Living away from family and friends automatically implies that one will miss out on countless events in the lives of loved ones. This has most certainly been the case for me. New life, milestones, loss, weddings... the list of missed events goes on and on.
I write about this today, with 81 days to go until I fly home, because I feel defeated yet again. I am saddened about having to miss out on yet another major event in life... this time? The birth of my best friend's first child. I keep telling myself (and her, for that matter) that it will all be such a blur that it is best that I am not there right away. I have also made it very clear that there is really no chance of my coming home before the end of the school year... only a very slight chance if things heat up here because of the upcoming elections. I joked that, if things got really bad and security became a real threat to our family, I might be forced to come home early. Needless to say, she is now praying for civil unrest in Colombia. My apologies if anything goes wrong as a result...
Looking back, I think that the most difficult time to be away was during the days that surrounded the death of my Oma Zantingh. I remember exactly where I was, and the events of those days. She was very ill. Leukemia hit her hard, along with diabetes. She was only a skeleton of her former self in her last months. It was very sad to see her wither away, and we were all praying that she would not suffer in her last days. I spoke with my dad before flying out of Angola. We were on our way to Namibia for a Christmas holiday. My dad told me that Oma was doing really poorly and that the doctors were giving her days to live. I phoned when we arrived at our hotel in Windhoek, and she was still alive. All the family were gathering in our hometown to say good-bye to her. My heart ached to be there with them. My dad assured me that she was strong, that she would probably hold on for days to come, and that I shouldn't worry... that I should go and enjoy Christmas with Matthew.
We had special plans for Christmas - we had booked into a beautiful lodge in the middle of the Namib desert, away from modern comforts, including telephones. Our accommodations were in huts made from adobe, keeping the room warm at night, when temperatures could drop below zero, and surprisingly cool during the day with the soaring temperatures outside. We were excited to sleep on the rooftop, under the stars... and climb the highest sand dune in the world. We were packed and ready to go, but I wanted to check our email one last time before leaving civilization to make sure that everything was alright...
Of course you have already predicted that Oma Zantingh had passed away that very morning, and that there was a message waiting for me from my father. It was too early to phone home to talk to him, so I had to send en email. I wanted to let him know that I loved him, and that I wanted to be with him. My Oma and I had been very close, and it was so hard for me not to be able to get on a plane and fly home that minute. I don't remember much about the drive to Kulala Lodge. All I remember is that I sat beside Matthew, weeping silently, wishing I were somewhere else.
I do remember coming out of my sadness, though. There is a time to weep and a time to laugh... that's what they say, isn't it? We woke at 3am on Christmas Day to climb "Big Daddy", the world's tallest sand dune. I remember finding a spot off to the side and singing "Silent Night" with tears running down my cheeks. My dad loved hearing me sing. I prayed that my voice would carry over the ocean and reach him somehow. Silly perhaps, but it made me feel like I was there with him that day. That was the end of my tears. I also remember sitting by a campfire, remembering Oma's smile, her silky white hair, her love of bicycles, our camping trips at Rondeau Park together, her ability to lift our spirits with her all-engulfing embrace, pancakes and stroepwaffles... I remember raising a glass and toasting her life under an African sky. I will never forgot those moments... there is a part of me that wishes I had been there to support my family, to comfort my father in his sadness, and to remember Oma along with her eleven children, their spouses and countless grandchildren. There is something to be said for shared grief.
That was a hard year for both of our families. That was also the year that Matt's cousin died in a car accident in the far north of Canada. I remember the fear in Matt's eyes when the phone rang and it was his dad. His first words were, "What happened?". His parents hardly ever phoned in those days, before free online calls were invented. A phone call to Angola meant that something terrible had happened, and we both knew it... but the pain that comes from knowing is almost too much to bear. The sadness is overwhelming when it has no where to run to.
Then there are the close calls... the events that I almost didn't make it to. The most memorable of these would have to be my good friend's wedding in the UK. Due to the inflexibility of my employer and an error in scheduling on their part, I was forced to change a ticket that I had bought to London for the big day and shell out a few thousand dollars to make the necessary changes to my itinerary so that I would not lose my job. It was a stressful time, and I believe that I am still a bit angry about the whole thing. It was such an important day, and Emily and I were both in the wedding party, so we HAD to make sure we were there for the big event. In the end, we flew from Colombia to the UK for less than a 48 hour stay. We made it, but just barely... I didn't miss it, but I certainly would have liked to spend a bit more time with the happy couple. You do what you have to do sometimes... and this was definitely one of those occasions.
There are other things to miss as well... things that may seem silly to others, but mean so much to me. This year I missed something that almost sent me into a depression... Vancouver hosted the Winter Olympics and I, Canada's most patriotic woman, missed it. Well, in person anyway. I was there in spirit, watching as many events as I humanly could from Colombia. Watching hockey with Spanish commentary is just wrong. It is something that I know I will regret for years to come... the opportunity of a lifetime came and went, and I watched it slip by. In an ideal world, I would have left everything and flown home for a couple weeks... however, the real world dictated that I stay and teach my classes, and buck up. Great friends and family sent me every piece of Olympic gear out there, which helped a lot... but my heart ached for Canada.
So my friend is thirty days away from the birth of her first child and I am feeling a bit homesick yet again. I won't even get to see her pregnant! Well, in real life at least... she is great about showing me the belly over skype and keeping me posted on every detail of her pregnant journey... but it just doesn't feel the same somehow. She came to see me in Switzerland a month before Zachary came into the world... she was there when Emily started walking... she has been there for almost twenty years. She is always waiting for me when I come home... at the end of that international arrivals runway with Smarties in her hands. I long to be there for her, but I am afraid that this is another event that I will be missing out on. I am with her in spirit though, and that will have to be enough, at least for now.
