happy at first, had two children, but the incompatibility became clear early on. After about seven and a half years of marriage, the divorce was finalised. We'd both tried, in our own ways, but it was a lost cause. Once we'd gone through a few different therapists as a couple, I could no longer ignore how severely unhappy I was, I knew I had a very hard road ahead of me. I got divorced and requested zero alimony,  in accordance with my belief system: I don't believe a man should provide financially for his ex-wife after a divorce, if she can work. I do believe that he should co-provide for his children,  though. Most importantly, I got out. This time, the stakes were higher - I was older, and two innocent children's lives were seriously impacted. But I believed in giving myself a chance to be happy. I believed I could land on my feet. 

Two years later, I met a completely different type of man, fell hopelessly in love, and felt I'd found the person I wanted to be with forever. But no relationship is without its issues: after eight and a half years, I discovered infidelity, knew I could never forgive that level of disrespect, and we split. I felt almost ridiculous, having my heart broken at age 50, but that's life - the script for each of us is unique.  With my self-awareness at an all-time high, I got out. It hurt profoundly, but I did what was right for me.

There was a parallel in my working life - I left my first teaching post after fourteen years, and have spent the last thirty years doing different things that made sense to me. This entailed mostly teaching - in and outside of the state education system - but also a five-and-a-half-year stint in the corporate sector, working in Corporate Social Investment, as (amongst other things) a liaison person between the company and its funding beneficiaries. Every job I've had has added to my knowledge, my skill set and my world view. My frame of reference is so wide, that I get bored easily when in an environment where narrow-mindedness is the order of the day.  Because I've worked in situations where my natural problem-solving ability and other leadership skills were given the space to thrive, it drives me crazy when I have to defer to people with less life experience and no clue as to how to lead. 

So what's the point? I'm trying to remind myself that I have a solid track record of not stagnating, and of believing so strongly in myself, that I have reinvented myself a few times, and found that there's always a better, brighter chapter ahead. I just need the courage to turn the page. 

For some people, success meant staying, no matter what. For me, it's always meant not accepting what no longer feels right, and granting myself a new beginning, no matter how uncomfortable the transition feels. Yes, in many ways it is definitely more complicated the older you get. 

But complicated's not the same as impossible, is it?     

Four days from the first anniversary of my mother's death, I'm more introspective than usual. I feel like I need to stop allowing fear of the unknown to keep me from making brave choices. My mother showed me unconditional love, and was always proud of me. I need to live my life with her in mind. The one thing I should not do is give up hope.           

Where there's life, there's hope. 

                                     A budding rose in our school's garden - April 2026

Two Profiles (Written 14 Feb '26)

Background music, as I start typing this post: Clair de Lune, by Claude Debussy, one of the most beautiful pieces of music, and one I often listen to on repeat, because it's complete - it doesn't need other pieces of music for context, meaning, or identity. In a way I can't describe, it completes me.  

When I switch on my laptop, I am faced with pics of my two profiles - my personal one, which I've had for as long as I've had this laptop (about 8 years), and my school one. I purposefully don't have my school one on my phone, because it saves me from 24/7 reachability. It's too much. I've noticed an expectation from people, in different parts of my life, that I will always be reading texts and emails. I don't even have email notifications on my phone - I'll see your email when I check my emails. It's all too intrusive. You can't ever fully relax, because you might be contacted. The worst is when people video call you without prior arrangement. That call will never be answered by me - that is the ultimate intrusion on my personal time and space. I have a right to time out from others. Living alone makes this even more important. I enjoy and look forward to time away from people.  The longer I live alone, the more right it feels for me. Also, I believe that late-night calls are for close people, or for emergencies. If you're not in my close circle, unless it's urgent, call me the next day. 

On Facebook, I also have two profiles - one is my personal one, which I've had since 2009, and the other is my musician page, which I started in 2013. I spend a lot of time on my personal one (which my students tell me is an old-person's platform), but hardly go onto my muso one when I'm not musically active. Actually, I think I'll change that. Not doing gigs because my day job depletes me doesn't mean I'm no longer a musician. I still listen to and enjoy music, and occasionally play and sing on my own at home. And I enjoy seeing what other musicians are doing, especially in Cape Town. When I see my Facebook memories from a few years back, I'm shocked by how much my life has changed since re-entering full-time public-sector teaching. I honestly don't know how anyone manages to maintain hobbies (let alone relationships!) while being a full-time teacher. The little time that you're not at school, you spend doing your domestic chores, and squeezing in a bit of time to relax and recover.  

We're raised to believe that our jobs support our personal lives, but, while they earn us the resources from which to live, it's actually the other way around - the time I spend managing my personal life is so that my day job runs smoothly. I try to keep my flatlet uncluttered so that I can come home and do my schoolwork in an organised space. (I really need an extra room - just saying!) I cook for a few days at a time, on Sundays, so that I can use my evenings doing schoolwork, without having to prepare meals. A lot of what I routinely do is aimed at ensuring that I function optimally in my job. I live the way I do because of the job I have. I earn just what I need to survive. In months where I have additional expenses, like renewing my car license, I have to give up one of my other personal budget items - usually, my haircut. 

But I constantly reflect and re-evaluate my choices. Wherever possible, I come up with inexpensive ways to infuse meaning into my life. My weekly walking habit is one example. Even though I drive 24km to get to my preferred walking space (it's complicated for South African women wanting to exercise outdoors), I decided that it was worth it. I can't quantify the significance of this habit in my life. The truth is, I would love to walk 5km every day, preferably on the beach, but for now I'm doing what works for my busy life. I aim to increase the frequency, staring with a mid-week walk, but since I decided that, my school programme hasn't given me the space to start. I suspect that when it finally does, we'll have hit our colder weather (already starting). I'll simply haul out my warmer clothes and layer up. If I could start and sustain (for 16 weeks so far) a weekly walking routine, I can definitely notch it up to twice a week.

              Sea Point Promenade, on 15 March '26. I took a late afternoon walk, for a change.  

All I know is that walking makes me very, very happy, and I want to do as much of it as possible. Maybe by next spring, I'll feel like signing up for one of those public walks. I can already feel my crowd-phobic side shouting Noooooooo!! I'll see.   

Playing now on my Classical Piano playlist: When The Clouds Cleared, by Alexander Motovilov.  

Saturdays have definitely become my catch-up-with-sleep days. I listen to my body. It's a way of honouring myself. I wake up without an alarm, usually after a good, long sleep, I have a leisurely breakfast, I journal or blog, and if it feels right, I go back to bed and have my chapter two sleep. I love the pure indulgence of it - the delicious antithesis of my week days. 

On playlist: Spark, by Asti Fajriani

Remember my 2026 'motto'? It's "I show up for myself every single day, in good times and in bad." I think I'll drop the second part. "Every single day" says it all.  I love how, when I reflect on each day, I see how I've managed to show up for myself, despite the feeling that I'm living the Plan B version of my life. I'll keep doing so. Even when we do small things for ourselves, we're showing ourselves love and care, which nourish our souls and keep us going.

       Alphen Trail, on 8 March '26. There was a huge event in Sea Point, so I walked closer to home. 

Some of the ways in which I show up for myself:

* I take myself on a tranquil walk once a week.

* I start each day with lemon water.

* I eat only what I love (vegetarian since 1 Nov. 2025).

* I drink water throughout the day.

* I have set morning and evening routines.

* I avoid people who make me feel stressed.

* I journal regularly.

* I set my own standards, regardless of watered-down expectations.

* I play my guitar.

* I crochet.

* I've resumed my reading habit.  

* I watch documentaries about other countries. 

* I listen to music as much as I can. 

* I remember who I am, and that I add value wherever I am. 

* I take photos of nature in all its beauty.

* I smile. A lot. 

     

      Sea Point, on 1 March '26. I had such fun, jumping in and out of the spray from the wild waves.
   

 

Have I Lost You?

 As usual, I have a number of topics I feel like writing about. Today, however, I am compelled to write  about just one.

Yesterday, just over a month after suffering a stroke, Dr. Diana Ferrus passed away. She had been hospitalised for a while, and was moved to a rehabiltation centre for further treatment. On Facebook, I followed the regular updates by her family, and believed she was recovering well. The news of her passing, yesterday, came as an awful shock. 

I think I met Diana in about 2010. I can't remember the details, but it was at an event where we both performed - she, her poetry, and me, my music.  I loved her work. I realised that, even though reading them was a profound experience, her poems were best enjoyed by watching her live performances. I know many people who are wordsmiths, who have impressive vocabularies, and who can make the dullest subject sound interesting, but Diana's gift with words was on another level. She had the ability to use just a few words, in a few lines, to say something deeply moving and thought-provoking. 

I love the way she wrote about everyday experiences and lifted them to something special. I love the way she tapped into different human experiences, often of things foreign to us, and made them real to all of us. Her Afrikaans poem about her father's jacket, "Die Jas", comes to mind. As does her poem about how enslaved people who died on ships were just flung into the ocean: "My naam is Februarie".

I'm finding it hard to write, because I'm still dealing with the shock and sorrow of Diana no longer being around. It still feels unreal. 

Diana was a riveting storyteller, and, whether it was about her childhood, her father's incarceration as a WW11 POW, or an incident that had happened to her the previous day,  she kept her audience captivated. Amidst her seriousness, her sense of humour crept through, and she'd have us in stitches. 

I loved listening to Diana. In conversations with a small group of friends, I always wanted to shush everybody when she was speaking, because she carried such gravitas, like a sense of nobility. She was knowledgeable, and she felt injustices deeply, as evidenced by her poems. When she spoke, I never wanted her to stop, because it was like being addressed by an All-Knowing One, A Wise One. 

And it wasn't just the content of  her speech - she had a really beautiful voice, like rich, dark, liquid chocolate. I loved it when she broke into song, in the middle of her poems.   

I could see, in recent years, that she was growing tired. Her post-retirement performance life was busy, and she sometimes mentioned in her Facebook posts that she needed to rest. What broke my heart was her references to how people took performers for granted.  

One of my points of creative collaboration was when she asked me to sing some of my originals at her book launch, in about 2011. A memorable creative intersection was in 2014, when I put music to one of her older poems, called "Have I Lost You?" I am so glad I got to perform it one night when she was in the audience.  

Diana, I cannot believe you're gone. The world is a lot less magical without you.  

     L-R: Diana Ferrus, Errol Dyers, Me, and my cousin, Derek Ronnie. (2014) Photo: Gregory Frantz 

   

Written on 7 Jan 2026

In an hour's time, I start getting ready for a brunch date with a friend. I've been wanting to blog for SO long, and it feels like now's a good time. If I don't finish in time (I take a long time to edit my writing and find photos), I'll finish later. 

It's the last few days of our month-long summer holiday, with the new school year starting on Monday 12 Jan. I am happy to have had my teaching contract renewed for another year. No job is perfect, but this is where life has placed me, for now, and I  am grateful for this opportunity to make an impact at a school so rich in history and aligned with my political views. 

If you're not South African, you might find that statement strange. What do political views have to do with one's workplace? Almost 32 years into our post-apartheid democracy, there are still many issues to be addressed. Living in South Africa and pretending all our current problems are unrelated to apartheid, but solely the result of bad governance by the ANC, is both naive and incorrect. I would not survive in a context where the past was conveniently forgotten, to appease the historically privileged. 

But that's not what I want to write about today.    

Interestingly, I find that the state of my health is playing a more central role in my life choices. I had a medical check up a few days ago, and while my blood pressure had stabilised, my heart rate was still a problem. I've now been put on a tablet to address that. 

Some changes I've made, in recent months, include weekly walks in nature (my ultimate goal is daily walks), switching to a plant-based diet, cutting out most of the sweet treats I used to love, starting my day with a glass of lemon water, and generally pacing myself better. My guiding principle for living as stress-free a life as possible (a key element of blood pressure and heart health) is knowing myself. The next step is honouring myself, because life has shown me that it's possible to know yourself and still self-sabotage, as you live the way you were raised to, which is to consider everyone else's needs but your own. Finding the balance is important. Difficult, but important.   

Of course, a lot of this is much easier when you're on a four-week break from work. Once I'm back, the likelihood of slipping into patterns that don't serve me is strong, and that's the challenge I'll face next week.  I do think, though, that in the 28 months that I've been in this job, I've sorted out quite a bit. The difficulty for me is that I am prone to being a workaholic, and living alone simply exacerbates it. When you live with someone else, there's a sane (ideally) person around you, reminding you that there's more to life than work. When you're on your own, it's easy to come home, have a snack, then launch into schoolwork for the next few hours, until your stiff neck makes you realise it's almost midnight, and you should probably shower and get to bed. That's the harmful and life-shortening pattern I plan to break. Or, in modern-speak, disrupt.

I fully appreciate that living alone has pros and cons. I love living alone, but it means I always have to go somewhere for any social interaction. It sounds silly, but it's the truth. When you live with even one other person, you have a built-in little society inside your home. 

Going to work every day also provides social interaction - sometimes too much! - which I really do value. During last year, I got to know my colleagues better, and forged bonds with people who had similar life values and approaches to education.  So yes, having a job is about so much more than earning a salary - and teaching is like a few jobs rolled into one.  

(I didn't  finish this on the day I wrote it, but I'll post it as is. )

Ok - time to get ready.    

Carpe diem

There's something SO weird about how I live my life - there are two things that I absolutely love that I just keep putting off: playing my guitar, and blogging. I don't understand it at all. 

There's so much to write about, but I'll mention just a few. It's past 11pm, and I'm really tired. 

Towards the end of August, our school had a Wellness programme for the staff, and I was shocked to discover that my blood pressure was really high. Accustomed to having normal readings, I was quite alarmed. About a week later, I checked it again at a local pharmacy, and it was roughly the same. Then I had an experience one night, where I thought I was having a heart attack. The next day, I went to the doctor, who found my BP was still high, and that my heart rate was also elevated. I had a few tests, and nothing was apparent regarding the heart rate, but I was put on a tablet to bring down the BP. I also had to buy a monitor, to do daily readings. I'm just finishing my tenth week of that. This is all very new to me.  The BP is a lot better, mostly within the normal range, but the heart rate is still alarming.  

Thinking about my health and what could've contributed to my concerning readings, I'm convinced my job is at the heart of it (no pun intended). When I'm not at school, I sit for hours, doing schoolwork. And I know I've been comfort eating since I started living in this flatlet. So it's the stress of my job, my sedentary lifestyle, and my undisciplined eating. There's probably some hormonal stuff, as well as genetics,  and not forgetting ageing. 

So, as part of improving my health, I've become more mindful. I'm consciously trying not to stress as much at work (NOT easy), and I'm proud to say that I've started a weekly routine of taking a walk in nature. Every Sunday morning, for the past 5 weeks, I've done so. I would love to do it daily, but right now that's not possible.  

I'm also working on having better boundaries (linked to stress levels), and - another BIG thing in my life - getting enough sleep.  I've been doing the too-little-sleep thing for so many years, it's a real struggle to get to bed at a healthy time.  

Needless to say, I've become very aware of my mortality, and am trying to live my life with a healthy sense of carpe diem. Maybe my heart's beating so fast for a reason.

I had to take a big decision, recently, on a matter of principle, and even that was about wanting to live without ambiguity, and staying true to my values. 

I have two more days before my November exam marks are due, which means HOURS and HOURS of marking, both tomorrow and Monday. There's so much about our education system I just don't understand. Our school was denied permission to start our final exams on the same date that  neighbouring schools started theirs; as a result, we are really pressed for time, regarding submission of marks. With a fairly large contingent of our staff involved in marking matric exams, our window of time between the end of exams and the date they report to the marking centre is painfully small. This kind of man-made pressure is something I will never understand. It feels arbitrary and avoidable. So we're killing ourselves, trying to meet the deadline, and then when the others leave for external marking, a day or two later, we have way too many days to clean classroom cupboards.

I've been involved in a project called Quilting for Palestine, along with lots of other women. We knitted and crocheted squares in the colours of the Palestinian flag, and are now in the process of sewing them together. Next Saturday, on International Palestine Solidarity Day, we'll be showing the huge blanket in public.  It's been a deeply moving experience, so far, and I think next Saturday is going to feel a lot more so.         

I think I should end off now. This hasn't been an award-winning post, but maybe that's my problem - I don't want to do lukewarm, so I end up not doing anything.

Ok, I promise I will play my guitar and blog more frequently.

And life, while we have it, goes on.    

Oudtshoorn and Paternoster

And today, on 22 November, I'm finally posting something that's been sitting in my draft folder for months. It ends a bit abruptly, but I have no idea what else I wanted to write, back then.  Anyway, here goes.

~~~~~~

What do Oudtshoorn and Paternoster have in common? They were both visited by ME this year! :-) 

This year has been different in a number of ways, including that I've gone away for a few days in both school holidays, thus far. In the March holiday, along with three colleagues, I accompanied 38 high school kids to the 29th annual Klein Karoo Nasionale Kunstefees (KKNK). This trip, which included two long bus rides of about seven hours each, plus multiple short trips within Oudtshoorn, was made possible by the organisers of the KKNK, in partnership with the WCED. The participating schools were all Arts Focus schools, from previously disadvantaged communities. 

How did I get involved? One of our teachers (Drama) was unable to make it, so I was approached. I fall into that demographic of teachers with no dependants, so I'm occasionally asked to do things like this that may be inconvenient or difficult for people with families.  Sometimes it's really cool, like the KKNK one. 

We were accommodated in a school hostel, where we had most of our meals. With eight schools, and roughly 40 kids and 4 teachers per school, as well as officials from the Education Dept, we were about 400 in total. Female teachers and students stayed in one building, and male teachers and students in another.  Breakfast was punctually at 07h00, and within an hour, the first activity of the day commenced. Sometimes this was a workshop or rehearsal at the school, and sometimes it was hopping onto our bus (comfy, with an excellent driver), to attend a show at the festival. 

We saw theatre performances, ballet and modern dance, live music at the big 'feesterrein' (festival grounds), as well as art exhibitions and other fascinating things on display at the festival. Most things were in Afrikaans, and some of our kids struggled to follow some of the dialogue in the theatrical pieces. 

I could go on and on, but I'm timing myself for this post, because of my looming To Do list. School starts in two days, so I'm in planning mode. 

What were the highlights for me, besides feasting my eyes, for hours, on the different landscapes and mountain passes that fed my soul? (Yes, I enjoyed the bus rides!) Well, I really enjoyed being around the schoolkids and watching them shine in their different art forms - Visual Art, Drama, Dance and Music. I enjoyed walking around the town to the different art exhibitions, where I saw some incredible art (that we were not allowed to photograph, in most cases). I loved the show by Cape Ballet Africa, and I was moved to tears by the opera singing of Lynelle Kenned, who sang 'O Mio Babbino Caro' - an aria from Puccini's Gianni Schicchi - which my mother used to sing. But the highlight of my KKNK experience was the theatre piece 'Laaitie mettie biscuits', written and directed by Christo Davids. The cast of four kept us riveted for the entire performance. I actually don't know when last theatre has affected me that way. To the writer (who was there, in the audience), the cast, and everyone else involved in the production: Bravissimo! I would love to watch this production again. I highly recommend it as a piece of South African theatrical excellence. 

We left school on the morning of Monday 31 March, and returned on the evening of Thursday 3 April. Given that it was just a short school holiday, when we started the new term, on Tuesday 8 April, I felt like I needed a holiday. Having said  as much, I am very happy that I went, and happy that it sparked in me a desire to travel to more towns in the Western Cape. 

In this school holiday (we return to school in two days' time), my daughter treated me to a holiday in a seaside town called Paternoster. Cape Town has the luxury of two coastlines, with different oceans (Atlantic and Indian), and Paternoster is on the West Coast. Roughly two hours' drive from Cape Town, it is a fishing town that seems to derive quite a bit of its income from the tourism industry.  My daughter found a beautiful house, with all the creature comforts, where we stayed for three nights. The best part was spending time with my daughter, and the second best part was living 100m from the sea! We walked on the beach every day, and woke up and fell asleep to the sound of he sea. My idea of heaven on earth! 

On our way to Paternoster, we spent about two hours at !Kwah Ttu, the San Heritage Centre. It was impressive, to say the least, and I learnt a lot. I'd like to go back again sometime. 

On our way back, we stopped in Langebaan. another coastal favourite, where we attempted to walk on the beach but just managed to take a few photos, because it was so cold and windy. We did manage to find a little restaurant where we enjoyed our final holiday meal, and visit my former hairdresser, Roz, at her salon. (Now that I know how relatively close Langebaan is,.......) 

 

Profound goodbyes

I'm always astounded at how much time I let pass between blog posts. As I've written many times before, I think about blogging all the time. There's so much of life that I want to put down in writing, but I just don't. As I've also written many times before, it's in my daily journalling that I express my raw feelings about life and its beauty and strangeness.

Since I last wrote, four people in my circle have passed away: in March, it was Harriet Enus, the mom of my dear friend, Anton (whom I met at age six, in Durban). In June, it was a friend, Trevor Roberts, who died a few months after being diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour. Trevor was also a friend I'd met in Durban, at age six. In July, it was Margaret Schultz, the mom of another dear friend, Sandi. My thoughts are with those families, as they grieve for their loved ones.  

The fourth one, the one that changed my world fundamentally, was on 5 May, when my mom died, the day before her 95th birthday. 

I could probably spend many years blogging about my mom and what she meant to me, and I hope to put as much as possible in writing, over time. At this stage, two and a half months after her passing, my thoughts turn to her every day. A friend asked recently how I was coping, and I replied that I thought about her in categories.  I think about my mom as she was during my childhood, when she was my whole world. I think about her during my teenage years, when I'd started making choices that conflicted with my upbringing  - like joining different churches, and getting baptised in a 'born-again' church. I think about her when I was a young adult, teaching, living on my own, my life filled with the drama of tempestuous relationships. I think about her when I was married and became a mom, how her love for her children automatically spilled over to her grandchildren. (My sister had her two children in the 1980s, and I had mine in the 1990s.)   

I think about my mother in her senior years, before she was struck down by Alzheimer's.  She was independent, taking public transport to Claremont on pension day, taking herself for a modest meal at Wimpy (sometimes taking a grandchild along), kept putting on and performing in concerts in her early 80s, and was a solid source of love and support for her family. No-one in my life has ever loved and supported me that much. She was unique to me. She loved us unconditionally. 

When she became ill (diagnosed with Amnestic Syndrome in 2012, and Alzheimer's Disease, a year later), and needed to live in a place where she could be cared for 24/7, I had to be honest that I was not by the means - financially and emotionally - to take on that responsibility. My sister opened her home to my mom, which is where she lived for the next thirteen years, until her death, at home. My sister cared for her, with love, humour, and the expertise gained from her nursing career, and involved her in family events. I am acutely aware of what a huge undertaking that was and will always be grateful for that immense outpouring of love over all those years. It takes a kind of superhero to do such prolonged caregiving. 

For the first seven years of my mother's illness, she spent every second weekend with me. During the Covid lockdown, she couldn't leave the house, and that lack of relief placed a huge burden on my sister. Around that same time, I was having online therapy sessions to deal with some long-standing issues, and one of the outcomes was that I needed to reduce the frequency of my weekends with my mom, in order to take better care of myself. When lockdown was over, I then had my mom with me one weekend a month. It meant a lot to me to be able to spend that time with her, while it saddened me to watch her condition worsening over time. 

One year ago, when I downsized my living space, in order to cope financially (and work away the debt incurred by College of Cape Town not paying my salary for 6 months), I moved into an affordable place just big enough for one person. I budgeted to spend our monthly weekends together at suitable Airbnbs, which I thought we could turn into little adventures. At that time, my sister informed me that our mom's condition was such that it was no longer advisable for her to sleep out of the house.   

I think about my mother when, despite having Alzheimer's, she could still sight-read, and play the  piano. I think about her sense of humour that was evident until about a month before she died. I think about how, in that last month of her life, she lost her ability to walk, and all the ramifications of that loss. I think about how she could no longer swallow properly, and my sister had to feed her soft things like soup, yoghurt, and Ensure. 

I think about the Sunday night my sister messaged me to say that Mom wasn't doing well, and that she had had the priest around to anoint her.  I realised that things were very serious, and went there the next day, to spend time with my mom and my sister. From the morning, already, Mom was displaying the death rattle, which was unnerving to hear. I won't go into any of the details of that day (although I think about them a lot), except to say that she died at 22h15 that night. 

There were quite a few things related to what happens after someone dies that made me feel alienated, but that's personal stuff I have to process over time. 

Mom died on Monday 5 May, her funeral was on Friday 9 May, and her ashes were interred on Sunday 29 June.  

And now, life goes on. But differently. I could never be my mother - she was unique, anyway - but I think both her children and her four grandchildren bear elements of her, which is a beautiful legacy. I will honour her by living as authentically as I can, opening myself to life and its energies, being loving and supportive to the people I hold dear, and always having music in my life.  

                        Mom, a few years ago, playing the piano she bought in Durban, +- 1970