Skip to main content

Going far away to come back to life

My dad in his new room, listening to his favourite music
on a new pair of head phones. 

It all worked out much better than I anticipated. I stressed about just about everything: from getting the bulky application form completed and delivered with the attachments of medical reports, psychiatrist's evaluation, bank statements, consent forms and necessary signatures gathered and duly attached, to the painstaking marking of every single item of clothing and possession that would be moved along with my dad to his new care facility, and the actual move, taking his furniture and belongings and installing it into his room before he would set foot in it.

It was a much bigger exercise than I had imagined from the start, and we had to keep our wits together and pull together as siblings and partners in a team effort to see this through.

Driving him there, he and I have a couple of hours on the road to discuss the way forward and reflect on the past that led up to this drastic move. He surprises me with his total acceptance of the reality of his condition and the necessity of getting him the full care he needs. This doesn't mean that he finds it easy to be moved 300 kms away from everyone and everything familiar to him, but his acceptance and the trust this implies humbles me.

As we come to within sight of the little town of Wakkerstroom, I point out the big complex of the retirement village that make out much of the town. He quietly says: "My laaste staanplek." (My final resting place).

I pray that it will be a very good place for him to spend a much deserved and well cared for retirement.

He loves his room with all his favourite things around him. He charms the nursing staff with his attempts at speaking Zulu and his quick humour is starting to shine through again. For a long while he was completely lethargic and seemed cut off from reality. Now it feels as if he has come back from a far and sinister land.

Strange as it may sound: my father had to be moved far away to be able to come back to life. It is good to see him feeling safe.

Matilda

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Vanuit Die Restory - Gesprekke Tussen Reisgenote (154)

Wakkerstroom Klassieke Musiekfees 2025 20 - 23 Maart 2025 “God sprei die hemel uit oor die leë ruimte,  Hy laat die aarde hang waar niks is nie.  Hy versamel die water in die wolke, en hulle skeur nie onder die las nie.  Hy plaas die horison op die see,  'n grens tussen lig en donker.  Dit is maar die begin van sy dade,  ons hoor net die gefluister van sy woorde.  Maar die volle krag van sy dade, wie kan dit verstaan?” ‭‭Job ‭26‬:‭7‬-‭8‬, ‭10‬, ‭14‬ ‭AFR83‬‬                           Dit is weer daardie tyd van die jaar! Herfs is oral sigbaar en voelbaar en daar is die geur van kreatiwiteit en voorbereidings in die lug wanneer jy ons klein dorpie binnekom. Hierdie naweek bied ons ons jaarlikse Wakkerstroom Klassieke Musiekfees aan. Wonderlike, talentvolle musikante van oral, tegniese spanne en die mense wat hulle optredes sal bywoon, stroom na Wakkerstroom. Musiek is nie die enigste item ...

Lessons in Sunbirdish (1)

I have no way of proving that God exists. For a long, long time I believed because I didn't think I had a choice. If it is a choice between heaven and hell, you do what it takes to secure your celestial seat. Somehow I never stopped to consider why I so strongly believed in a heaven and hell, but wasn't nearly as sure that there's a God holding the keys to them. Then the sunbirds came. Slowly but surely I am being taught the dialect I need to converse with God. Or rather, to follow on what seems to be a trail that God leaves me. Being just up ahead and beckoning me all the while, it's not a chase after or a search for God, but rather a joint venture with God scouting and reporting back when my spirit runs low on this journey through life. In  A Rare Find  and  Bird on my window sill  I touched on synchronicity. I have come to believe that consciously living our moments, awakens us to the fact that there are more things in this life than meet the eyeball. Things t...

Whistle while you work

Drawing by Ron Leishman When last did you whistle while working? When last did you hear someone else whistle while working? Somehow it bothers me that whistling has become an almost absent element in our work. The sound of a person whistling a tune while busy somewhere in the house or out in the workshop conveys something of an underlying happiness, satisfaction and contentment. An enjoyment of the work itself. The tune need not be flawless. Applying more air than sound won’t lead to disqualification, as long as the intention is there. Whistling can even be replaced by singing in all that I’ve said up to now. The same principles apply. The absence of any of these two activities bothers me because it says something about us doing the work and the type of work that we do. Can it be that our type of labour in this 21 st century is not conducive to either whistling or singing? What type of work is that then – draining, stressful, pressured? Or are our conclusions ...