Rather Late Than Never

Hallo! I have missed you, old friend, and I want to reconnect after almost three months. Like some relationships, if you neglect them, you can drift apart, but I'm back! We will be back on track in no time, and I look forward to sharing more family updates with you.

Many exciting things have happened in the interim. We celebrated Butch's 70th birthday with all his siblings, nephews, nieces, children, grandchildren, and friends. To accommodate everyone and give me a break, Butch hosted a luncheon at Spookfontein Wine Estate in the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley. It was a wonderful idea; we relaxed, mingled, and enjoyed the company of every guest.

The birthday festivities lasted more than a week, as everyone came from far and wide to celebrate this milestone with him. He was like a cat with two tails. He could not have been happier.

10 days before Christmas, we wrenched the old Christmas trees from the top of the cupboard, where they’d been unceremoniously lodged and gathering dust for a year. Lise was sceptical, as she’s become rather accustomed to the Canadian way of doing “The Holidays”: large, designer pine trees with an overwhelming display of lights and baubles to keep children excited for the duration.

Ours looked rather forlorn, moth-eaten, very dusty and disappointingly skimpy. She did cheer up as she unpacked the old trinkets from her childhood, the ones collected over 40 years, which brought back memories of growing up and Christmases past. With hands on her hips and her head cocked, she declared our trees were lovely! Emily did the honours with the lights, and our trees glowed into the night in style.

Christmas was a time to celebrate with family, and we went all in. Our table groaned, and every seat in the house was taken. Exceptional. We wined and dined, danced, sang, played games, and loudly told everyone our point of view. Wine flowed, and all our favourite dishes were served. Everyone contributed to the festive day, with love and gratitude in abundance.

Butch and I had the opportunity to get to know our new son-in-law better. We spent many hours discussing braaiing, ice hockey, travel, his career, and his very different life in a very different country, way up north. Butch was bowled over and enjoyed every minute they spent together. He loves our daughter and granddaughter. He has plans in place for their future, with high aspirations, big dreams, and remarkable ambitions to make their lives better. With pride, we look forward to watching this delightful family of three grow.

Our granddaughter Isla swept us off our feet as she charmed her way into our hearts. Of course, she’s the cleverest, most beautiful little girl on earth, and we enjoyed her antics every day. The times she spent with us, solo, were a highlight, as we could set aside instructions and enjoy her on our terms. She flourished, I must admit. We are sure her first words will be Ouma and Oupa. Butch, with a tear, admitted that he never thought he could love another human being so much, so quickly. She stole our hearts.

Spending time with our three granddaughters (without their parents in tow) was at the top of our list. They entertained us, made us feel young again, and shed light on their lives, which we largely hadn't known. We learned of their talents: writing, singing, and a love of the kitchen. With very little prodding and sincere interest, concern and empathy, we learned of their fears and insecurities in this madly unpredictable world of theirs.

Although they’re already teenagers, they enjoyed simple afternoons at the beach, fishing and snorkelling, and indulged me when I insisted on a gelato before we returned home. Isla needed no persuading; she dived straight in every time. Sugar addictions are hard-wired into our DNA, I’m afraid. Ellen’s cheesecake was a winner, and our tea party with the great-grandparents and Valery will be remembered long after the calories have settled on my hips. Ellen refused to share her recipe, calling it a "family secret" (a blessing in disguise).

With a new sports watch strapped to my arm, I was “encouraged” by my disciplined son and Emily to keep up with them and their over-ambitious exercise regimen. With the new watch, I must complete my fitness “circles” daily, they say—a tall order. Although I tried to keep up with their boot camp, I managed only one session, having pulled every muscle and ligament in my body. To disappoint our children is a parent’s greatest fear—this one he’ll have to suck up. I have made peace with it.

On the 31st of December, I fell off my bicycle while rounding an unassuming corner a stone’s throw from our house; I fell, unbecomingly, headfirst over a kerbstone. The scar on my leg is still a painful reminder. The humiliation of hobbling home, deflated, was excruciating. New Year’s Eve was spent quietly at home as I licked my wounds.

My list of resolutions is: 1. Do not keep anything for a rainy day. Every day is special. 2. Do not step on the scales (3rd year) and avoid obsessive dieting. 3. Have my say. I have a few exciting plans in the works, and we hope to get away on our World Adventure Tour in the Honey Badger this year.

We’d hardly settled when it was time for Chad to return home. We couldn’t believe how quickly three weeks had slipped by unnoticed. He assured us he’d enjoyed every minute; he’d seen and experienced more than he’d anticipated, and said: “Every day is like a dream; I never expected Africa to be so exceptional!” That thrilled us no end. Of course, we hope they’ll be back soon. He also admitted that many of his preconceived prejudices had been dispelled as he relaxed and settled into our laid-back way of life.

We often say that talking about the weather signals a lack of intelligent conversation. Humour me. I must talk about the weather. This year, it was unkind to holidaymakers. Global warming reared its ugly head. Windy, wet and cold, with only a few remarkable days sprinkled in. Disappointing for us who sell the sunny blue skies to our visitors. Fortunately, they thought it was sublime, considering they would return to -40°C in Canada.

The house grew quieter a few days later when Joe and Emily packed their bags, and with a heavy heart we had to say goodbye to them too. Such a cheerful couple, always upbeat with joyful smiles and easy conversation, I dreaded the last hours. My parents were particularly quiet, having enjoyed Joe and all his stories immensely; their visits to the Grandparents highlighted their ordinary days, and the improvement in Grandma’s state of mind was remarkable.

Joe indulged her every whim and regularly treated them to meals and lovely ice cream. Loneliness in older people is debilitating. My father, normally very stoic, controlled and shy, had a spring in his step and even smiled broadly when we took the last photographs. These are treasured gifts, already framed and on Grandma’s dressing table, where she talks to them every morning while she does her make-up.

Having Isla and Lise with me for an extra three weeks was an unexpected, undeserved joy. Butch, sadly, had to return to work, but it allowed us to slip into an easy routine. We’d wake when the cock crowed or when Isla needed a change of scenery. She was our moon, and we followed the ebb and flow of her tides, riding the waves with gratitude and enjoying her daily growth. Sunshine and water made her blossom and grow before our very eyes. Her exuberant laughter filled the house. She went from crawling to standing, wobbling as she took her first steps. She was fast, and we had to watch her as she slipped from our watchful eyes while she negotiated the stairs. She certainly got the best traits from her parents.

Grandchildren are the icing on our parenting cakes. With them, we don't have the responsibilities of parenthood; therefore, we enjoy them and love them truly and unconditionally, with no hidden agendas, ambitions, or prescriptions for their lives. They are the sum of our children. Perfect in every way. With age and experience, my advice is: slow down, enjoy every moment, listen more and instruct less.

Just when I thought I could get used to this, it was time for them to leave too. Nothing can ever prepare me for this. Ever. I feel wretched, angry and heartbroken. Butch, aware that we're uncomfortable, does his best to make the day of departure as pleasant as possible by treating us to a special lunch, which is always wonderful. Still, inevitably, we have to make our way to the airport.

Nothing we do to prevent a traumatic departure ever pans out, and this time we thought we’d nailed it. We booked a hotel room for the night (we don't drive at night anymore) so Isla could stay in her routine, sleeping, bathing, and eating in a normal, unrushed way. Lise would do what was necessary to secure a bassinette and book her luggage, etc., well in advance, so she could conserve her energy and focus on making Isla’s journey as pain-free as possible.

A 36-hour long-haul flight with a baby is not to be sniffed at. Lise had all our sympathies; unfortunately, the staff at the check-in counter, although they oohed and aahed and cooed at Isla, had no sympathy and no bassinette. The first shock came when they issued the ticket and discovered that Isla was meant to have left the day before. Ludicrous, I know, but the admin to get that sorted took almost three hours of waiting for the airline to sort it out. They had made the mistake with the time zones and their own timetables. Unbelievable.

Of course, Isla didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, and wouldn't settle beforehand! She knew something was amiss and wasn’t going to give her Mum any slack. Lise later reported that the passenger who sat in front of the bassinette was middle-aged and childless. Fortunately, sleeping over at the hotel was a very good idea, and we’ll certainly consider it again next time.

With a broken heart, a quiet house, and only fond memories, I packed up our cottage, loaded my car with dirty laundry, cushions galore, a mountain of beach and bath towels, and my summer wardrobe, and headed home. My emotions were sapped, and I had no energy as I arrived home to a very happy Butch, who welcomed me with a fire burning, a lovely fresh garden salad, and news from the office. I was home. My children were back where they belong, and we had only memories to sustain us.

And I remind myself that this is life.

Photo credit: Paula van Rensburg, who photographed  Butch's birthday bash. Thanks, Paula!