A Decision

I still remember the tenth of October last year as if it were yesterday.

All morning at work I had a very uneasy feeling. My stomach was tied in knots. But I didn’t quite know why.

When I got to the hospital that afternoon it became clearer. There was definitely something wrong with Brett. His mouth was moving. I thought that he wanted water, or to get rid of saliva. I was trying everything.

The nurse really got to me. She was on her phone and just said “He’s been like that all day”. And carried on looking at her phone. I walked up and down trying different things but it didn’t seem to help.

I had to go and fetch Nicky and my mom from swimming and I told them I must definitely go back to the hospital that night, as something was definitely wrong and I had better get back.

Visiting hours at night at ICU are from 7:15. I was driving to the hospital when I got a call. They told me to come quickly. I drove methodically. I probably slowed down. I think I was just going through the motions.

When I got there one of the senior nurses said very seriously: “Just go”. When I got there it was too late. He had already gone. They had kept the machines on for me and there he was, for me to say goodbye to his body. But he had gone. They turned off the machines and then they left me alone with the shell of the human being that had once been my husband.

I sat down in a fit of tears and started phoning the family in East London. His family who had made the trip up initially to see him but had to get back. They have been a rock of support throughout this ordeal.

I then started taking down all the pictures we had put up on his walls and went to the desk to arrange for the undertaker. I had no clue who to choose – I just took one. And then I went to the pharmacy, bought a huge slab of chocolate and went home.

Nicky was asleep. I couldn’t even tell him his dad was dead. But my mom was there for me.

The long hospitalisation and death of my husband is something that I have not emerged from unscathed. I put on a brave face and went on with my life but underneath, there were problems.

A few weeks ago at the #Jozimeetup we had Dr Sindi van Zyl, herself a survivor of depression, said something that really resonated with me. She talked about ourselves as if we are a bucket. If little stones hit us, we can recover easily. But if something really big happens to us, it leaves a big hole. And that’s when we become susceptible to other things to fill it up. And that’s when the crazy crept in.

I can’t tell you how difficult it is to admit that you have a problem and that you need to do something about it. Believe me, this year has been a lot easier to cope with living in denial. Futhermore, I felt that my previous psychologist, assigned to me since Brett was in hospital and I had seen right up until March, did not really help me with these issues, he dismissed them, and I was also cautious about finding the right person who would take me seriously.

So I found a lady who I could open up to. Funny how much better it feels to talk to a woman.

The power of talking should not be underestimated, and as I spoke, the tears also came. But the magnitude of what I was talking about dissipated and lost its power over me. And I knew what I wanted to do next.

Once I made the decision that I wanted to move to PE, it became easier to take the next steps. I put a whole load of stuff on Gumtree. I phoned the estate agent. I fixed the floor. I had garden waste taken away. I had a drain unblocked. It’s like I finally had a purpose.

God is helping me work my way out of my hole into my more stable place. Now that I’m on the right track….

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still fearful about the big move. I have a lot to sort out still. I have to get Nicky in a school and find a place to live. But my mom will be there. Brett’s sister will be there. It’s the right place for me.

I’ve been sorting out stuff, making the house presentable, and one night I tackled a big black box full of electronic things I have been avoiding. And I found something sweet from Brett that I will take with me for the new keys for my new place: it’s a leather foot. I know he will go with me.

There’s a mulberry plant growing on my window sill in the kitchen that I transplanted from one container into a plant pot because it was getting too big. It was doing really well and growing strongly with a strong root network.

In the new pot it kept falling over, it didn’t want to grow there. But now, a few weeks later, after lots of water, it has finally taken root. The leaves are a bit brown on the edges, but it is growing strong again.

I have many fears about moving. But I am more afraid of standing still.

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