The Hope of Spring

In the early Spring of 2015, I took a photograph of this beautiful blossoming tree and this is the one I took today. You were going down quickly at that time Russ, a year ago, and yet when I saw these blossoms, the first signs of Spring in the garden, I was filled with hope. I believed in my heart, that the God who had created that tree, had also made you and me. I wanted to believe that we could also see a creative healing miracle in you, by that very same God. But it was not to be. Eleven months ago to this day, you left us for heaven.

I could not have imagined then, the pain I would feel over your loss Russ, as I am still feeling it now. It is very sad and lonely to be the survivor of our marriage. We had our ups and downs, good times and bad, but deep inside I simply took it for granted that you would always be there. That we would grow old together.

I still miss talking to you so much. I struggle to remember the things you never seemed to forget, the names of people, places and dates from our past life together. I am sorry now that I did not make notes of all the things I wish I could recall, the answers to my then unasked questions. It was so easy once, to simply ask you, because you had it all stored away in your memory.

More than anything, I miss your sense of humour. It was the glue that held us together over the years, through thick and thin. I know that you enjoyed making me laugh and sometimes you would say the most outrageous things to distract me if I was mad about something, and we would have a good chuckle. Even in those very last weeks, there were occasions when you said the funniest things and we laughed together, your tragic illness forgotten for those few seconds of mirth.

When we moved into Rose Cottage, some months before you passed, we looked at a multitude of photographs and watched our family videos from years gone by. There was one portion I recall in particular, where we had gone to Champagne Castle Hotel for a holiday in December 1991. My Dad was taking video of our children opening their Christmas gifts, when you waltzed passed the camera, wearing nothing but your teeny-tiny pair of neon-yellow Poly-shorts.

You were absolutely horrified at seeing yourself, forever captured on film, wearing next-to-nothing. “Hen!” you said, “How could you have let me walk around like that?” Well, I laughed and laughed, because back in those days, there was no telling Russel what to wear, ever! One of the most ridiculous fights we had in our marriage, happened because you wanted to wear your hiking boots, Levi jeans and a golf shirt to a friend’s fortieth birthday party at the Springs Country Club.

There was me, all dolled up to the nines, wearing black, gold and plenty of bling, fed-up because my husband was dressed to go hiking! I would give anything to be able to go back and walk into that party arm-in-arm with you and that it would have made no difference at all what you were wearing. We could have had such a memorable evening together. I ended up going to your friend’s birthday alone, which was pretty weird and they never forgot it. The subject came up when we saw the couple in December 2014 and we finally all had a good laugh about it. Nevertheless, I was the idiot who made a mountain out of a molehill and ruined what could have been a wonderful memory. That is something I will never forget.

Looking back, I have been frequently shocked by my own strange choice in clothing, including a few outfits I made for myself. Definitely no fashion sense whatsoever. I viewed some of our old videos with our daughter and son-in-law a few months ago and we watched the same one from December 1991. In the clip I am commenting on, you and I were wearing the brightest tracksuit pants two people could possibly find. Yours were fire-engine red and mine were pretty close to neon orange.

Our daughter asked me, “Mom, what was with the brightly coloured pants?” To which I replied, “Your brother was only knee high at the time and that way he could not lose us.” We all had a good laugh about our gaudy tracksuit pants, remembering that holiday with fondness, and for me a yearning to go back to “our good old days.”

So many memories I have, of you being a loving Dad to our precious daughter and son. From Easter camping trips to seaside vacations, and holidays at the Drakensberg, our most favourite place in all the world, Champagne Castle Hotel.

I also remember some of the very ordinary things that I miss so much, such as spending time fixing up the garden of the first little house we bought together. Which reminds me of our rabbit, Honey, who ate up hundreds of Rands-worth of plants, because you could not bear to keep it in a hutch.

You made the back yard of our home into a fun place for our children to play, complete with a little Wendy house for all the toys, a swing, a sandpit made from an old tractor tyre and a trampoline, which you and my Dad installed. At the time, you decided to buy just the mat, because the framework was expensive and seemed pretty simple to make. After purchasing angle iron, which you joined into a rectangular shape, and welding hooks onto it, you tested the trampoline in the structure and unfortunately the two long sides bowed inwards.

I cannot exactly recall how you solved this problem, except that I think it had something to do with purchasing more angle iron and welding it onto the existing frame to strengthen the weak spots. This whole metal construction was then buried into the ground around the pit which had been dug in the garden. This time, when you attached the mat, it was perfect. We invited all the family to come over and try out the new trampoline. There is a video of this event, with everyone taking a turn to have a jump. You, my dear Russ, stole the show with your impressive backflip.

A couple of years later, when we decided to sell our first home and buy another house, we left the trampoline behind. There was no way you were planning to dig up that angle iron construction and take it anywhere. By this time, our son was really enjoying the trampoline and was disappointed that it could not be moved to the new house. So you decided to buy a big, round construction, that stood above the ground, complete with all its parts. No messing around making stuff out of angle iron again.

As agile as you were on the trampoline, so too were you a great athlete at any sport you tried. Every year that our children participated in their school’s annual athletics meeting, there was a father’s relay race and the team competed against the male teachers. One year you took part and we caught your efforts on video. I was so proud to watch you run like the wind, faster than men half your age. The only man who could match you was Trevor Ward, and I recall that when he visited the two of you reminisced about running races together a long time ago.

One of your athletic abilities continued to amaze me many years into our marriage and that was your balancing skill. I have a photograph of you on your bicycle outside our condo in Port Charlotte, taken in 2010. I remember you sitting astride that bike, perfectly still, without a single wobble, while I took the picture. A moment in time, captured forever.

I still ask myself, “How can it be that this strong, athletic, healthy and vibrant man could die so young?” You ran, cycled and flew your kite regularly. Mostly you ate well and had only the smallest “spare tyre” around your belly. Even when I look back to that December in 2010, when I had noticed changes to the mole on your arm, never did I imagine that you would die from Melanoma cancer, less than five years later. It still feels so surreal.

Here I am observing the first signs of Spring 2016, trying to find the hope that one of these days, my “joie de vivre” will return. This time of year, speaks to birth, rebirth and the newness of life. Springtime feels like the chance to start again, a fresh beginning. My life with you, Russ, will never be forgotten, but I have to accept that it is over. As the season changes from Winter to Spring, I pray that I will find the strength and courage to begin a new and fulfilling chapter in my life, after these many months of mourning your loss. May my Winter of grief, despair and loneliness, give way to a Spring filled with joy, purpose and inner peace.