The Restory Retreat Centre

My dad Photo by Matilda Angus I have had very few reasons in my life to feel proud of my dad. One being his truly beautiful singing voice. I loved standing next to him during church services and hear him take the tenor confidently and with the greatest of ease. In different circumstances he could have made it in the music world. But mostly, our lives were ruled by my father’s struggle with his demons: an inferiority complex and a terribly short temper. Looking back, I honestly don’t know whether we moved so many times because Dad was trying to better our lives with better positions and a better income, or whether he got into another scrap with his superiors and decided to move on. Yet for all his shortcomings, I now know he tried his utmost to provide for his family and he was a trustworthy employee. Also, he raised us the best he could on principles he believed in based on his strict religious views. But these things don’t stir up pride in a child or teenager’s heart. ...

My father on his 78th birthday A well kept body doesn't die easily. Even if its inhabitant wants to. My father turned 78 on the 7th of March. In all his life, he had never smoked, hardly took any alcohol, worked physically hard as an electrician and was morally a saint.      He has been suffering from a severe depression for the past ten years since my mother's death. Her fight against cancer lasted almost twelve years.In all probability, looking back, my father may have been suffering from depression since his father walked out on the family when he was only three years old. Back in 1939, divorce was the exception to the rule. My grandmother managed to raise three children by sheer will fuelled by bitterness that kept her going right up till her death at the age of 84.      All through our childhood years we suffered the consequences of my father's dysfunctional upbringing. He tried his best, I'm sure, but he wasn't equipped for fatherhood and lacked ...