Dear Sharon

 

It was a bad night last night. Gray vomited for most of the night. Stephen silently nursed his impending stomach bug. And at two in the morning I Googled things I shouldn't like -

'Child just had swine flu, now has stomach bug. Low white blood cell count - what does it mean? Is house mould making my child sick? Autoimmune disorders. Symptoms for lupis'. 

Early this morning, before the sun rose, I emailed my various bosses to tell them I would not be coming in to work today. Due to various commitments in the past three weeks I wasn't able to nurse Gray through his tonsillitis that then developed into swine flu. I worked Sundays and every weekday til 22.00. It's a busy time in my job and I sucked it up. 

But this morning I just knew I couldn't leave Gray sick at home one more time. Despite all the guilt I associate with leaving colleagues and students in the lurch I put on my big girl mom panties and made the call, despite the nagging doubts that maybe I should just go to work.

Later in the morning, as Gray finally slept, I sat on our verandah in the crisp, fresh energy of a new day. I looked out towards Table Mountain and I felt peace. 

You would have seen the morning Sharon. Wasn't it beautiful? The thrill of birdsong and blue skies and clarity. 

A little while later the message came through - you have left your pain. You are free.

And it was in that moment when I realised that you left your final gift for me. Because this morning I did what you have always done. I put my children first. I remembered my deepest cellular calling, motherhood, and I honoured it. Just as we have seen you do in the years of your battle. 

Dear girl we all stand witness to the sheer force of nature you became in ensuring that your girls will know, always and forever, how much you love them. You have loved them harder than some parents will do in an entire lifetime. 

Not only that, you have reminded us all to love and fight for our children, to put them first, to put family first, to show up. 

Thank you for sending me one last nudge, one gentle whisper from your place of freedom. I have no doubt that there will be more to come, because that's what happens to love when a person passes on. Love survives, love heals, love teaches and love never leaves us.