My mother’s best friend recently emailed the draft introduction to a book which will be the completion of the work my mother had been busy with when she died: a book reflecting on nearly 15 years of coordinating a project aimed at understanding the relationship the millions of ordinary South African’s have to land, property … More Reflecting on a life
She came to us from trauma: Born with HIV in her blood, Neglected; withdrawn. She didn’t know how to play With the toys placed before her. Over the months we watched her transformation – Her smile emerged, gradually, Until it would brighten any room With its mischievous spirit. As she learnt to play, To talk, … More A Final Breath
“The only thing you can do for the dead is to sing to them. The hymn, the virology, the kaddish. In the ghettos, when a child died, the mother sang a lullaby. Because there was nothing else she could offer of her self, of her body. She made it up, a song of comfort, mentioning … More Singing to the dead
(I wrote this on Thursday 13th November, scribbled on the programme for my mother-in-law’s cousin Jenny’s memorial service, while we waited for the official proceedings to begin) Each funeral, memorial or cremation now evokes for me vivid memories of previous such occasions, as well as recollections of those now dead whose formal commemorative events I … More In Memoriam
My Ouma (meaning ‘grandmother’ in Afrikaans, one of South Africa’s eleven official languages) – my father’s mother – died yesterday: a peaceful death, and one that she has been looking forward to for more than a year. A good death, after a long life: don’t we all hope for the same? When my sister called … More Farewell to a wonderful grandmother
I am fascinated by my ever-changing relationship with death. It is not something that greatly influenced my life prior to my mother’s death nearly ten months ago, but it has been evolving into a more ingrained aspect of my consciousness, and quite simply an increasingly solid concept. I know now, in a way I never … More Thoughts from a funeral
Dirk emailed me two photographs this afternoon, saying that “Tessa had been inspired by Nan Shepherd’s book “The Living Mountain” to try and capture the clarity and sweetness of the water in streams on Skye. These were her last two photographs (in Coirie Lagan, Cuillins) – taken perhaps three hours before she died.”
Posting old photos using various camera phones taken during my travels. filtering in black and white (obviously) and currently focusing on usa parks
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