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| "Resilience". Acrylic and mixed media on stretched canvas. 60 x 60 cm. |
Proteas are strong flowers. The flower petals (and the whole plant, for that matter) are not fragile. They are robust, but beautiful. They grow on slopes where they face winds and cold, wet winters. They speak of variety, adaptability and ingenuity. They need that to survive in diverse environments and adverse weather conditions.
We, too, need all these characteristics to survive in a world full of changes. As the saying goes:
Constant change is here to stay.
2020 was a hard year. For us as a family, too. And it was only the introduction. My hubby's contract with a large, national company, which had been repeatedly renewed for over a decade, came to an abrupt end in December 2019. Promises of running a franchise for this company fizzled out. Despite his wealth of experience and his remarkable skills in management, negotiation, arbitration and marketing - as a white, 69-year-old male in South Africa, he became unemployable.
He was not known for giving up, though. He hustled. He made plans. When Covid struck, art sales and the Maths extra lessons I was giving also came to an abrupt end.
So, we made masks. Thousands. We survived well on that for two months. Then the market was saturated.
More plans. It was grapefruit and avocado season, so we bought fruit straight from the packhouses and marketed it, any way we could. I made delicious Star Ruby Grapefruit Marmalade. The season ended. We transitioned to veggies. We survived through to the next grapefruit and avo season. I added proteas to the mix, from the large protea farm just outside Eshowe. And tomato sauce, banana chutney… whatever I could get my hands on, went into bottles.
We had three deaths in our family in three months: In June my brother, who was the same age as my hubby, died from Covid in Namibia. His wife was alone at home for three days, as no visitors were allowed on account of Covid. Then, thankfully, her daughter arrived from the Cape.
July 2021 came. I started an art YouTube channel. Maths lessons began trickling in again. On Monday, the 14th of July 2021, I was giving my first Zoom art Lesson. But the shooting in town, which we could hear from our homes, was ominously unnerving. The looting and rioting on account of Zuma's court case had broken out.
It would last for days. Life as we knew it, came to a halt. Everything was poised on the knife edge of: What is going to happen?
The looting had scarcely settled down, when the second death in our family hit: On the 21st of July, my fifty-three-year-old nephew, who had been in ICU with Covid, passed away, leaving a wife and two toddlers. My sister was heartbroken.
Then, scarcely a week later, on the twenty ninth, we were driving back from selling fruit and veg, when, close to Eshowe, my hubby got an immense pain in the chest.
An ECG was done, and heart attack ruled out. A week followed of back-and-forth to the doctor. Nights of unbearable pain and later, cold fever (which turned out to be hypothermia). By the next Saturday his sons persuaded my very unwilling hubby to be admitted to the hospital. At the Emergency they put him in a wheelchair, hooked him up to oxygen, drip, etc. Halfway to the ward they told me I couldn't enter the ward because of Covid. I kissed him goodbye through the masks and were asked to see the ward sister to fill in some forms. I sobbed my way through it. Will they make sure that he is pain-free and warm, especially at night? This was the last time I saw my hubby. We had a few phone calls in between his sedation. On Monday by noon he told me he wasn't going to make it. My heart was shattered. I wanted to be with him… I told him that. I told him how much we all loved him and wanted to be with him, knowing how everybody battled to get hold of him on the phone. Still don't know if it was due to a wrong setting on his phone, or simply his sedation.
At 4h30 that afternoon I got the dreaded phone call. When I hung up, I looked up into the mirror on the dining room dresser and shrieked out my shock and frustration. Then I started phoning everyone. It was the 9th of August.
The next Saturday we had a family memorial service in our garden, led by his brother. I think Des would have approved very much. My last labour of love was a huge wreath of large white proteas, pincushions, and yellowwood foliage, which my close friend helped me with. I remembered all the times we drove to Zini with a bakkie-load of fresh produce, and bunches of proteas in the front with me.
On the Monday I got a call from someone who wanted me to tutor their two high-school boys full-time, on their farm near Gingindlovu. I started in September. Still feeling dazed. And nervous: it was the first time working full time in sixteen years.
It was so good for me. To be with people. On a farm. Well brought up boys with a sense of humour. It was hard work: they were doing Maths, Physics, Chemistry, Biology… It sure kept my mind busy.
And I had a set income for a change. I livable income. What a reprieve! The 27km I travelled every morning and afternoon gave me lots of time to think, pray, cry. I remembered all the roads we travelled together. All the places he took me to - the bush, and many, many beaches. I would come home and sit and stare at my hubby's photo on the coffee table, next to flowers, and try to make sense of what had happened. It took time. Lots of time. Still doesn't make sense sometimes. I don't think our psyche was wired for death. It is wired for life. Eternal life. I don't think we accept death. We just re-calibrate.
And so, three years flew past. I processed the grief. I adapted to the responsibilities of maintaining the house, the garden, my vehicle. Wasn't easy. But it gets easier.
The one boy that I was tutoring has finished now, and the other one is nearly there. They have moved away. Life has moved on for them. The last day I drove home from school, I sobbed all the way home. I became part of their family. Another loss. Another goodbye. I'll miss them all. I'll miss the calls of the wryneck, and the cries of the fish eagle over the farm dam.
A new chapter has started. Back to making art and teaching Maths extra lessons, like I used to do, when all was well. Only this time alone.
Resilience.
I hear my hubby saying,
“You're a strong woman.”, “You can do anything!”
Adaptability.
I'll remember...
It's an adventure. I hear God saying, “Trust me. Look at the flowers of the field… ”.
Ps. The boys (whom I tutored) would say (with the rough, TikTok voice), “Tough times never last, only tough people do!” :-)
Pps: I welcome comments and feedback.
What do Proteas mean to you?
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