Preservation

In a dream the other night I realized that, for some weird reason, we’ve left Loren at a hospital for six months. In my dream I stood still, shocked. I frowned and tried remembering why and when we would have decided to do such a stupid stupid thing. I thought how much I’ve been missing him and how much he must be missing us too. Then realization – and a great deal of joy – dawned. I started dressing hurriedly. I was going to go and fetch him. Immediately.

Even though he is clearly here in my subconscious, the physical reminders of him are becoming less and less. On my mother’s advice I’ve not packed his clothes away, but kept them for Magnus to wear. In some instances I cannot remember which of the little suits and boots and hats belonged to which baby first. Magnus is now starting to grow into Loren’s biggest clothes. Yes, Magnus at almost six months is bigger (definitely heavier, if not taller) than his seventeen-month-old brother was. Soon I will not even have the slight sting of remembering how Loren looked in this vest or that hat. It is only the clothes he died in that I’ve kept separate in a bag. And I’ve taken them out and examined them, pressed them against my face time and again, but there is nothing left. Not even his smell.

Our hurt is becoming private. Often I could see the pity in people’s faces as they watched me with Loren. Now – with real reason to be pitied – I pass unnoticed in crowds. When people ask, “Do you have two kids?” I nod more often than not. I can sense Dirk wanting to contradict me, but then holding back. Explaining is becoming too hard and too emotionally draining. In my heart, I always will have three kids even though the world can only see two. Besides, I’m becoming tired of the better-this-way-brigade. I always experience it as a direct blow to the solar plexus even though I’ve come to expect it. I patiently explain why I can never agree with them, but people don’t get it. They will never get it.

I feel the need to bring Loren into conversations with family and friends – sometimes just because. Sometimes they keep quiet – uncomfortably- and sometimes I can sense that they are trying to humour me by reacting with too much enthuisiasm. Either way, I don’t feel better afterwards. I read this and it made me cry in recognition. Because that is exactly what I would do.

Later, putting away the leftovers from dinner, I paused to look at the photo again. There was the smiling girl we knew, and the tree like any other. But then I looked again, more closely, noticing the large angel ornament just over her right shoulder. Was that a coincidence? But, no, when I looked over her left shoulder I could make out one of those picture ornaments, and,inside, a photo of her big brother, now forever younger than she.
I knew then that the photo, so like the many others taken this season, was not exactly like all the rest. This child had not fidgeted in front of the tree like my girls did, wandering more or less aimlessly in and out of the camera’s viewfinder, laughing and pretending to take luxurious sniffs of the tree’s artificial needles (mmmmm, fresh!). No, her mom had placed her just so in front of the tree, being careful to make sure that both her children were captured in the photo, even as her daughter posed in the usual, expected way, with a radiant smile on her face.

Loren is as much a part of me as my own head. Not a moment goes by when I’m not keenly aware of his existence – somewhere. It is a different awareness than with my other two children, but there nonetheless. I can’t go and fetch him physically, but in a symbolic way I can. Maybe my dream has been a way of telling me that I need to talk less and do more.

I know that Loren in life has made a difference in the lives of people. I know that his memory means something. Thank you for pointing that out. I am deeply grateful for that. There are other ways in which Loren’s life could remain a blessing. Even though it felt like we were often short of time, energy, money and courage I now realize that we somehow always had enough to keep going. We could afford to do ABR – which I still believe in. Many other parents are not as blessed as we were. In some small way I want to help.

There is, of course, Loren’s savings – paid out to us as part of his estate. Being in South African rands it would hardly be enough to make much of a difference. But if it is managed properly, it may grow to become enough to help other children afford therapy. Maybe ABR? I’m not sure. It will require some thinking. But I will let you know.

For the moment I will reserve this blog for Loren and grieving and the subjects of Cerebral Palsy and disability awareness. That was its original purpose and I would like it to remain so. Later I may open another blog. Who knows?

Ummm, watch this space?

Cul de sac

In one way or another I have always been writing. And I’ve come to accept that I need it as much as I need to breathe.

But the time has come to end this blog. I’ve said what I needed to say. The things that remain unsaid are probably better left that way. I’ll keep on following your stories with love and admiration. I want to thank you for creating a community within which I felt save and loved.

I will continue writing – I just need to find a new vehicle taking me over different terrain.

Love and may God bless you.
Nelba

Things’ things

I learned five things today.
1.) Never confuse a battle with a war.
2.) When you’ve reached the end of the road it does not mean you cannot go further. It merely means that you need to change the vehicle you’re in. Because behind the cul de sac lies not the end of the world, but different terrain. You may have to walk. Even if you cannot walk, you will be carried.
3.) Your life’s journey is to transport your soul to your ultimate destination. It is not to be taken lightly.
4.) Pick your battles, but remember that a battle is sometimes necessary to prevent a war. Even if you lose it.
5.) If you are going to pray, mean it and make a good job of it.
The above lessons are thanks to a wonderful Afrikaans blogger Ding (Thing). Those of you understanding Afrikaans, please go and read.

Hijacked

In the news this weekend: A vehicle was hijacked with two children aged 1 and 2 still strapped in their car seats. They were found 16 hours later, still in the (now) abandoned vehicle. Unharmed, but very traumatized. Fortunately in the early hours of the morning before it became warm outside. This is considered a happy ending in a country where hijackers don’t hesitate to kill. Hijackings happen every day.

Because it is something that freaks me out completely, I did an internet search on what to do in case of your children being hijacked with you. I did not find much information. But I remember tips we got from a guy in road safety training a couple of years ago:

1. Don’t make eye contact with the hijackers.
2. Lift your hands slowly to where they can see them.
3. Do not make any sudden movements.
4. Communicate your movements to them with every thing you do. Say, I’m unbuckling my seatbelt with this hand. I’m going to unlock the door now etc.
5. Say I’m going to get the baby.
6. Reach between the seats if the children are strapped in their car seats at the back, unbuckle the seat and pull the child/ren towards you. Getting the children out is not negotiable and in fact, few hijackers would like to hijack a car with children in it.
7. Get out and place the car between you and the hijackers. Make the children lie down on the pavement.
8. Children who can get out themselves must be instructed to do so on the other side, closest to the pavement to avoid being run over. Communicate this to the hijackers.

I hated traveling by myself with Marco and Loren and only did so in an emergency situation. Firstly because Loren could never sit in a car seat and I had to strap him in a carrycot on the front passenger seat with me. (I’m sweating thinking of what could have happened.) And secondly because I could never predict when he would need suctioning and often had to stop in dangerous places and pull of the road with my attention diverted from any dangers. I taught myself to suction with one hand or at red traffic lights.

With Marco and Magnus things are easier. Marco travel in a booster seat behind me. At the moment I’m still disabling the front passenger airbag and putting Magnus with me in the front passenger seat strapped in his car seat. But soon I’ll put both at the back.

I would hate to be in a hijacking, but to have my children with me….