Windpompe & Vygies

In Oktober 2006 skryf ek:

“Na amper ‘n jaar van uit een krisis in ‘n ander in struikel, is ek nou hartlik sat vir Holland. Jy sal my iewers op weg terug Suid-Afrika toe vind. Waar die son skyn en die windpompe en vygies volop is. Al moet ek kaalpoot die Drakensberge oorsteek.

Die ding met windpompe is dat hulle op hulle beste werk wanneer die wind waai. En vygies het net ‘n bietjie water nodig om die wêreld op te vrolik met hulle malse kleure.

Wie is lus vir saamloop?”

Emily Pearl Kingsley het die volgende geskryf oor haar ervarings met haar seun met Downs sindroom:

Holland – by Emily Pearl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to help people who have not shared this unique experience, to understand it, to imagine how it would feel.

It’s like this.

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make wonderful plans. The Coliseum. Michelangelo David. The Gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.” “Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean, Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”

But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around. And you begin to notice that Holland has windmills. And Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy. And they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there.

And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”

And the pain will never, ever go away. Because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to go to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things. About Holland.

Dit is wat aan my voorgehou is as die beste opsie in ons situasie.

As die ma van ‘n amper eenjarige seuntjie wat sedert geboorte serebraal gestrem was, het ek verseker Emily se vergelyking verstaan. Maar ek was ook in opstand daarteen. Ek was in opstand teen die gedagte dat dit die verwagting was van wat ons as Loren se ouers moes voel, naamlik verkul uit die ervaring wat ons wou beleef en aan’t berus by dit wat ons het. Berusting het vir my na ‘n martie martelgat se besluit geklink. Dit was dislojaal teenoor ons seuntjie. En steeds laat die bostaande stuk my kriewel – hoe mooi en hoe waar dit ook al mag wees in ander se lewens.

Op die ou end het ons nie eers ‘n tweede verjaarsdag saam met Loren beleef nie. Sy dood het nuwe en moeiliker probleme meegebring as wat sy gestremdheid ooit sou kon. Ek wou hierdie bladsy tot niet maak. Dit was nie meer van toepassing nie. ‘n Kind wat dood is is dood – of hy nou gestremd was of nie. Die emosies bly dieselfde. Of nie?

Uiteindelik het ek besluit om die Voetsek Holland bladsy hier te los. Vir Loren, sodat almal kan weet dat ons hom nooit as alternatiewe en tweedebeste bestemming gesien het nie. Vir alle ander ouers wat dink dis hoe hulle hulle gestremde kinders behoort te sien. Vir myself. Waar ek wil bly is net hier in Suid-Afrika. Met sy goed en sleg. Sy windpompe en sy vygies.

Dit is wat dit is.