An Ode to My Parents

My beautiful dad passed quite suddenly 25 years ago. In my bewilderment, people wailing all around me, I remember feeling stricken, not sure why the tears wouldn’t…couldn’t come. I loved my dad so fiercely and he loved me so what was wrong with me? I decided quietly… “I’m going to be true to you dad. I won’t cry because it’s expected. I will honour you with my authenticity and feel what I feel when I feel it”.

Little did I know then that I was in a state of shock, that my mind and body just could not fathom the reality that I was never going to see him again.  And when the tears finally came, they spread out like a relentless ocean over the years to come. I pray for his guidance constantly and to this day, I carry my grief in the recesses of my heart, remembering his wonderful, unbelievably impactful yet fleeting life.

My dad taught me how to live, with his words yes…but most importantly he lived what he taught. Growing up as the daughter of my dad, I learnt how to be a peacemaker, that troubled souls need a refuge and an empathetic listening ear so that they can feel seen and validated. I learnt that being rich wasn’t just to do with money (we didn’t have much), yet he would say frequently “I’m the richest man alive”. He meant rich in spirit, in humility, richly blessed and rich in love. Strangers came to my dad’s funeral and spoke of how he had helped them, with whatever…money, groceries, advice…and all of them held him up high, with the greatest admiration and respect.

That same heart failed him in the end when he died. It bore the pain and suffering of so many people, and not once did he complain about the burden of carrying all those mountains on his weary shoulders. His forgiveness was lightning speed, no questions asked, "don’t worry about it mamma" he'd say.

I didn’t realise how much I took his overflowing kindness for granted, like that's how all dads are. I didn't completely understand just what an exceptional dad and human being he is. His soft eyes, his ever-ready listening ears and that infamous hug. When dad hugged you, it was an unapologetic, squeeze you so tight, wrap both arms around you, love-filled hug. And oh, what joy he brought with his wonderful singing. Our home was always filled with music as he effortlessly belted out classic old songs, playing his guitar and harmonica, drawing people in with the all-encompassing warmth in his voice. How silent our lives were when he died.

I learnt to believe in myself from my dad because he believed in me with every fibre of his being. He invested in me, listened to me, cried with me, laughed with me, wanted the world for me. He gave me absolutely all of him, my heart-on-his sleeve-dad. Today I walk in his path, carrying his legacy into my life, teaching my son as best I can, how to be a good human being and how to make sure that we serve others with our lives. I miss you dad, every day, and I will miss you, every day, for the rest of my life.

And then in February 2024, my mum died. Yesterday. I’m a little wiser now, I know that I am in a state of shock. I cannot process not seeing my mum again and my bewilderment actually hasn’t even settled on my shoulders yet. Whatever the theories say about stages of grief, I don’t think I’ve made my way to the start line yet. I spent a million years loving my mum, caring for her and convincing her that we were going to ride off into the sunset together. But there was no together in the end. Without even a parting word and in all of 10 minutes, suddenly my mum was no more.

In my journey of grief, I created and published a grief journal and here’s some of what I wrote… “If I took your dying seriously, I would have made every moment count. But you see I thought I knew better. You were NOT going to die, not on my watch…I negotiated that with you, didn’t I? Why didn’t you tell me that you disagreed! I’m so cross with myself. You were so depleted. You needed to go. There I was patting myself on the back for my persuasive skills telling you to stay. What about you? I could have eased up on the debate. I could have let you outwit me so that when you left, I wouldn’t be so absolutely…astounded! I really don’t know how to do this…living without you”.

Trying to write about my mum and all she is to me feels like too tall an order. At least with dad I’ve had 25 years to process his not here-ness but with mum? I know I’ll say here what comes to mind, but it won’t be enough. Words are not enough for either of them.

Mum was gorgeous. Stunning on the outside, so much so that everyone frequently commented on how young she looked and couldn’t believe her age. Porcelain skin disturbed with just a few wrinkles, holding onto living for as long as she could. Her beauty was most certainly not just skin deep. Mum is one of the kindest, most generous, thoughtful and talented human beings I’ve ever met. Anything she tried her hand at, she didn’t just accomplish, she aced. Cooking, sewing, gardening, baking, crocheting, knitting, drawing, painting…she was endlessly creative, and we marvelled at her abilities, never quite able to be on par with her strides. Her cooking is unrivalled. It was her love language, cooking and feeding people.

We will spend our lifetimes trying to get things just so, like mum used to make it and it will always be missing something, an intangible ingredient that she brought to every dish. Oh, how I love and miss that twinkle in her eye when we complimented her- she loved it! Mum never quite saw her own magnificence though, no matter how persuasive we were. She didn’t see how large her life was. She didn’t hear in the living, person after person take to the stage at her memorial, saying how very deeply she had touched their lives.

We see suffering all around us and we feel for people, acknowledging how hard their journeys are and then there’s my mum. She just seemed to have calamity after calamity with ill health. Her cross was way, way too heavy for just one person. How brave and valiant she was, struggling with the mental and physical exhaustion of it but still picking herself up…every…single…day and starting again.

Resilience is not the absence of doubt or fear, it’s the keeping afloat in spite it and oh how hard my poor mother tried. She leaned heavily on her unwavering faith, showing us by example how to love God and trust in His plans for us. How did she even find the energy to be so funny? We’re still discovering just how naughty and mischievous her humour was from people who are missing the joy she brought. We laughed and talked and shared and loved each other so much. She had such devotion to each of her children and she shouted from the rooftops about how proud she was of us, putting us on a pedestal to anyone who would listen.

I want to say I miss my mum, and I obviously absolutely do, but I still haven’t quite processed that she’s gone. I find myself pretending that she’s just resting in her room, and I’ll see her shortly. I am yearning to see her beautiful face lighting up when she sees me walk through the door. Mum’s love came from the depths of her heart, and she tried her best to steer me to the best version of me. Mum you are honest and pure with a heart of gold, and I am your humble daughter, trying to walk this path you started for me. Walk with me…

It’s quite staggering what an impact both my mum and dad had on the lives of others and on us their children. This interconnectedness that we have, the fact that I cannot be me, without having had them…it’s mind-blowing! I write this ode to my parents first, precisely because of this.

First my parents believed in me…and so here I am.