Long before I even had big teeth or school shoes, I knew and felt deep down in my heart that all I wanted was to one day be a real mommy, and a nurse (because my mommy had been a nurse before she got me, and I was so in love with the beautiful freckled nurse on the photo). My little scraggly passed-down rag-doll was a pathetic looking dirty lifeless little child who could do just as well without me. Who could love something that couldn’t even talk or play or cry or fall asleep at my lullabies or bleed or ask why or swallow my mud-pies? I knew I wouldn’t be a daddy, because daddies were big and strong and had enormous warm laps and huge powerful hands and feet and voices. I was much too skinny to be able to grow that much and my voice was squeaky and soft. Anyway, my brothers’ wouldn’t even allow me to play with their dinky toys, so why would I be allowed to drive a big car or a truck. And daddies had short hair, and I could sit on mine.

When Robert from the Co-op gave me my first kiss in our tree-house during my 6^th birthday party, I thought he would of course be the daddy when I became mommy. I remember swallowing a sixpence at that same party, but it was coughingly wrenched out of me. I still can’t keep money for long. Then we moved away to a faraway farm and Robert must have become some other mommy’s daddy. I suppose my wannabemother cravings were satisfied to some extent on the farm, with lots of little “hanslammertjies” needing to be bottle-fed, and a younger sister and brother to take care of. I was always willing and able to clean grazes on knees and dress bloody wounds (and wipe snotty noses). When my little brother landed under the wheels of Dad’s car while he was reversing, I actually stood my ground and didn’t run away. Thankfully, the injury was not too serious, but I realized that my nursing instincts were still strong.

At the age of 12 and a quarter, with an A-class pass into “high” school, off to boarding school I went. But not before being told the facts of life by Mom. Lo and behold, what a shock to my system that was. Please keep in mind that this was almost half a century ago, and it was called the dark ages because children (in our family anyway) were kept completely in the dark about anything and everything to do with anatomy. For the first time I found out that I had reproductive organs, along with allot of other outrageous information. My brother hadn’t come out of a toffee? This newly acquired knowledge scared the motherly instincts right out of me for quite a number of years.

Five years later, when matriculating at the age of 17, I handed my already completed application forms for nursing college to Dad to sign. (I was too young to be accepted without his consent). No, said Dad, I will not sign this. You are far too sensitive and get too involved emotionally. You will not become a nurse. Finished and klaar, that was that. My dream had been shattered. I did not speak to him for months, and refused to look for another career. Eventually Dad persuaded me to go for an interview to see if I had the ability to become a “tracer”. Needless to say, Dad knew me well and was absolutely right about the nurse thing, and I have loved my job. Tracer became Draughtswoman, became Cad Operator, become Technical Assistant, and now I am a highly skilled much sought-after one of a kind semi-retired Cad Technician, and the only person in my company proficient in both ‘Caddie’ and ‘Micro-Station’.

Let’s go back a few years again, to my first year working. My nursing dream had been shattered and I was plodding along with nothing exciting happening in my life. The YWCA was now my home as my family had moved to another town. After living an extremely protected life, I was on my own. Then everything changed. On a Thursday lunch blind date, I met this wonderful bare-footed handsome gentleman and we have been together ever since. 38 years and counting. Love at first sight it was, for both of us. Friday night we went to the movies (all dressed up in those days). Saturday morning he took me to meet his parents. Off to the theatre in the evening (even more dressed up – pink lurex mini dress for me, suit for him). I stood in a puddle of mud with my silver shoes, and he took his snow-white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the mud off. Sunday – a marriage proposal and a resounding yes. It was love at its best (and it’s worst).

My motherly feelings returned with an uncontrollable bang (hehehaha). Morning sickness, sore boobs, tears, happiness, fear, anxiety, whispering, shame and disgrace on the family (this was the dark ages remember), excitement, kitchen tea, wedding, honeymoon in Durbs, stork tea, prenatal classes, thinking that all the glasses we got as wedding gifts would last us for the rest of our lives, buying second-hand furniture, moving into our own place, etc etc. It was such a rollercoaster ride. And I was only a very young 18 years old. (My man was a more grown-up 24 year old). Thank you my Love of my life, for EVERYTHING!

But boy oh boy, was I ready to be a mommy. Isn’t this what I knew I was born to be? My love for my unborn child grew with my belly……

To all 3 my beautiful children:

Before I knew you, I already loved you. As I felt your life in me growing, I was filled with absolute knowing. During your birth and through the pain, my joy and elation I couldn’t contain. And as your life continued to unfold, precious memories in my heart I still tightly hold. The feeling of your warm little fingers entwined in mine, still somehow miraculously lingers. You were and are part of me, and will remain so for eternity.

I was there for all your feeds, and to fulfill all your needs. I happily changed and rinsed all your crappy nappies. (No disposables in those days). I stayed up nights wiping feverish brows, and cleaning up vomit. I sewed and mended your clothes, and I fetched and carried and taxied. I dropped you off at school and fetched you again in the afternoon. You only knew that I had a job because I told you so. I was at every event – sport, boys brigade, brownies, ballet, pta meetings, birthday parties, hospital visits etc etc. I was always there for you. I always made time for you; my life revolved around yours. And I loved every single minute of being your mother (still do actually). This was what I had wanted since before I had teeth, remember! I was in the process of fulfilling my role in life. No pathetic looking dirty lifeless little rag-doll, but a real child to play and be with. And this child returned and responded to my love. Oh what immeasurable joy! I must say that it was during your growing up years that I realized that I was not a nurse at heart. I wanted to cry and run away every time one of my beloved children got hurt or bled or had an operation. (Tried hard to hide this though)

I always tried to be fair. I always tried to understand. I always brought you before God every single day, as I still do to this day. I also know that I made plenty of mistakes. I have luckily forgotten most of them, and hope you have too. I am truly sorry if I did or said anything that left a lasting negative effect on you.

I know that in the last years I have not always been all that pleasant to be around. It is not easy to carry on with everything regardless of constant pain and exhaustion. I want you to know that I love your father beyond measure and because I feel so secure in his love for me, I have unfortunately taken out all my frustrations on him. I am in the process of making it up to him.

Just want you to know that all 3 of you make me so proud (make US so proud). You have grown up to be really special human-beings. I am crying now – tears of joy and sadness all mixed up together. I have felt all your highs and lows with you – how can I not, as I am part of you! And here we are and we are all fine and honky-dory.

Perhaps after reading this, you will understand why it sometimes feels so natural and normal to be giving advice to you as adults, or even telling you what to do or not to do. Please forgive me for this. I have been doing it my whole life, and sometimes I just slip into that role, even though I know you are quite capable of making your own decisions. You know when you should shave or brush your hair or sleep enough or eat well or not drink and drive or swear etc etc. I always have your interests at heart, and remember that I probably know you better than anyone else. (Our personalities basically remain the same, even when we are all grown up). I will do my best to only give advice when it is undoubtedly called for or asked for by you. I am always here!

It is a privilege to have you in my life……THANK YOU for fulfilling my dream in such a perfect wonderful, warm, living way. Tjaart, THANK YOU from the very depths of my soul, without you none of this would have been possible!

What are you, but my very own? I love you!

WHAT WILL MATTER

Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end (and we never know when it is our turn) .

There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days.
All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.

Your wealth (or lack thereof), fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance.
It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.

Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear.
So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to-do lists will expire.

The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won’t matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.

It won’t matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant.
Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.

So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?

What will matter is not what you bought but what you built,
not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage or sacrifice that enriched,
empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew or Facebook friends you have {hehe},
but how many will feel a lasting loss when you’re gone.
What will matter is not your memories but the memories of those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.

Living a life that matters doesn’t happen by accident.

It’s not a matter of circumstance but of CHOICE.

CHOOSE to live a life that matters.

I hope to make the right choice………

©

Quite a number of years ago I bought a new electric frying pan and decided to sent my old one down to Darryl in Cape Town, where he was setting up a home. I had become very fond of my pan, probably because it had been around for so long. I started jotting down a few things about the pan and special instructions on how to get it to work properly. While doing this I realised how much we had in common, me and my pan.

This is the note I wrote:

Please don’t discard or disregard me because of the way I look;  I still fulfil my purpose, which you of course know, is to cook.

My cracks, age spots and pigmentation marks are proud signs of my experience and age.  My once new shine has understandably faded from over-use.  I know I look jaded but I still feel great.  I have fried, simmered, baked, caked, boiled, broiled, roasted, sautéed, steamed, screamed.  I have been scrambled, mishandled, prodded, clobbered, burnt, stirred, scratched, patched, rubbed, scrubbed, curried, hurried, and ignored.

I have moved around from home to home, city to city, province to province.  During all this time, with the Kruger family growing larger, I have witnessed many family interactions and happenings.  A lot of things happen right there in front of me, but no-one even notices that I am there. Often I have been right in the middle of it all, and not been able to say or do anything.  I am quite good at blowing off steam when things become too heated. Some of the events I have seen or heard have deeply saddened me; others have filled me with immense pride and joy. I wouldn’t have wanted to be part of any other family in the world. I know them all so well, and love them because I am part of them and they of me.

I have largely contributed, directly or indirectly, to approximately 32 850 meals served in my home for hungry growing tummies, family and friends.  I must admit that my importance has dwindled in this respect in recent years as new things and ways have taken my place. But I do realise my worth in having been part of the growth and nourishment of the family during their growing years.

I carry all my blemishes, (tear)stains and laughter lines with immeasurable pride. Because of my age, and stiffening and swelling of my joints, I need quite a lot of shoving, pushing, wiggling and coaxing to connect me to my energy source.  But once I’m hot I work even better than before … but then it is just as difficult to disconnect my power in order for me to cool down again. Luckily, nothing gets stuck as easily as in the beginning as all my rough edges are now much smoother. Some things just slide right off me. You will have to flip my lid for me while I’m cooking in order for me to let off steam, as my vent holes are stuck.

I could go on, but I have told you most of what I feel, and have experienced.  Oh yes, I forgot to mention about all the beautiful aromas and terrible smells I have had to contend with over the years … unbelievable some of them!

My skin is not as thick as it used to be and gets hurt by knocks and blows and who knows what else.  Reach out to me often; wherever you decide to keep me … it will almost be the same as your touch. Treat me with respect and love and allow me to live out my last years with dignity, with the knowledge that you do need me, and will use me often. I will continue to serve you to the best of my ability and will always be there for you.  It will be my pleasure.

I wander what happened to my old pan. Must remember to ask Darryl or Jenni. Could it be just hidden away and forgotten in a dark cupboard?. Perhaps passed along to someone else who needed it more?. Who knows – perhaps even thrown out with the trash?. No ways, can’t be! It is still around, just fulfilling a different role now. Perhaps it has been filled with good old earth, and planted with beautiful growing things for the benefit and enjoyment of all. Of course, nothing grows well without some good old fertiliser added every now and again. However way we look at it, it is still a good old pan. It has evolved from a shiny new inexperienced thing to a faded old grey entity -  but that is life, and she wouldn’t want it any other way!