Vorster, Gillespie, and Van Niekerk | Honoring a Legacy 1938-10-05 — 2022-06-06
I don't know what to say, but there is much to say. The lump in my throat stretches to my fingertips. Strangely, I write for a living presently, but words are scarce.
I know my mom is in a better place; she's been scared for the last few months. She couldn't understand why she didn't remember everyone. She was terrified of the strange woman in the house, who she only remembered sporadically.
“Mom's safe. It's your house, and the lady is Rebecca; she's there to help.”
Thank You
It still hurts, but I'm grateful for the people there. Thank you all. Rebecca, Sister Anna at Najaarsrus Retirement Home, the rest of the staff, and all the people I don't know about.
An ever grateful thank you to my brother Attie and his wife Delia, that made sure I could chat to her over FaceTime when they visited, instead of just hearing her voice over the phone. Tina, Louise, John, Marcelle, and the rest of my family who were there for my mom every day. Forgive me for not always being able to be there.
A thank you to my brother, Canzuis, too, for driving mom around and keeping her company when everybody else was too busy, even if the intentions were sometimes dubious. I know we don't like each other much, but I am grateful.
In Memory
My mother is the lady who sat next to me and fed me ice cubes through the night when I was sick as a child, even though she had to be at work early in the morning.
I always went home early on school fund day with the other kids because she worked double and night shifts to pay for it. When the end of the month comes, the first thing on the list is a Wimpy Milkshake and Chicken Mayo sandwich in town, despite bills to pay. We didn't walk that day because mom decided to call a taxi.
At the time, it doesn't matter. A part of life as a kid. You take it for granted without giving it a second thought. When you grow up and realize how much your time is worth, you look back and realize how much that extra time and few treats must have cost her.
Aging
Mom is the lady who walks to town almost every day because she doesn't have a car, but she's passed her learner's license six times.
At sixty-nine, or was it in her early seventies, mom broke an ankle because she was driving too fast on a Quad, right through an electric fence. She couldn't hit the brakes in time, but she continued walking, although it got more complicated.
Now and then, she tells me how she walked into town with her Spice Girl platforms and hit the ground face first, tripping over the high heels. She tells it as a joke, although I can hear she got hurt and finds the increasing frequency of the falls frustrating and scary.
I shook my head and said,“Mom, you can barely lift your feet in those shoes. You're almost eighty. You shouldn't be walking to town in them.” She doesn't listen because it looks cool and makes her taller.
With age, the falls get worse, skin tears, blood flows, bones break, and cuts take longer to heal. Eventually, the platforms have to go, and a walker is needed, although the pride that she is despises it.
The Small Things
Mom's favorite place is The Berry Farm. She has a friendly chat with the farm owner there. I think she enjoys getting out of the house because the cheesecake and ice cream are OK, but it's not Michelin Star quality. Every last Sunday of the month is milkshake and cheesecake day. Maybe she has a bit of a crush at her age.
2020
In 2020, COVID-19 hit. Suddenly, mom got caged. The retirement village becomes a prison. Within the loneliness and seclusion of lockdowns, mom's actual age rapidly catches up with her in two years, affecting not only her body, but more so, her mind.
2021, We meet again, she is almost unrecognizably different, with short moments of clarity springing up at moments where past and present all become one. I found out; a long time ago, I may have had a sister, but she was stillborn. A memory never shared, a tale never told.
She remembers the anger of experiences past and children lost, the frustrations of jobs long gone, as if it is today — in her mind, it is the present.
A Short Biography
Alida Johanna Van Blommestein was born on October 5, 1938, in South Africa, to her father, Willem Burger Van Blommestein, aged 39, and her mother, Gertruida Johanna Jacoba Ruthven, aged 34, who welcomed her into the world. She grew up alongside her siblings, Pieter Canzius, Willem Burger, and David Daniel, who tragically passed away shortly after birth.
Alida married Jeremia Vorster, and together they had three sons: Adriaan Jacobus Vorster, Jeremia Vorster, and Willem Canzuis Vorster. Later, she married James Alfred Gillespie, with whom she had two sons, John Steven Gillespie and Anthony Gillespie.
On October 6, 2006, she married Hendrik August Van Niekerk. Alida passed away on June 6, 2022, in Parys, Free State, South Africa, at the age of 83.
Life
There is not much I can say. People get hurt, and people fight. Children grow up and lead their lives. Mother was sometimes quarrelsome, but often she fussed because she wanted the best for you and disagreed with your actions.
She is the woman who never sees the worst traits of her children, no matter how “messed up” they get. She would rather blame herself when things go wrong.
I love you, Mom. You are in my heart and my mind, always. I know you are home now and safe, but I miss you terribly. Sleep well.
