I did not know which telephone conversation with my dad would be the last. I would not have thought that I would read early one morning on my niece's facebook update that he had passed away during the night. Who would have thought that three months was all he had after we found out that he had cancer of the liver. My mother sounded so lost and hopeless on the telephone after I phoned to hear the news from her.
I sat crying on our bed, almost to shocked to know what to do next. We shared with the kids that grandfather had died during the night. We cuddled up together as we hugged and cried. I phoned my close friends and teammates sharing the news. I was not sure how to share with my local friends and neighbors. How could I explain the dilemma of the visa and that I would not be going to my father's funeral? Especially in this culture where family bonding and relationships are so close.
Oh how we have tried, begged and desperately talked over the telephone to receive a temporary visa after we have been patiently waiting for two years for our residence here to be processed. How could I have known that the visa would not be granted yet, I could not leave the country to attend my dads funeral. It was very hard to process the reality that I would not be able to go and be there for my mother and family during this very trying time.
Our team mates brought me beautiful bunches of flowers and words of encouragement and comfort. How unrealistic it all felt, I could not imagine that he was not there anymore. "How will I work through this? Process his death?" the thoughts crossed my mind.
My facebook friends and family became my soundboard community in this time. I made up a digital photo album of my father. Photos that carried memories and how I remembered him. I posted it on my facebook wall and shared some thoughts and memories of him. I also made some phone calls to family members and just talked about him, what they knew about his death and memories they had. My mother shared that the funeral would be the coming Wednesday as they were waiting for family to arrive. How my heart longed to be there too.
I have always thought what a priveledge it would have been for me to share a word at his funeral. He was such a good father to me. I really hoped that I could tell a story he had shared years before about a God experience he had. He had asked me not to tell anyone of this while he was alive. Now I could not do it. Instead I wrote it all on paper and send it out to family and friends that knew him.
Also after I heard he had cancer I wrote him a letter of love, appreciation and sharing my gratitude towards him. Sadly I did not have an opportunity to give it to him. I posted it among my notes having peace in my heart that I deeply loved him and all was well between us. I was saddened and grieved that he never read it and that I did not tell him more that I loved him.
The morning of his funeral my friends came together at our home to have a memorial service with our family. I baked his favorite cake and decorated a heart shape with wild flowers, he loved the outdoors and it made me think of him walking in the veld with his hat and well weathered outdoor shoes. I lit a candle early that morning and was hoping in quietness and thought that evening I would blow it out in memory of him.
I shared my digital album from the computer at the memorial service an just talked about him. What he loved, his heart and my memories as a child growing up with him as my father. We all cried together as I shared. I was so grateful to my friends for this opportunity. They were willing to listen to my hearts thoughts and grieving cries.
Through the day I kept a watching eye on the clock to make sure I did not miss the time when his funeral would happen at home. My heart and thoughts kept going back to my mother in grieve. He was her only sweetheart and they knew one another since first grade. How I wanted to be there to support her on this sad day.
Later the afternoon I noticed that the fan to guard off the heat of summer has blown out my memorial candle. At first I was dissapointed and then I had to smile. "Maybe it was better, thank you Lord for saving me from that very sad moment." I gradually thought.
My dear aunt and inlaws thoughtfully mailed me some photos of the funeral. There was a photo of my mother lonely standing at his grave. I also was not ready for the photo of him in the coffin. I was shocked seeing it. It was so final, he looked so different from how I remembered him. My heart broke and tears just streamed uncontrollably over my cheeks. "It can't be!" I kept repeating. "He died Karin, he is not there anymore!" I kept telling myself. I stroked my fingers over his face on the computer screen. How I loved him. "How will I ever be able to bring this to a conclusion?" I thought.
What I was not ready for either was the extend of my mother suffering, struggling and grieving, and all I could do was to talk to her on the telephone. How guilty I felt for not fully being there for her. Now months later close to a year, I go through times when I see a photo of him or think about him and feel sad. But I know the fullness of the reality of him not being there will come when I go home. There where I'm use to him walking, smiling, chuckle or even the way he smelled of pipe tobacco and the veld. His side of the double bed will be empty in their room and the sound of his voice quiet. The heap on the red Karroo soil in the farm graveyard that belongs to him would be so foreign....I was not there.....but I will visit there and say goodbye with a bunch of wildflowers.
