Death teaches one valuable lesson ... to cherish every moment of waking life
No amount of arguing can reverse death, it will not be pleaded with
“Jo, ke mohlolo-hlolo, Ha ke ratwa le nna, Ka rato le lekalo.” This quote, a chorus, is from my father’s favourite hymn. Loosely translated it says: “It is indeed a miracle that I too am loved in this great way.”
When I was blessed with my daughter three-and-ahalf years ago, as premature as her birth was, she came bearing yet another gift with her. An incredible gift of insight.
The first day I held her I was overwhelmed by how much I loved her, a feeling I carry to this day. It is through loving my daughter that I finally understood and knew how much I too must be loved by my own father.
From the minute I walked out of hospital with her in my arms, I knew the one place to take her was where I was loved beyond my wildest dreams ... home to papa.
And that is how it has always been since I have had her. Every time the world gets too much, when I cannot withstand the beating and the bludgeoning any longer, I pack up and take my daughter home, for love and peace – and really great food.
The month of August was, for me, exactly the kind of beating that the universe delivers from time to time; a really messy, public and humiliating drama around my work and an equally difficult break-up.
So as soon as I could I packed my bags and cleared my diary and headed home, to Limpopo, the place whose love is miraculous in its healing.
This time I did something that I never do. I was sleepy and needed coffee but didn’t feel like stopping at the one place I always stop for a break – Kranskop. So, I opted to go via Bela-Bela instead.
On the way there, I quickly regretted my decision, but I carried on driving. When I eventually got back on the N1 freeway, the traffic was not moving.
This was irritating because I needed to get home. Then I realised that it must be an
‘ ‘ I am resolute in my new attitude about my time while I am still alive
accident that was holding us back.
When we eventually drove past the scene, there were bodies lying on the road and covered in blankets and sheets. A disturbing scene by all accounts.
An unsettling feeling came over me: had I not opted to go to Bela-Bela, it could have been our bodies on that tarred road. We could have been dead.
A few days later, while in Polokwane, I drove past yet another crash scene. And the unsettling feeling came over me again.
I had gone home to rest, I recommend this highly, but I came back with a new view and outlook on life. Death is final. No amount of negotiation or arguing can reverse it, death will not be pleaded with.
And so here I am, resolute in my new-found attitude about my time while I am still alive. I am going to live.
I will take each setback as it comes, I will allow myself to recognise it and even sit in it for a while. What I will never do again is to treat it as some kind of death. For as long as I am alive, for as long as I am loved in the way that I know I am, I will live my life fully. I will negotiate and even argue for the things I want, and for the people I love, because a day will come when I will not be able to.
And when that day comes, I do not want to be filled with regret over the things left unsaid or what I could have discovered had I followed a new, unusual turn.