I still feel numb

This is a difficult weekend for our family. Today marks one month for our Dad. Tomorrow is his birthday. To be honest, I still feel numb. Grief was something I'd heard others talk about, but never thought I'd experience it myself so soon. I've learned that grief can be calm...and without warning, it feels like a knife piercing your heart. Going through this without physically being with my mum and brother is probably the hardest. Never before have I had consistent dreams as I have these past few weeks. I wake up remembering them vividly - with our Dad - always smiling. Love forever.❤️

Daddy's Girl

I still find it hard to use the words “passed away” when speaking about my dad. Instead, I refer to it by the date it happened or say “when my dad left”.

The most challenging question to answer these days is, “How are you doing/feeling?”

I wondered - in our culture, especially - when faced with death, after the funeral and 12-day prayer...does one start to find acceptance and peace?

The answer: There is no deadline when one will start to feel “normal”.

Tomorrow marks 3 weeks. My heart feels heavy and empty at the same. It’s confusing & painful. While death itself is difficult, I have learned that losing a parent is like losing a part of you. 

Those who were close to my dad have reached out to me and shared how he openly expressed how proud he was of me. Regardless of my age, that will always be music to my ears. 🥰

This photo was taken about 13 years ago just before returning to my crazy adventure in South Korea. I’ve been told that my dad was especially proud of how independent I was. 

Despite that, I know that deep down I was always “Daddy’s Girl” and this photo reminds me of that. 💕

uBarry made a choice and he lived to leave a mark

 

Dear Daddy,

“You either leave a mark on the world or the world leaves a mark on you. uBarry made a choice and he lived to leave a mark”

This is just one of the many incredible tributes that I heard at your memorial today. 

Your comrades spoke of you as someone with strong ethics. You were known throughout the city and beyond as a man of integrity, who never thought twice when it came to helping people.

There are moments when I feel like my heart ‘should’ be healing, yet it feels like it’s breaking into smaller pieces. Time heals, I know. But as I heard, “what you call as a parent is the basis of this body, there is a very deep memory connection between the two.”

Mummy wishes that you were just on a business trip and that you’d be back soon. Don’t worry - we’re taking care of her (me too, from a distance!)

Darmesh performed every step of your baarmu yesterday with the utmost grace. We see you in him more than EVER in the past few days. He is being told that he has big shoes to fill, but he’s already keeping the Makhan flag flying! Keep guiding him, please.

I love you.

Your baby,

Sheetal

There is a greater plan for all of us

Dear Daddy,

I opened my laptop now to write to you. It's helping me work through my emotions, and it feels like you're listening.

As I started typing, I heard music playing from one of the tabs on my browser - only to realize that it was the streaming playback of your funeral. (I couldn't get myself to close that tab last week) 

Our Wi-Fi cut in the first ten minutes of the broadcast, so I missed when you'd just arrived at the crematorium, until right now. 😔

It was/is heartbreaking seeing Mummy & Darmesh on the screen. Watching your family, friends & comrades put roses (your favourite) in your coffin, I can't imagine that you were in there because I couldn't see your face.  

Not once did we give up hope on you, but there is a greater plan for all of us.

It's your baarmu tomorrow - I'll be there virtually and spiritually. My tears are flowing now, but what gives me peace is having faith that your beautiful and selfless soul is going to be free and at peace. 

I love you. Forever!

Your baby,

Sheetal

 

Darmesh and I seem to have the same feeling today

Dear Daddy,

We may be oceans apart, but Darmesh and I seem to have the same feeling today. We're both quiet. A little numb. Emotional. 

Last night when chatting with Mummy, we talked about a time I was visiting East London - during winter. You didn't have an electric blanket back then, but after I heard you say how cold the bedsheets were when you got into bed, I made a plan for you!

I knew your bedtime routine, so I sneakily watched you in the lounge from the kitchen - trying to time when you'd make your way down the passage to your room.

I heated three hot water bottles for you and put them on your side of the bed - one at your feet, one in the middle, and one on your continental pillow so that your back would be warm when you'd be sitting in bed with your iPad. 

I remember how happy you were when I did that for you. And you made sure I’d briefed mummy on “the process” before I left back to Cape Town!

Daddy, it's minute for all the sacrifices you’ve made for us. I know I speak for Darmesh too - we're grateful for any little acts of service we could have done for you.

Thinking of you and feeling you in our hearts.

I love you. 

Your baby,
Sheetal 

...because I’m Barry Makhan’s daughter

Dear Daddy,

I was supposed to write an exam on Monday, but it was moved to yesterday for me. I kept a photo of you in my bag and while it took a few minutes for me to focus before I started writing, I imagined you saying “Nah man, don’t worry - you’ll be fine.”

Daddy, my teacher just let me know that I PASSED!
 

I know that you were giving me all the inspiration for my essay because I scored full marks for my ideas & arguments. 

There were many instances in the past few weeks that I wanted to quit. But I pushed through - because I’m Barry Makhan’s daughter. 🥰

I missed your text “Jumah Mubarak” this morning. Few know that for the past ten years (after learning it from my students) you’ve said this to me every Friday during our morning texts.

I turned to you for so much - from career to financial advice. If I was unsure of anything, you’d respond: “Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out.”

Mummy & Darmesh are doing as well as can be - we all have little triggers throughout the day. We try to stay connected, though. We’re preparing for your baarmu on Wednesday and Mummy is ensuring that she gives you nothing but the best.

I love you.

Your baby,

Sheetal

 

You finally get to travel the world!

 

Dear Daddy,

I watched Darmesh gracefully place your ashes into the water this morning. You finally get to travel the world!

I told Mummy that you’re on your way to me. ❤️

Scrolling through my gallery last night, I found a treasure of photos & videos from my trips to East London. They were mostly of you and Benjamin! He misses you and apparently went to all the rooms looking for you.

Daddy, we’re making a memory book so that we can look back on all your stories for years to come. Your friends and work associates are sharing their special moments with you.

My days are filled with waves of emotions. I know it will get better, but I’m also not going to rush this process. I have peace in my heart because I have zero regrets. I never held back in expressing my love and gratitude for you.

I love you. 

Your baby,
Sheetal

    

I woke up crying again this morning

 

Dear Daddy,

I woke up crying again this morning.

After a year of not seeing you, I can’t fathom that you won’t be there the next time I come home. Sitting in your lazy boy - asking me to bring you snacks or telling me about a documentary that you’ve watched.

I spoke to Darmesh this morning. He stepped into your shoes a while back, but I have to say: he is remarkable. He’s sharp and compassionate - like you!

I was so honoured that you left this physical world yesterday wearing the suit that you had on for our wedding.

💕  I’ve been inspired to do something to commemorate your life and I will soon share it with ALL who knew you.

Daddy, look - I made sojji for you today!

I love you. Forever.

Your baby,

Sheetal

Eulogy for my Dad

My Dad wasn't only my hero. He was my SUPERhero.

In my mind, he was immortal.
He could fight anything - even cancer, round 1. 

Daddy, it would take a long time to list all the lessons I’ve learned from you. But here are a few...

Lesson 1
Treat everyone with respect - whether they’re a CEO or a street sweeper.

Lesson 2
Give openly without expecting anything in return.

Lesson 3
Life will throw you curveballs. Learn from them and try to do better next time.

Lesson 4
Be independent. Figure it out on your own.

Lesson 5
Rising with the sun is a sacred time.

Daddy, for the past 72 hours I’ve been talking about you in the past tense.

My Dad loved music.
My Dad used to watch that show.
My Dad was so generous.

It feels unnatural to speak about you in the past tense. 

What cannot be past tense is my LOVE for you. I will always love you, Daddy. You have my respect and admiration and I promise I will keep saying it with pride: ”I’m Barry Makhan’s daughter.”

They say that daughters often choose husbands with the same qualities as their father. I just wish you could have spent more time with Tom. He is kind and gives unconditionally - just like you. 

And do you remember at our wedding you said, ”Tom, look after my child.”
He is, Daddy! You’d be proud of what a humble person I chose as my partner.

You lived humbly and quietly - the same manner in which you left. No drama or fuss.

————————

Mummy, I’ve told you before. If I could be half the wife you are, I’d consider myself pretty awesome. You will always be Daddy’s angel.

Bhai (Darmesh) also known as my Dad no2. We see Daddy in you. Your walk, your talk, your expressions. Your kindness, your love for people.

Daddy, Mummy, Bhai - I once captioned our family photo: “The Awesome Foursome.”  That is us!

I love you with all my heart.
Always and forever.

From across the ocean,
Sheetal

“Are we ready to rock & roll?”

 

Dear Daddy,

As we wait for the procession to start, I can almost hear your voice: “Are we ready to rock & roll?”

My stomach is in a knot right now. 

I wish I could be there holding Mummy & Darmesh as we say “till we meet again” to you.
 

Daddy, it brought me such joy when I was home and you’d ask me to make coffee for you, which you enjoyed with a few biscuits.

Look at what we’ve set out for you today...Some of your favorites: Marie biscuits (European version) and Bounty chocolate.

We chose yellow tulips because this colour represents enlightenment, remembrance, honour, loyalty and happiness.

Daddy, SO many people are celebrating you today! 

I love you. ❤️ 

Your baby,

Sheetal

We can’t help but feel sadness today

Dear Daddy,

It’s Mummy’s birthday today. 

It’s going to be a tough day for her...for us all, as we pay tribute to your extraordinary life.

Today I’m going to live through one of my biggest fears. Attending your funeral. And virtually, too. 

You never wanted tears shed over you, but do you realize how gigantic your presence was? I’m overwhelmed by the number of stories shared about you. 

We can’t help but feel sadness today. My heart has never felt this heavy. 💔

Daddy, I love you.  Fiercely!

Your baby,

Sheetal

 

I never knew pain like this

 

Dear Daddy,

I never knew pain like this. 💔

I can’t believe that you’re not going to be there the next time I come home.

Mummy says that you went quietly and peacefully. Pain-free. 

I know that you fought hard, Daddy. Your courage gave me strength in my own challenges. 

There is so much I want to say to you and about you. But I told you daily that I love you and that’s the most important thing. 

Promise me that you’ll still guide me through difficult decisions and push me when I forget to believe in myself. 

I am so proud to be the daughter of Barry Makhan.

I love you forever, Daddy!

Your baby,

Sheetal

Life Lessons

The prayer for our uncle in Johannesburg today was so peaceful. Sitting there for over 3 hours allowed me to reflect on so much...

Life & its purpose
Love & its intracasies
Family
Friends
Death

At the end of life, what matters most is how you lived it & the relationships you maintained. Being amongst family was wonderful & uplifting. Feel like I've come back with many blessings. ♥ 

Holiday Hoo-Haa

This morning my dad forwarded an article for me to read. It was written by a young lady who spoke about Christmas holidays and all the (some) obligatory meetings one has to endure during this time of the year. Parties, visits, bumping into people in crowded shopping malls...things like that. With such meetings comes the inevitable questions surrounding ones career, love life or current location of dwelling.

Truth be told, I have been mulling over this topic for the past few days as I wanted to write about this very topic as well.

Most people who know me fairly well will vouch that I enjoy going out and socializing. I love meeting friends over a good meal or sitting in a quaint coffee shop chattering away.

However, when I arrive in my hometown for the holidays, I turn into somewhat of a recluse. My family knows this. Malls? No thank you. Eat out? No thank you. I don't use the word, "friend" loosely so I am comfortable to say that I have very few friends in my hometown who I arrange to meet and catch up with.

I consider my trips "home" a success if, when I am about to leave, I've seen very few people. I know this sounds harsh, but hear me out.

Comments and questions I try to avoid at all costs come from people who I know genuinely mean no harm. But little do they know that their 'innocent' questions could pierce very sore spots that I am otherwise trying to either avoid or heal.

So...asking for the umpteenth time what I do, and then give a look as if to say, "Oh...is that a real job?" to asking me if I know So-and-So who also recently relocated to Cape Town, to something which stabs me of late, "Please tell me you have a man now!"

The last time I went back after a short trip home, I remember telling someone, "East London isn't the same as I know it before." to which I was replied, "The city is the same, Nothing changed. Only you changed!"

The more I come back here, the more I realize how true this really is. The city is the same. The stores are the same. The roads (with all those potholes) are the same. The people...are the same. Yet it is me who has become so busy, that I can't organize a dinner date with a friend without my phone to see if my planner can tell me if I'm free or not. I'm the one who has to make decisions on my own, who falls ill on my own.

I change everyday and I know for a fact that I am not the same person I was last year this time.

Situations and circumstances of 2013 have molded me to become the sensitive, sometimes insensitive, caring, sometimes selfish, calm, sometimes control maniac that I am.

So I guess what I'm actually trying to say is, for some of us - the holiday period is not AS joyous as it is for others. No offence to anyone, please...but, I'm quite happy hibernating at home with my nose in a book :)

Take it or leave it, this is ME!

2013 is a big year for me. In July I will celebrate a milestone birthday…my 30^th!

Did I just say that out loud? Wow, I really MUST be growing up :)

I can honestly say that it was when I turned 29 that I felt something of a “click”. I suddenly started seeing things differently. I started having different opinions and my tastes seemed to change drastically.  The biggest thing for me, however, is that I have been sweating the “small stuff” a lot less.

Also, things my mum used to warn me about 10/15 years ago, are actually happening now. My body is changing. It’s the inevitable. One day I feel like a princess and the next, I feel like Shrek’s cousin. One day, my hair will sit perfectly from 7am till I go to sleep that night. The next day, I wish I wore wigs. Some days, I look at clothes in my cupboard and wonder, “What the hell was I thinking buying that?” because nothing seems to a) fit me or b) look good on me.

Well this is the conclusion I have reached:

Whether I am feeling bloated or as light as a cloud, whether my hair is frizzier than yesterday, if I’m nursing an unwelcome breakout, I assume that the people near and dear to me still see me for who I am. And if they DO focus on my physical flaws, then 1) are you seriously telling me that they don’t have any? And 2) they’re not sincere and I should question their existence in my daily life. Agreed?

To put it quite bluntly, I stared death in all its ghastly glory in January this year. With my mum lying in ICU breathing with a ventilator – oblivious of what was happening to her, every single time my dad’s phone rang, I would hold my breath. “Please let it NOT be the hospital. God, you will never do this to us. This isn’t the time.”

Doctors and specialists have labelled my mum’s recovery as “remarkable” and “miraculous”. I have said it before and I will continue saying it. It was our FAMILY LOVE that pulled my mum through. She lay there, helpless, unable to speak with drips and pipes connected to her. Everywhere. It was not a sight to remember and even as I write this, I well up with tears just thinking of it.

As my favourite life coach, Dr Demartini says, “There is a blessing in every crisis,” the blessing in my mum’s knocking on death’s door is that our little family unit of four united like never before. For two weeks we worked on getting my mum well, out of ICU and out of hospital – back home. Which is where she is right now as I write this. She’s doing so much better and thank you to everyone who has asked about her well-being. Calls and messages are so deeply appreciated. Thank you.

I know it sounds SO clichéd, but the experience forced me to question the purpose of life. At any given moment, our time is up. No warning signs, sometimes not even a chance to say goodbye to loved ones…

So…it made me think, if I were to suddenly depart from this mortal world, how would I be remembered? Would I be remembered for my lumps and bulges? For the nasty zit that never left my skin for a week? Or the fact that I took time out to ask someone how they’re feeling. How they’re REALLY feeling. That I was a good listener? That I went out of my way to help where I could? That I was a hard worker?

These are the things that matter. And this is how I want to live my life.  Every single day, we are granted the opportunity to start over.  From the moment I open my eyes, the first thing I say is “thank you” for giving me another shot at being the best I can be.

I’ve also been reading a lot of inspirational and uplifting stuff by Robin Sharma (thanks a ton to my dad for introducing me to his work).

I’m currently reading The Greatness Guide (Book One) and as I turn each page, following a new chapter, I am just so amped to get out there and LIVE. I want to exude light, laughter and love. These are all the things I (we) desire in life. I know that it will all come to me…but I have to put it out there first.

It’s Sunday evening and I’ve been writing this from my apartment – at a window with a perfect view of Lion’s Head. The sun has set and slowly, people in apartment buildings across from mine, are turning their lights out.  It’s the end of another day. Another weekend. I’m already so excited to wake up tomorrow morning and have a FABULOUS Monday.

From my heart, I wish the same to you…

My mum - An Update

This morning I received a very "excited" text from my mum saying, "Hooraaayyyy!" She went for a checkup / x-rays and told me that the doctor was very impressed with her results. In his words, she "made a remarkable recovery."

We all agree that my mum's recovery is nothing short of a miracle!

THANK YOU to every single person who called, messaged or popped in to offer support to my dad, brother and me. With all our heart and soul, we believe that my mum pulled through this with the grace of God, positive thoughts, prayer and most importantly...love...

My mum - 21 January 2013

The next step was getting my mum out of ICU and into a general ward…one step closer to her coming home.  Three days after my mum went off the ventilator, she was discharged from ICU and went into a general ward.

The next day, she was discharged and we went to pick her up to bring her home – where she belonged.

My mum - 18 January 2013

Friday: On Friday, on our way to the hospital my dad made mention that the ventilator had been increased.  How could that be? Just yesterday they told us that my mum was doing so well.  Dad said that the doctor had no idea what was happening. I seemed to have lost all senses.

Arriving at the hospital, I didn’t walk in with my dad and brother.  Instead I rushed upstairs to my mother. Practically running in, I saw her sitting up in bed. Minus the ventilator. (I have tears in my eyes now, as writing this is forcing me to relive that day.)

My dad walked in behind me – smiling and telling the nurse who was there that he tricked me. 

“What? Mummy’s going to be fine??!?!"

I grabbed my mum’s head and kissed her face as tears streamed down my cheeks.  I walked straight out to my Aunty Aurora and sobbed on her shoulder.  “My mother is going to be ok…!”

And as if by magic, I suddenly felt exhausted – physically and emotionally. For the entire week, all three of us were running on pure adrenaline.

My mum - 16 - 18 January 2013

For the next three days, our lives were centred around hospital visits. I couldn’t reach my mother fast enough. She seemed to be able to comprehend some of what we said to her.  As I write this, I can’t remember half the things I told her.  But I spoke as if everything was normal. I massaged her feet and kissed her wherever I could. I pushed her very hard to fight this and to fight for us… we all loved her so much.

Slowly, my mum started being able to communicate with us.  She would take her index finger and write words on her legs. I realized then that she was able to write, so I put a clipboard with paper under her strapped hand; placed a pen in her hand and she was able to “talk” to us like this.

Taking calls from people was very difficult. I barely understood what was happening to my mum, let alone be able to convey this to others.  We were all extremely grateful for the calls and messages of concern from relatives and friends, but for that week, my dad, brother and I needed to be alone with each other and focus all our energy on our dearest mum.

For the week, I slept in the lounge. Mosquitoes enjoyed gnawing at me and I would wake up at 04:00, counting the minutes till the first visiting hour of the day.

I put the week down to the worst of all of our lives...

My mum - 15 January 2013

Tuesday: I was very emotional as I boarded the flight.  It must have been the longest flight I’ve ever taken.  In between crying on the flight I somehow managed to pass out for a while. 

As we touched down in East London I felt a sense of calm come over me.  I knew I had to compose myself because I couldn’t cry when I saw my dad.

When I met my dad he told me that there was good news.  Mum had a good sleep.  She was sedated and stable.

All these words – ICU, ventilator, sedated, stable… none of them had ever been associated with my mum.  It just wasn’t natural.

We arrived home around 08:30 and as soon as I walked into the house, I started cleaning and tidying up.

I will never forget this moment.

I was making the bed when my dad and brother walked into the room.

Dad wanted to explain exactly what had happened. Post kidney stone op, my mum had contracted septicaemia. I dare not ask what it was. I dared not Google it. But what I did learn was that there wasn’t enough oxygen entering mum’s blood stream.

“…mummy took a bad turn yesterday.  She’s sedated and stable. But it’s up to her now and all we can do is pray.”

I swear, my entire being turned to stone. I became absolutely tight-lipped and nodded. After all, surely he wasn’t talking about MY mum in this condition?

There were still a few hours till the first visiting hour of the day. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself…

Dad came back home from the office around 10:30 to pick my brother and I up. I had no idea what to expect when we arrived at the hospital.  It was my first time to enter an ICU.

Walking in, it was as if I had turned into a different person completely. I passed about two or three people before seeing my mum.  I almost didn’t recognize her.  She lay there listless in bed with tubes and drips connected to her. I rushed to her side and said, “Mummy..mummy I’m here!” God only knows where I had the courage and strength to speak to her the way I did.  I reached for her hand and noticed two things.  She was strapped down to the bed and her hands and fingers were double its size.

I couldn’t help, but notice that my mother was the worst looking patient in that ICU.