Graduating from “home” in
No one’s going to leave home in a hurry. It’s where we experience that inner sanctum. (If home’s a good place, as mine was.) I grew up on a Freestate farm, near the
There was stoic, earnest dad donned in khaki and more flamboyant mum. Home was in robust stone under an iron roof, on which rain lyrically pelted down when one was snug in bed at night. And there were laughing siblings and beaming, shimmering teethed nannies who spoke in clucking voices…
Adulthood meant responsibility from a carefree childhood, which had embraced us so effortlessly. With it came student years, pushing the limits to discover one’s identity, peer pressure and social constraints. A narrow pathway filled with obstacles that no safe childhood could prepare one for. Then it was marriage, motherhood and a profession.
And even though one’s children suddenly emerged into mature adults, as though time escalated past all those years from the wretched pangs of childbirth, through to the dissonance of acne faced youth and then abruptly catapulted into cherishing their own infants, and one’s own skin feels as though it convincingly reveals the secrets of one's age, one feels the same child within; the one that still needs a mother when one has a bad bout of flu.
And then the Epiphany…
My husband and I felt as though we’d ‘just arrived’ in life – as though all our life’s labours were bearing the fruits... and then the epiphany!
Our epiphany was waking up to the reality that we felt that there would be no safe future for our grandchildren in SA. When one has been exposed to violence and can count people (on both hands), whom one personally knows, who’ve been murdered, high jacked or violated, then one finally hauls one’s head out of the 'denialistic' sledge and awakens to reality. In our eyes, it wasn’t going to get much better. That was the hideous reality that confronted us.
The honeymoon is over. We’ve had the delights of change, new vistas and adventures. The novelty has worn off. We’re well and truly here.
Life ticks by. Friends in our past write less often – (but we pick up where we left off on visits ‘back’)… And wonderful new friends trickle in. We’re consoled that the aspects of