Sundays, for us, means
big family lunches where we all sit around the dining room table, gorge ourselves
on whatever food Mom prepared, gossip about whomever leaves the table first,
catch up with each other's lives, tease the target family member of the moment,
mock each other relentlessly until finally, someone storms off in a huff.
That, to me, spells a successful Sunday lunch
with the family. Of course, life and
distance happens and we no longer get to have these delicious, emotionally
charged lunches as often as I would like.
As you know, I just
came back from South Africa and visiting the Golden Oldies, where I was lucky
enough to have a couple of these Sunday mock-fest-lunches. Gave the batteries a bit of a charge, that did. Today is my first Sunday back in Amman. Lunch time came and went without having the raucous
lunch and I am feeling exceedingly melancholic at the moment.
Combine that with the
fact that today is the first anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing away, our fleeting natures and the
concept of family (In-laws, outlaws and emotionally adopteds, all alike)
have been on my mind the entire day.
While I was visiting
SA, I was blessed enough to spend time with The Voice Of Reason's Godparents, a
lovely couple of 175 years old (He will be 91 in a couple of weeks' time,
she is 84) and although I am in no way related to them by blood, I was
welcomed and treasured during my visit (For Sunday lunch, nogal*) as if
I was their own daughter.
Words cannot fully
describe how dear these two people are to me.
In pain due to old age and various medical conditions but wheeling
themselves around cheerfully on walkers and office chairs in their little house
in Mount Edgecombe, Umhlanga (Kwa-Zulu Natal), these two darlings prepared not
only a three course meal (On their insistence. You can try to convince them otherwise, but
good luck. You visit, you will be fed.)
but spent hours talking to my sister and I (Thanks for going with me, C ),
taking great pains (literally and figuratively) to make us feel at home. Welcomed.
Like family.
We left there,
severely hugged, feeling warm and fuzzy, like we just visited much loved
grandparents. Must admit, every time I
say goodbye to them, I say the same prayer I say whenever I leave my own Golden
Oldies: please give me another chance to
see them again. And one more hug. Just
one...
Which brings me back
to my mother-in-law. Maria suffered a
stroke in 2008 and passed away a year ago, today. To say we got on like a house on fire would
be a terrible lie. Anyone who knew
Maria, knew that she was a feisty old biddy who did not always make it easy for
anyone other than her two much loved sons, to get along with her. I don't think she'd be offended that I am
about to call her a real spitfire. I
think, in fact, she'd be proud.
Maria
was spirited, quick-witted, loved her glass of wine, was the life and soul of
many a gathering, family or otherwise.
She gossiped inappropriately in a stage whisper of note, she cared
deeply about causes that very few other people even knew about. She lobbied to
free political prisoners, weekly prepared meals for underprivileged children
and generously gave to charities whenever she could. She loved Ravel's Bolero and blasted
this into the corridors of her apartment building over weekends, much to the
irritation of the Stompie** Gestapo (The building caretaker. Don't
ask.) Maria was a Lady, capital L definitely required. But above all of this, she was loved.
Today I really wish I
could tell her that. Just once.
* Indeed
** Cigarette butt
We so easily forget how precious family really is, especially when they drive us round the bend as only family can do.
ReplyDeleteYes, Herman, they are. And so often we forget to tell them, or we are too stubborn to tell them, for whatever reason, that we love them. And one day you open your eyes and it is too late.
ReplyDelete