With the anniversary of 9/11 occurring yesterday, I think many people's hearts have been, or are, in a reflective state, possibly even a sad state. I know mine is. I've been thinking a lot about 9/11 recently - not just about my reaction to the events, but about those who lost loved ones, about those who died.
I heard an interesting interview on Smile 90.4 FM yesterday, with a man who has put together a collection of interviews with those bereaved by 9/11 - telling their stories of trying to carry on with their lives. He shared one story, of a photographer (or possibly the gallery owner, I can't remember now) who had an exhibition of photographs from 9/11 as a memorial event. One photo was of a person jumping from the tower, one leg still in the window and one out. A woman came to view the exhibition.
When she stood before this particular photo, she started screaming so hysterically that the photographer/ gallery owner closed the gallery and went to her aid. He apologised, saying that he never intended the photo to cause such extreme pain in the viewers. Once she was able to speak, she informed him that the man in the photo was her husband, and that she had never known how he died.
Now, every year, this woman comes to stand outside the gallery when this particular photo is exhibited as part of the memorial events. She won't actually step inside and view the exhibition, but she's always there. When I heard that story, I burst into tears. Can you imagine... never knowing, and then finding out like that? The truth might not have been easier to deal with....
Over the weekend I finished reading a book that was a thought experiment - a (fictional) account of a person killed in 9/11. It's the story of a father who took his two young sons for breakfast in the restaurant at the top of one of the towers. They get trapped, so cannot escape down the tower. The younger child dies from burns, while the father and the older child die by jumping from the tower.
I didn't particularly enjoy the style of the book (and not just because of the horrific nature of the subject material), but it got me thinking, once again, about what it must be like to be faced with such a dilemma - to choose the manner of one's death. I can only imagine how terrible and terrifying it must be to have to choose between burning to death or jumping to your death, especially to have to make that choice for one's children....
I've been thinking about the bombers too, especially in the wake of the US rumblings about a strike on Syria and the way that has raised the issue again of the recent wars by the US. While I do not condone what the bombers did, in any way (and I want to make that blatantly clear), I do have to wonder at the reaction of the western public to them. I did not lose anyone in that tragedy, and I was far removed from it, and maybe that's why I did not feel the tremendous anger that others in the US did. If I had lost a mother, father, sibling, relation, friend, or child to the World Trade Centre collapse, maybe I too would have felt anger.
But anger enough to want to kill another human being?
While I fundamentally disagree with the teachings of Islam on many points, I am amazed by the passion, belief and desperation that was demonstrated by the bombers. How angry? hate-filled? desperate? must those bombers have been to hijack and fly those planes into the towers? What was going through their heads?
Whatever their beliefs, and however atrocious their actions, they were human beings too. Of course, I can afford to show mercy because I lost no-one in that tragedy. How we react to the bombers though should be the same way we react when we talk about the atrocities committed in the name of Christianity during the Crusades, or the Spanish Inquisition, or the Salem witch hunt. Here were people, supposedly good, Christian people, who got swept up in the emotion of something, brain-washed by a few (greedy? misdirected? power-hungry? truly evil?) individuals. Maybe most of them went along with it out of fear for what might happen to them, or those they loved, if they refused, or if they were to speak out against it. In the same way, during WW2 many Germans were not really Nazis: they went along with the tide because it was too dangerous to swim against it.
People are all human. While the actions of some may be heinous, is it not the responsibility of every human to respond with compassion? I'm not saying we let anyone get away with anything - we must suffer the consequences of our actions after all. Yet, is there not a way to show compassion while ensuring that justice is done? Is hatred really the only, or the right, response in such circumstances?
I don't know whether you've been following the news recently, but there was an horrific crash in the Pinetown area. A truck, travelling along a notorious stretch of road, plowed into 4 minibus taxis and a car (killing 22 people), when its brakes failed coming down the hill. The driver is a young man from Swaziland.
It's an horrific story, and my heart breaks for those bereaved in this accident. As one family member said - whatever happens to the truck driver, it will not bring his father back. And he's right. The natural route for grief is to find someone, or something, to blame. I did exactly that when Zoe died, and because there was no-one to blame, I got even more angry with God than I was initially. Yet, that anger only served to isolate me further.
The truck driver is only human. He didn't deliberately make the brakes fail. He didn't deliberately set-out to take the lives of 22 others. His life has been destroyed by this event as much as those who lost family members and loved ones.
He probably needs to go to jail, to serve a sentence for killing 22 people, yet I am so pleased so say that if he does, he will be surrounded by compassion as he does. The actions of one woman have resulted in a support group for him on Facebook with about 3000 members at the time of writing this post. Members of the public have donated clothes and food and other items to him while he's awaiting trial. The messages of support on the group (which are being printed out for him to read) have already begun a healing work in his life, as he realises that many people have compassion towards him, rather than hatred and anger.
We are all human. We all make mistakes. We all mess up. More - we are all so broken, in so many ways, that we wind up doing things that cause hurt to others. We sin, and because we sin, we actually all deserve the same punishment - death. It is because of that I dare not stand and point a finger at another. I am in the same boat as that truck driver. I am no better or worse than the 9/11 bombers. There, but for the grace of God, go I.
Everyone needs compassion...
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Heart breaker
I had an incredible conversation with a parent this afternoon.
One of the boys in one of my classes has had a really bad year. Not knowing the boy beforehand, I thought that's just how he was. He simply wasn't interested in working: seldom brought his books to class, never did his homework, seldom paid attention in class. After several months of trying to get him to work, and failing, I had all but given up on him.
This afternoon I learnt that this little boy has been having a horrendous time at home. For 13 years he and his very much older brother had had his mother all to themselves. His father left them when he was born, and he's never seen him since. They had been living in a flat on their grandparents' property. (For a long time, as a child, he apparently thought that his grandfather was his father.)
Then at the start of this year, he came to high school. Coming from a township junior school, that was a major adjustment for him. At the same time, his mother remarried. Her new husband comes with attachments - two kids of his own and his mother. Not only did this boy have to adjust to the new family, but he and his mother moved into his step-father's house, while his older brother remained behind in the flat. He has lost his brother, his extended family, his childhood home, and his special relationship with his mother all in one fell swoop, and all at the same time as having to cope with a new school and no friends. In addition, I discovered that from the time his mother started dating her new husband, she began to change. She used to be a very traditional Muslim. Now, she wears make-up and dresses in a very nontraditional fashion. No doubt, the boy misses the mother he's used to, and sees his step-father very much as the person responsible for not only the change in his mother, but for all the changes in his life.
It's no wonder the boy wasn't interested in school! The more detail his mother gave me, the more my heart broke for this little boy. I remember well how it felt to me when my mother remarried. I was a lot older, but I still found it difficult to adjust. I got to stay in my home and my step-father came to live with us, but I still found it difficult to adjust. I didn't lose contact with any of my other family, but I still found it difficult to adjust. I can only imagine what this boy is going through.
For most of the year, he refused to talk to anyone about his behaviour, or the cause of it. It wasn't until a few weeks ago when he broke his arm as a result of punching a wall that his mother thought she should take him to a psychologist. Only through the psychologist's intervention has he been able to talk about what is going on in his life, see it for what it is, and begin to put his life back together. I'm amazed he didn't turn to drugs, alcohol or suicide.
The more I have reflected on his story this afternoon, the more broken my heart has become for him. I keep remembering how I felt as a child, and I keep thinking about how worried I would be about Janel if Graeme were to disappear (through death, rather than divorce, I hope!) and I were to remarry. Then I keep remembering things I've said to this boy throughout the year.... and I cringe with shame. I know that as teachers we can't be all things to all students. I know that we don't have time to parent all the difficult kids in our classes. I know that we're not trained counsellors. I know that I can't blame myself for this boy's behaviour. If his mother couldn't figure it out, then I don't suppose I should expect myself to. But I do blame myself. I do shoulder the responsibility for not having pulled this boy aside at more appropriate moments, and making the time to really listen to him.
It amazes me that it took this mother a year to seek help. I guess that, having been through my parents' divorce and remarriages, I'm more aware than many about the impact of adult relationships on children. Speaking personally, if I were his parent, I would have got a counsellor for my child BEFORE the event. I would have got counselling for the ENTIRE family during the event. And I sure as hell would not have waited a year after the fact to get my child help.
But then I guess it's been a major adjustment for her too - from having no husband to having one, from having one young child to having three, from having no in-laws to having one living in her house, from living in her own space to living in someone else's, from having a close relationship with her son to having an angry one, from having both her sons living with her to having only one, from having her parents next door to having them far away.... I guess I can understand how in the midst of all that change it would be difficult to make the time to really think clearly about what's happening inside your child's head and heart.
My heart breaks for this little boy, and for his mother, and for their whole blended family. Even now, I can still see signs that this mother isn't seeing clearly. I hope and pray that the counselling she and her son are getting will enable them both to heal, and will save this family from further damage.
One of the boys in one of my classes has had a really bad year. Not knowing the boy beforehand, I thought that's just how he was. He simply wasn't interested in working: seldom brought his books to class, never did his homework, seldom paid attention in class. After several months of trying to get him to work, and failing, I had all but given up on him.
This afternoon I learnt that this little boy has been having a horrendous time at home. For 13 years he and his very much older brother had had his mother all to themselves. His father left them when he was born, and he's never seen him since. They had been living in a flat on their grandparents' property. (For a long time, as a child, he apparently thought that his grandfather was his father.)
Then at the start of this year, he came to high school. Coming from a township junior school, that was a major adjustment for him. At the same time, his mother remarried. Her new husband comes with attachments - two kids of his own and his mother. Not only did this boy have to adjust to the new family, but he and his mother moved into his step-father's house, while his older brother remained behind in the flat. He has lost his brother, his extended family, his childhood home, and his special relationship with his mother all in one fell swoop, and all at the same time as having to cope with a new school and no friends. In addition, I discovered that from the time his mother started dating her new husband, she began to change. She used to be a very traditional Muslim. Now, she wears make-up and dresses in a very nontraditional fashion. No doubt, the boy misses the mother he's used to, and sees his step-father very much as the person responsible for not only the change in his mother, but for all the changes in his life.
It's no wonder the boy wasn't interested in school! The more detail his mother gave me, the more my heart broke for this little boy. I remember well how it felt to me when my mother remarried. I was a lot older, but I still found it difficult to adjust. I got to stay in my home and my step-father came to live with us, but I still found it difficult to adjust. I didn't lose contact with any of my other family, but I still found it difficult to adjust. I can only imagine what this boy is going through.
For most of the year, he refused to talk to anyone about his behaviour, or the cause of it. It wasn't until a few weeks ago when he broke his arm as a result of punching a wall that his mother thought she should take him to a psychologist. Only through the psychologist's intervention has he been able to talk about what is going on in his life, see it for what it is, and begin to put his life back together. I'm amazed he didn't turn to drugs, alcohol or suicide.
The more I have reflected on his story this afternoon, the more broken my heart has become for him. I keep remembering how I felt as a child, and I keep thinking about how worried I would be about Janel if Graeme were to disappear (through death, rather than divorce, I hope!) and I were to remarry. Then I keep remembering things I've said to this boy throughout the year.... and I cringe with shame. I know that as teachers we can't be all things to all students. I know that we don't have time to parent all the difficult kids in our classes. I know that we're not trained counsellors. I know that I can't blame myself for this boy's behaviour. If his mother couldn't figure it out, then I don't suppose I should expect myself to. But I do blame myself. I do shoulder the responsibility for not having pulled this boy aside at more appropriate moments, and making the time to really listen to him.
It amazes me that it took this mother a year to seek help. I guess that, having been through my parents' divorce and remarriages, I'm more aware than many about the impact of adult relationships on children. Speaking personally, if I were his parent, I would have got a counsellor for my child BEFORE the event. I would have got counselling for the ENTIRE family during the event. And I sure as hell would not have waited a year after the fact to get my child help.
But then I guess it's been a major adjustment for her too - from having no husband to having one, from having one young child to having three, from having no in-laws to having one living in her house, from living in her own space to living in someone else's, from having a close relationship with her son to having an angry one, from having both her sons living with her to having only one, from having her parents next door to having them far away.... I guess I can understand how in the midst of all that change it would be difficult to make the time to really think clearly about what's happening inside your child's head and heart.
My heart breaks for this little boy, and for his mother, and for their whole blended family. Even now, I can still see signs that this mother isn't seeing clearly. I hope and pray that the counselling she and her son are getting will enable them both to heal, and will save this family from further damage.
Friday, September 21, 2007
A very long post...
Holidays are here! Yay! And the sun was out in force today. It’s been hotting up all week, and I’ve loved it. I even took 2 classes outdoors. (SKOK!) (OK, admittedly, one was because the art room down the corridor were using thinners and I had an asthma attack as a result, so had to evacuate my classroom, but still.) Today was another gorgeous day – one of those beautiful spring days that holds such promise for a fantastic summer. After the final assembly I took to lazing in the sun on the Matric Lawn, waiting for my colleagues to pack up so we could go out for lunch. I kept thinking to myself – there’s no place like home!
Yup, there’s nothing quite like azure (not just blue!) African skies, bright sun, lazing on the thick, dark green lawn, gazing up at the Mountain, feeling the light breeze play over my skin, listening to the birds in the trees… and all accompanied by the lovely smell of diesel fumes from the lawnmower 15m away that sounds like it’s eaten a toaster for lunch and got bits stuck in its teeth. But lawnmower aside, I had the most glorious 20 minutes laze. I haven’t done nothing like that in ages. No books to mark or lessons to prepare, and no other human beings needing or demanding my attention. Glorious! Heavenly! I felt like a student again at the start of the summer holidays – with weeks of summer nothingness ahead.
Of course, being on a lawn, it didn’t take long before I was drumming up earthworms and doing a bit of weeding. I can’t help myself. Really, I can’t. I love weeding (anal, I know, but I do) and I still find earthworms fascinating… the way they wriggle around, the way they feel in your hand, the way their internal structure is designed, the way they mate, their similarity to parasitic worms… Once a biologist, always a biologist I guess.
But it brought back so many happy memories of years gone by and all the hours I spent weeding the lawns with my mother (at the same house Graeme, Nellie and I have just moved into, in fact). This is one the reasons I’ve come home. I want my kids to have the kind of childhood and young adulthood that I had (minus the stuff ups and heart break) – not necessarily weeding the lawns (although I do hope they learn to love gardening), but just having happy times doing ordinary stuff with family. There is nothing so precious! Kids don’t need lots of expensive gadgets – they need love and time and words of affirmation from their family. I want Nellie to have all that.
Much later, after Graeme had collected Nellie, we were all outside on the stoep (porch/ patio) and in the garden, enjoying the late afternoon sun. Nellie was riding her car (she can now push herself forwards, so she doesn’t have to just go in reverse anymore!), I was reading in my rocking chair, and Graeme was practicing his bowling. (Oh, the injustice of SA being out of the twenty 20!) Suddenly I heard this voice – my voice – saying ‘Be careful of Nellie – you don’t want to hit her on the head’ and ‘Don’t throw that on the roof – you’ll crack a tile’, and ‘Don’t bowl in that direction, you’ll hit a car’, and ‘Don’t bowl up against the house – you’ll crack the bricks and we’ll get leaks’. When did I turn into my mother (no offence, Mom – you’re the world’s best mother and I couldn’t cope without you!!)? Not sure, but we did have a really good chuckle about it.
Speaking of sport, I had a lovely evening out earlier in the week. Rondebosch rugby boys are touring in Argentina next year and so have organised a series of fundraisers. One was a ‘Rugby Rules for Girls’ evening, and as I teach some of the boys, I bought a ticket and went along. I was really hoping that they would cover the off-side rule, and when penalties are awarded, and what affects the decision to either kick for the posts or have a line-out, but they didn’t. Never the less, it was a really fun evening.
We had former SA Springbok prop Toks (Albert, I ask you!? A good Afrikaans rugby boy-tjie and his name is Albert! Go figure.) van der Linde and commentator Gary C as the MC’s and they were fabulous. They got women up on stage and taught us how to tackle correctly, scrum and do (is that the correct verb?) a line-out. They also went through the various positions on the field, and the difference between a ruck and a maul. Some of the stuff I already knew, but I definitely learnt stuff. They were a good laugh too, and the food was delicious (Woolies food always is!), so all round it was a great evening. I even managed to teach Graeme something afterwards! Now that’s something.
So – what are my plans for this glorious week of freedom I have ahead? Sadly, very little lying in the sun lazing. No – this week is the time I have to catch up on my business plans that have been on a back burner while I’ve been working and sorting out the house. It is also the time to finish sorting out the house. Our housewarming is next weekend and I’d like the last few boxes and bits and pieces to be done by then.
I’m hoping that the change of scenery and focus will help get me back on an even keel though. I’ve really been struggling with grief again recently. I’m back to being mad with God and therefore not really wanting to talk to him. I know that grief goes in cycles, so I’m not too worried about this; it’s just that it’s hell living through it. I know I will get through this and that at some point in the future I will find a way to live with the pain, to reconcile my (intellectual) faith with my experiences, but right now that’s a bit beyond my capabilities.
I was having a conversation with a colleague at work about this just last week. She lost her dad to cancer a few years back and her faith took a massive blow. Like me, she’s still struggling to find a way to make sense of her pain and her loss, and to reconcile her experiences with her faith. I was deeply pained to hear that her church family told her that the reason her dad died was because she didn’t have enough faith when she prayed for his healing. I know that lots of Christians believe this particular doctrine (and that they fail to temper it with the freewill of the individual or with the effects of the sin of the individual, or with God’s omnipotence) but it still angers me that they could be so unloving as to express it to someone who is grieving. Where is their compassion?
One of the kids in my register class made a comment this week about the Americans remembering their 9/11 dead and he said something to the effect of ‘oh just get over it already – that was 6 years ago!’ I nearly hit the roof! Before I left SA, I didn’t really understand what a big deal WW1 and WW2 were, and every year at the remembrance services I would think pretty much the same thoughts as this kid. Then I went to the UK, where it is a MASSIVE event every year, and slowly, as I absorbed the national culture, I came to understand what a massive impact the wars had on the population, economy and industry in the UK. Then I lost Zoe. On one of the grief message boards I’m part of the rules there state that there is no time-frame by which you are supposed to ‘get over’ your grief, and that therefore no-one should ever tell another member that they ought to be ‘over’ it by now – whether that was 6 months or 60 years after the event.
I understand now what it is to be a loved one left behind after a tragic, unexpected event, trying to move on with life, but never fully able to because someone you love has been prematurely ripped from your life. It doesn’t matter whether that loved one is lost through war, natural disaster, accident, illness or some other tragic circumstance. The fact is that you never forget. You will always remember, and you will always try to celebrate the life cut short. If that loved one is lost in an event that kills hundreds or thousands, then all the loved ones affected may choose to remember together, thus creating a memorial event. To be told to ‘get over it’ is like being told that your loved one no longer has any worth or meaning, and no-one has the right to say that about another person.
I tried to explain this to him, calmly, but either I wasn’t doing a very good job, or he just wasn’t getting it. He kept saying that he’d lost his grandparents, so he knew what it was to lose someone. I kept saying that he obviously didn’t understand the nature of grief if he was able to say he’s lost a loved one and yet can make a comment like that. The more he failed to understand the connection between the two, the more irate I got, until eventually I lost my cool and yelled at him so loudly the entire class (and they are a noisy bunch!) shut up and told him to shut up too. I told him he was being incredibly rude, selfish, inconsiderate and insensitive and that if he ever dared make a comment like that in my class again he need never return to my class – he could sit in the corridor for the rest of the year as far as I was concerned.
By this time, I was just about in tears. I was shaking with anger and grief. I felt like his failure to understand this was such a slap in the face. And something has just occurred to me – he hasn’t been in class since. I’m sure it’s coincidence – he’s probably been bunking school to watch the cricket. Still, I hope something I said, other than the message to get lost, has stuck and given him pause for thought. I shouldn’t have lost my cool. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to take it so personally. But I’m human, and as I said, recently my grief has been very close to the surface. I guess I was a time bomb waiting to explode. Not having the space and time to blog (or write) has curtailed a very important outlet for me.
Not having my London friends around to talk to has been another problem. I don’t think I realised till now just how much I’d been relying on them to help me through this aspect of my grief work. (I miss you guys so much – both my morning GG ladies and my evening GG! You were my lifeline!) I think it’s time that Graeme and I followed up the support group thing here so I have another outlet for my grief. I really don’t want another explosion at a kid (or anyone else, for that matter) because I’m not dealing with my grief very well.
For the moment though, at least I’m back online can blog again. But for those who pray, please keep praying. I know that it can be hard to keep praying the same prayer for the same person over a long period of time, so I appreciate your prayers all the more. In some respects I think the grief only really starts when the world around you starts to forget you are still grieving.
And on the subject of prayer – this was sent to us recently on email. Oh to have the faith of a child (dog)!
Yup, there’s nothing quite like azure (not just blue!) African skies, bright sun, lazing on the thick, dark green lawn, gazing up at the Mountain, feeling the light breeze play over my skin, listening to the birds in the trees… and all accompanied by the lovely smell of diesel fumes from the lawnmower 15m away that sounds like it’s eaten a toaster for lunch and got bits stuck in its teeth. But lawnmower aside, I had the most glorious 20 minutes laze. I haven’t done nothing like that in ages. No books to mark or lessons to prepare, and no other human beings needing or demanding my attention. Glorious! Heavenly! I felt like a student again at the start of the summer holidays – with weeks of summer nothingness ahead.
Of course, being on a lawn, it didn’t take long before I was drumming up earthworms and doing a bit of weeding. I can’t help myself. Really, I can’t. I love weeding (anal, I know, but I do) and I still find earthworms fascinating… the way they wriggle around, the way they feel in your hand, the way their internal structure is designed, the way they mate, their similarity to parasitic worms… Once a biologist, always a biologist I guess.
But it brought back so many happy memories of years gone by and all the hours I spent weeding the lawns with my mother (at the same house Graeme, Nellie and I have just moved into, in fact). This is one the reasons I’ve come home. I want my kids to have the kind of childhood and young adulthood that I had (minus the stuff ups and heart break) – not necessarily weeding the lawns (although I do hope they learn to love gardening), but just having happy times doing ordinary stuff with family. There is nothing so precious! Kids don’t need lots of expensive gadgets – they need love and time and words of affirmation from their family. I want Nellie to have all that.
Much later, after Graeme had collected Nellie, we were all outside on the stoep (porch/ patio) and in the garden, enjoying the late afternoon sun. Nellie was riding her car (she can now push herself forwards, so she doesn’t have to just go in reverse anymore!), I was reading in my rocking chair, and Graeme was practicing his bowling. (Oh, the injustice of SA being out of the twenty 20!) Suddenly I heard this voice – my voice – saying ‘Be careful of Nellie – you don’t want to hit her on the head’ and ‘Don’t throw that on the roof – you’ll crack a tile’, and ‘Don’t bowl in that direction, you’ll hit a car’, and ‘Don’t bowl up against the house – you’ll crack the bricks and we’ll get leaks’. When did I turn into my mother (no offence, Mom – you’re the world’s best mother and I couldn’t cope without you!!)? Not sure, but we did have a really good chuckle about it.
Speaking of sport, I had a lovely evening out earlier in the week. Rondebosch rugby boys are touring in Argentina next year and so have organised a series of fundraisers. One was a ‘Rugby Rules for Girls’ evening, and as I teach some of the boys, I bought a ticket and went along. I was really hoping that they would cover the off-side rule, and when penalties are awarded, and what affects the decision to either kick for the posts or have a line-out, but they didn’t. Never the less, it was a really fun evening.
We had former SA Springbok prop Toks (Albert, I ask you!? A good Afrikaans rugby boy-tjie and his name is Albert! Go figure.) van der Linde and commentator Gary C as the MC’s and they were fabulous. They got women up on stage and taught us how to tackle correctly, scrum and do (is that the correct verb?) a line-out. They also went through the various positions on the field, and the difference between a ruck and a maul. Some of the stuff I already knew, but I definitely learnt stuff. They were a good laugh too, and the food was delicious (Woolies food always is!), so all round it was a great evening. I even managed to teach Graeme something afterwards! Now that’s something.
So – what are my plans for this glorious week of freedom I have ahead? Sadly, very little lying in the sun lazing. No – this week is the time I have to catch up on my business plans that have been on a back burner while I’ve been working and sorting out the house. It is also the time to finish sorting out the house. Our housewarming is next weekend and I’d like the last few boxes and bits and pieces to be done by then.
I’m hoping that the change of scenery and focus will help get me back on an even keel though. I’ve really been struggling with grief again recently. I’m back to being mad with God and therefore not really wanting to talk to him. I know that grief goes in cycles, so I’m not too worried about this; it’s just that it’s hell living through it. I know I will get through this and that at some point in the future I will find a way to live with the pain, to reconcile my (intellectual) faith with my experiences, but right now that’s a bit beyond my capabilities.
I was having a conversation with a colleague at work about this just last week. She lost her dad to cancer a few years back and her faith took a massive blow. Like me, she’s still struggling to find a way to make sense of her pain and her loss, and to reconcile her experiences with her faith. I was deeply pained to hear that her church family told her that the reason her dad died was because she didn’t have enough faith when she prayed for his healing. I know that lots of Christians believe this particular doctrine (and that they fail to temper it with the freewill of the individual or with the effects of the sin of the individual, or with God’s omnipotence) but it still angers me that they could be so unloving as to express it to someone who is grieving. Where is their compassion?
One of the kids in my register class made a comment this week about the Americans remembering their 9/11 dead and he said something to the effect of ‘oh just get over it already – that was 6 years ago!’ I nearly hit the roof! Before I left SA, I didn’t really understand what a big deal WW1 and WW2 were, and every year at the remembrance services I would think pretty much the same thoughts as this kid. Then I went to the UK, where it is a MASSIVE event every year, and slowly, as I absorbed the national culture, I came to understand what a massive impact the wars had on the population, economy and industry in the UK. Then I lost Zoe. On one of the grief message boards I’m part of the rules there state that there is no time-frame by which you are supposed to ‘get over’ your grief, and that therefore no-one should ever tell another member that they ought to be ‘over’ it by now – whether that was 6 months or 60 years after the event.
I understand now what it is to be a loved one left behind after a tragic, unexpected event, trying to move on with life, but never fully able to because someone you love has been prematurely ripped from your life. It doesn’t matter whether that loved one is lost through war, natural disaster, accident, illness or some other tragic circumstance. The fact is that you never forget. You will always remember, and you will always try to celebrate the life cut short. If that loved one is lost in an event that kills hundreds or thousands, then all the loved ones affected may choose to remember together, thus creating a memorial event. To be told to ‘get over it’ is like being told that your loved one no longer has any worth or meaning, and no-one has the right to say that about another person.
I tried to explain this to him, calmly, but either I wasn’t doing a very good job, or he just wasn’t getting it. He kept saying that he’d lost his grandparents, so he knew what it was to lose someone. I kept saying that he obviously didn’t understand the nature of grief if he was able to say he’s lost a loved one and yet can make a comment like that. The more he failed to understand the connection between the two, the more irate I got, until eventually I lost my cool and yelled at him so loudly the entire class (and they are a noisy bunch!) shut up and told him to shut up too. I told him he was being incredibly rude, selfish, inconsiderate and insensitive and that if he ever dared make a comment like that in my class again he need never return to my class – he could sit in the corridor for the rest of the year as far as I was concerned.
By this time, I was just about in tears. I was shaking with anger and grief. I felt like his failure to understand this was such a slap in the face. And something has just occurred to me – he hasn’t been in class since. I’m sure it’s coincidence – he’s probably been bunking school to watch the cricket. Still, I hope something I said, other than the message to get lost, has stuck and given him pause for thought. I shouldn’t have lost my cool. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to take it so personally. But I’m human, and as I said, recently my grief has been very close to the surface. I guess I was a time bomb waiting to explode. Not having the space and time to blog (or write) has curtailed a very important outlet for me.
Not having my London friends around to talk to has been another problem. I don’t think I realised till now just how much I’d been relying on them to help me through this aspect of my grief work. (I miss you guys so much – both my morning GG ladies and my evening GG! You were my lifeline!) I think it’s time that Graeme and I followed up the support group thing here so I have another outlet for my grief. I really don’t want another explosion at a kid (or anyone else, for that matter) because I’m not dealing with my grief very well.
For the moment though, at least I’m back online can blog again. But for those who pray, please keep praying. I know that it can be hard to keep praying the same prayer for the same person over a long period of time, so I appreciate your prayers all the more. In some respects I think the grief only really starts when the world around you starts to forget you are still grieving.
And on the subject of prayer – this was sent to us recently on email. Oh to have the faith of a child (dog)!
Monday, July 30, 2007
Where does the time go?
Can you believe that it's been nearly 1o day since I last blogged?? That tells you how busy I am!
Each of us is making their own slow adjustment to life in SA. It seems we've left one lot of rain for another. While it's been flooding in the UK, it's been storming in Cape Town. The township dwellers are stuck because if they evacuate (which they should) then their homes are perfect targets for thieves. We've had the coldest winter I can remember (and that's not just me - most Capetonians say so too) for years. Being back here has brought home to me just how poverty stricken this country is. It really is a 3rd world country. But having said that, I've been so heartened to see how every one has rallied round to help their fellow citizen - blanket drives have brought in thousands of blankets and food parcels and money for shack repairs. I was expecting there to be an attitude of 'when will these people get themselves sorted; this happens every year', but there has been such a spirit of concern and genuine sympathy. I've been so proud to call myself a Capetonian again.
One of the other things I'm loving about being home again is all the old cultural cliches - using colloquial Afrikaans again, without having to worry about not being understood. Like talking to the pikkies, or talking about robots. I'm also loving rediscovering all the old SA adverts that have become part of the culture - Lofty; Ja Swaer; a can of the best; it's not inside... it's on top; it's hot today hey Hennie?!. And I'm really LOVING being able to get FANTASTIC quality biltong and SA Smarties (which taste different to every other type) at every shop I go to!!!!
But I digress... back to the rain. There are several rivers that run through Cape Town - the Liesbeeck, the Black, and Elsies River all run near to (or through) the suburb we're living in. In all my life, I have never seen the Liesbeeck overflow its banks as badly as it did a week ago. I wish I could show you the photos I took on my phone, but I don't have the necessary cables or software (we're still waiting for our stuff to arrive and it's in there...). It was truly incredible. I stood and watched a parking lot flood - with the water flowing in at a rate of 10cm crawl in about 1 minute. It was like standing on the beach and watching the tide come in. Scary! It was the second time in my life I've been truly worried about being unable to leave a building because of flooding.
I'm still very happy teaching - which is incredible. While it's taking me time to make friends on the staff (one of the drawbacks of teaching in a school with a long and distinguished history is that most of the staff have been there for over 10 years - some as long as 30 - so the cliques are well established), on the whole I can say that I'm loving my work. I can't really remember the last time I felt that way. However, the downside is leaving Nellie and not seeing her during the day. I hate that. I miss her terribly. She's starting at play school (daycare for the under 5's) soon - Graeme will be spending time with her over the next few weeks helping her to acclimatise to the new environment and children before she starts properly. I wish it were me helping her to settle in. I want to see what her routine will be like, what the other kids are like, what the teachers are like. I want to be sure that she's going to be happy. I also want to be there to say goodbye to her as she takes this next step of independence. I guess that's parenthood - constantly saying goodbye a little more. I know that this is what she needs - the stimulation, the friends, the independence - but it sucks for me.
Nellie's godparents are also expecting their first baby! We're absolutely thrilled for them. They're going to be such fab parents! A few hours after they shared this incredible news with us though, I sat and wept for Zoe. She would be 4 months now. She'd be holding up her head, babbling, grasping for things and playing with her toes, possibly even sitting supported. I miss her. There's a constant ache in my heart. I think about her at the drop of a hat, in the oddest of places - like walking to my classroom - and promptly want to burst into tears.
While I could never replace her, I do want another baby. But I can't even think about getting pregnant until I've found a gynae, midwife and medical aid, so that dream is temporarily on hold, which is frustrating. Thinking about Simon and Heather's baby being born in a few months was hard. It came at a time when I seem to be surrounded by other people's babies. My step-brother and his wife are scheduled for their c-section on Wednesday. My cousin is due with her 2nd in a few weeks. Other friends at church had a baby girl on Friday. A school friend is due in a few months. How I long to be part of that very blessed group! My time will come, I know; I just want it to be now.
Church - there's another thing that we seemed to have slipped into. We had planned to find look around at churches before settling on one. However, after visiting our old church, we decided that we may as well join there again - at least that would be one less 'new' thing to get used to. Going there though feels like being in a time warp though. Everything's the same, but everything's different. We're at the morning service now, which we never were before. We have very few friends still there, but the ones we do have are still doing the same old. same old. We feel like strangers (which we are), but everything is so familiar it doesn't feel strange to us at all. It's this odd dichotomy. We feel displaced in some way. We'll probably still look around, but in a few months' time. For the moment it is important to reconnect with old friends, especially for Graeme.
I think he's finding the transition from full time work to house husband difficult. I remember how hard it was for me to make that transition. It's lonely and can be very boring too, and he's very shy so is less likely to make the effort to get to know people in similar circumstances. I had the benefit of a day time small group and a regular play group to take Nellie to. He has nothing like that at the moment. When we move into our own place again in a few weeks I think it will be even harder for him - at least now he has my folks around to talk to during the day.
I miss our friends from London... it's amazing how often I catch myself thinking, "I must remember to tell so-and-so about this later...", only to remember that in order to do so will mean an expensive phone call, or a late night of emailing - neither of which is desirable at the moment. Like today - Nellie was up at 3am and I wanted to share the story about it with Sarah - only to remember that Sarah was miles away. As it happened, she emailed me later in the day, and I finished work early enough that I had time to send a proper reply. But I miss that daily contact with people... I nearly said 'back home'... ! with people back in London. Guys - please know that I'm not being silent because I couldn't be bothered or because I don't care. I really do miss you, and I want to keep in contact. But all this getting used to new routines (and working out new routines) and balancing work-life balance is proving harder than I anticipated.
Nellie is growing fast - but I'll put all her news on her site (the link is on the right). I realise this post is enormously long. Sorry. That's what you get for not blogging regularly. I will try hard to blog shorter bits more frequently. Really I will.
Each of us is making their own slow adjustment to life in SA. It seems we've left one lot of rain for another. While it's been flooding in the UK, it's been storming in Cape Town. The township dwellers are stuck because if they evacuate (which they should) then their homes are perfect targets for thieves. We've had the coldest winter I can remember (and that's not just me - most Capetonians say so too) for years. Being back here has brought home to me just how poverty stricken this country is. It really is a 3rd world country. But having said that, I've been so heartened to see how every one has rallied round to help their fellow citizen - blanket drives have brought in thousands of blankets and food parcels and money for shack repairs. I was expecting there to be an attitude of 'when will these people get themselves sorted; this happens every year', but there has been such a spirit of concern and genuine sympathy. I've been so proud to call myself a Capetonian again.
One of the other things I'm loving about being home again is all the old cultural cliches - using colloquial Afrikaans again, without having to worry about not being understood. Like talking to the pikkies, or talking about robots. I'm also loving rediscovering all the old SA adverts that have become part of the culture - Lofty; Ja Swaer; a can of the best; it's not inside... it's on top; it's hot today hey Hennie?!. And I'm really LOVING being able to get FANTASTIC quality biltong and SA Smarties (which taste different to every other type) at every shop I go to!!!!
But I digress... back to the rain. There are several rivers that run through Cape Town - the Liesbeeck, the Black, and Elsies River all run near to (or through) the suburb we're living in. In all my life, I have never seen the Liesbeeck overflow its banks as badly as it did a week ago. I wish I could show you the photos I took on my phone, but I don't have the necessary cables or software (we're still waiting for our stuff to arrive and it's in there...). It was truly incredible. I stood and watched a parking lot flood - with the water flowing in at a rate of 10cm crawl in about 1 minute. It was like standing on the beach and watching the tide come in. Scary! It was the second time in my life I've been truly worried about being unable to leave a building because of flooding.
I'm still very happy teaching - which is incredible. While it's taking me time to make friends on the staff (one of the drawbacks of teaching in a school with a long and distinguished history is that most of the staff have been there for over 10 years - some as long as 30 - so the cliques are well established), on the whole I can say that I'm loving my work. I can't really remember the last time I felt that way. However, the downside is leaving Nellie and not seeing her during the day. I hate that. I miss her terribly. She's starting at play school (daycare for the under 5's) soon - Graeme will be spending time with her over the next few weeks helping her to acclimatise to the new environment and children before she starts properly. I wish it were me helping her to settle in. I want to see what her routine will be like, what the other kids are like, what the teachers are like. I want to be sure that she's going to be happy. I also want to be there to say goodbye to her as she takes this next step of independence. I guess that's parenthood - constantly saying goodbye a little more. I know that this is what she needs - the stimulation, the friends, the independence - but it sucks for me.
Nellie's godparents are also expecting their first baby! We're absolutely thrilled for them. They're going to be such fab parents! A few hours after they shared this incredible news with us though, I sat and wept for Zoe. She would be 4 months now. She'd be holding up her head, babbling, grasping for things and playing with her toes, possibly even sitting supported. I miss her. There's a constant ache in my heart. I think about her at the drop of a hat, in the oddest of places - like walking to my classroom - and promptly want to burst into tears.
While I could never replace her, I do want another baby. But I can't even think about getting pregnant until I've found a gynae, midwife and medical aid, so that dream is temporarily on hold, which is frustrating. Thinking about Simon and Heather's baby being born in a few months was hard. It came at a time when I seem to be surrounded by other people's babies. My step-brother and his wife are scheduled for their c-section on Wednesday. My cousin is due with her 2nd in a few weeks. Other friends at church had a baby girl on Friday. A school friend is due in a few months. How I long to be part of that very blessed group! My time will come, I know; I just want it to be now.
Church - there's another thing that we seemed to have slipped into. We had planned to find look around at churches before settling on one. However, after visiting our old church, we decided that we may as well join there again - at least that would be one less 'new' thing to get used to. Going there though feels like being in a time warp though. Everything's the same, but everything's different. We're at the morning service now, which we never were before. We have very few friends still there, but the ones we do have are still doing the same old. same old. We feel like strangers (which we are), but everything is so familiar it doesn't feel strange to us at all. It's this odd dichotomy. We feel displaced in some way. We'll probably still look around, but in a few months' time. For the moment it is important to reconnect with old friends, especially for Graeme.
I think he's finding the transition from full time work to house husband difficult. I remember how hard it was for me to make that transition. It's lonely and can be very boring too, and he's very shy so is less likely to make the effort to get to know people in similar circumstances. I had the benefit of a day time small group and a regular play group to take Nellie to. He has nothing like that at the moment. When we move into our own place again in a few weeks I think it will be even harder for him - at least now he has my folks around to talk to during the day.
I miss our friends from London... it's amazing how often I catch myself thinking, "I must remember to tell so-and-so about this later...", only to remember that in order to do so will mean an expensive phone call, or a late night of emailing - neither of which is desirable at the moment. Like today - Nellie was up at 3am and I wanted to share the story about it with Sarah - only to remember that Sarah was miles away. As it happened, she emailed me later in the day, and I finished work early enough that I had time to send a proper reply. But I miss that daily contact with people... I nearly said 'back home'... ! with people back in London. Guys - please know that I'm not being silent because I couldn't be bothered or because I don't care. I really do miss you, and I want to keep in contact. But all this getting used to new routines (and working out new routines) and balancing work-life balance is proving harder than I anticipated.
Nellie is growing fast - but I'll put all her news on her site (the link is on the right). I realise this post is enormously long. Sorry. That's what you get for not blogging regularly. I will try hard to blog shorter bits more frequently. Really I will.
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