'n Dekade is verby

Jis pappa, vandag is dit al tien jaar. Vir 'n dekade lank is jou stem en jou lag stil hier op aarde. Vir 'n dekade lank lê jou plaas se landery nog net soos jy hulle gelos het. Vir 'n dekade lank roep daai leiklip grondpad na jou, roep die klippies om weer onder jou bakkie se wiele te knetter.

Die stukkies draad waarmee jy en Shadrak die heining reg gemaak het begin verweer. Di's asof hulle gereed is om te laat gaan, om los te skiet en vry te breek en om alles wat beskermend binne gehou was vir soveel jare te laat loop, te laat hardloop. Hulle besef hulle baas gaan nie terug kom nie en hulle is gereed om finaal afskeid te neem.

Metaal moegheid oor die laaste tien jaar is besig om my draadjies stadig maar seker swakker en swakker te maak, die ding is pappa, ek wou probeer om my heining sterk te hou vir jou, maar jy gaan nie terug kom nie gaan jy? Sien, dalk moet dit breek?  Miskien moet my heining swak raak sodat ek kan sterk word? Dalk moet hy platval sodat dié wat moet uit kan uit, en dié wat wil in kan in.

Pappa sien, ek het nie net op 19 April 2009 my pa verloor nie, maar ook my broer en my suster en 'n gedeelte van myself. Ek het daardie dag 'n deel van Werner begrawe wat 'n seun was vir 'n pa, iets wat ek nooit weer sou terug kry nie, en saam met dit die deel van my wat 'n ouer broer was. Vir 'n dekade lank was ek nooit weer een van die twee nie. Ek was weer 'n enigste kind.
Ek en my boetie en my sussie was die slagoffers in die nasleep van jou dood. 
Ek het vir die afgelope tien jaar gewonder oor hulle. Ek't gewonder of my boetie soos pappa lyk en of hy jou sagte temperament het. Ek't gewonder of my sussie nog so slim was soos toe ek haar laas gesien het. Ek het gehoop man, ek het gedroom en gewens dat hulle kontak met my sou maak. Meer as dit pappa, het ek gewens, nee het ek verlang dat hulle kontak met ouma sou maak. Sy't so geweldig bitterlik baie na hulle verlang die afgelope tien jaar en ek wil sê dat ek met haar kan vereenselwig maar vir my was hulle 'n boetie en 'n sussie, vir haar was hulle jóu kinders.

Vir ouma was jou kinders al wat sy oorgehad het van jou, die enigste stukkie van jou waaraan sy nog kon vashou. 

Vir my was hulle al wat ek oorgehad van 'n lewe waarvan jy voorheen deel was.
'n Deel van my geskiedenis is saam met jou toegegooi onder klip en sand. Die einde van jou lewe was ook die einde van 'n verhouding tussen  twee broers en 'n suster. Die einde van 'n verhouding tussen twee kleinkinders en 'n ouma. 

Pappa, tien jaar is 'n lang tyd om na iemand te verlang. Dit is' n onophoudelike geknaag aan jou binneste. Dit eet aan jou soos 'n honger leeu, maar dit het tyd geword vir my om dit te stop. Nie om van pappa te vergeet nie, maar eerder om die alomteenstaande onbeantwoorde vrae te laat gaan.
Ek sal altyd na pappa verlang en vir nog baie dekades se draaie om die son gaan my gevoelens vir pappa onveranderd bly, maar ek kan nie meer terug verlang na my lewe voordat pappa hier weg is nie. Na 'n lewe toe ek 'n boetie was nie.

Dit het tyd geword vir my om finaal afskeid te neem en te laat gaan. Ek aanvaar nou dat ek 'n enigste kind is. Ek aanvaar nou dat ek niemand se broer is nie.
Ek wou gehad het dinge moes reg kom terwille van jou, maar pappa gaan nie terug kom nie, en nou moet dinge reg terwille van my eie gesonde verstand. My heining se draadjies breek en ek gaan hom nie probeer reg maak nie. Dit het tyd geword dat hy moet platval. Dit mag dalk moeilik wees in die begin, om te laat gaan en om totsiens te sê, maar met die verloop van tyd sal die geheue van die heining vervaag in die vergetelheid onder die duisende voetspore wat in en uit beweeg.

Ek is kwaad vir pappa, ek is kwaad omdat jy so baie gedrink het. Ek is kwaad omdat jy 'n alkoholis was. Jou drinkgewoontes was die oorsaak van jou egskeiding met mamma. As gevolg van jou drink gewoontes het ek groot geword met 'n pa wat ek net elke tweede naweek gesien het. Jou behoefte aan alkohol was my behoefte aan 'n pa. Alkohol het my van die voorreg ontneem om ooit te weet of te ervaar hoe dit is om met 'n pa groot te word. 

Ek onthou jou met 'n glas in jou hand. Ek onthou hoe ek in kaste, onder beddens en agter meubels weggesteekte bottels Cape to Rio gekry het. Jy't jou drank weg gesteek soos wat jy die seer binne jou weg gesteek het. Jou binneste het gehuil, jou gedagtes het gemaal en die demone in jou kop het geskreeu. Met elke sluk het jy hulle tereggewys, hulle bedwelm totdat dit oorverdowend stil geraak het. Jy't met 'n gaasigheid in jou oë na my gekyk, opsoek na liefde, opsoek na aanvaarding, maar in pleks daarvan het jy teleurstelling gesien. Jy't 'n seun gesien wat skaam gekry het vir jou. Jy't 'n seun gesien wat gewens het hy het 'n ander pa gehad. Dit moes hartveskerend gewees het om jouself te besinning in die teleurstellende oë van jou seun en vandag wil ek vir pappa jammer sê. Ek wil jammer sê dat ek jóu nie raak gesien het nie. Ek is jammer dat ek veroordeel het voor ek gevra het, voor ek eers probeer het om te verstaan watse oorloë jy besig was om te veg aan die binnekant. Ek is jammer dat my kortsigtige geloof vasgekyk het in 'n alkoholis maar die mooi siel agter die glas misgekyk het. 

Vergewe my.

Daar was baie dinge binne pappa, lelike dinge, rou dinge waarvan pappa nooit vir een van ons vertel het nie. Dinge waarmee pappa graf toe is. Jy het vir ons gewag om jou te vra, om jou te help, maar ons het jou misluk. In die hospitaal, naby aan die einde, kon ek in jou oë sien hoe bitterlik graag jy wou praat, maar die traggie in jou keel het jou verhoed. Wou jy uiteindelik jou frustrasies uitskree? Het die realiteit by jou ingeskop dat dit dalk jou laaste kans was?

Wat het op die grens gebeur pappa?
Wat het jy gesien? Wat moes jy doen?
Dit was die begin van die einde vir jou gewees.
Jy't jou eie grensoorlog geveg en jy't verloor.
Daar was geen bondgenote om jou te ondersteun nie.
Vaderlandsliefde bleik eensydig te wees.
Waar was hulle toe pappa moes worstel met die demone?
Waar was hulle liefde?
As hulle maar net so hard vir jou baklei het soos wat jy vir hulle baklei het.

Pappa se heining was sterk gewees en dit het die meeste van jou en jou gedagtes binne gehou, maar dit het my buite gehou. Uit die onkunde van 18 jarige ek was dit onmoontlik vir my om te verstaan en het ek frustreerd geraak met pappa.
Ek het geskel wanneer pappa 'n brandewyn gegooi het in plaas van om te luister, in plaas van om op te let. Ek het skaam gekry as pappa dronk opgedaag het by 'n rugby wedstryd. Ek het kwaad geword as pappa geklae het oor onderhoud betaal, maar ek het nie geluister nie. Ek wou nie luister nie.
Ek het gesien maar ek het nie opgelet nie. Ek was blind.
Vir jare lank wou ek gehad het pappa moes vir my jammer sê, maar vandag sê ek vir pappa jammer.
Ek is so jammer dat ek pappa nie kon help nie. Ek is so jammer dat ek nie moeite gedoen het om op te let nie. Vandag wens ek, ek kon pappa help knip aan die draadjies van jou heining. Ek wens ek kon saam met pappa sit en  al die lelik en seer uit huil.
Ek weet vandag dat pappa siek was. Jy kon dit nie help nie.

Jy het 'n familie gehad maar tog was jy alleen. Niemand was vir jou iemand nie tog was jy iemand vir baie.
Dankie vir alles wat ek by pappa kon leer in die kort tydjie wat jy hier was. Dankie dat ek vandag vir pappa kan jammer sê, dankie dat pappa verstaan, maar meeste van als dankie dat ek jou seun kon wees

Op 19 April 2009 het jou heining uiteindelik platgeval en was jy verlos.
Die boeie het gebreek en as 'n vry man het jy die ewigheid ingestap. Ek sien hoe kyk pappa terug na my met daai skaam laggie en waai. 

Ek het nie eers 'n foto saam met jou nie. 

'n Dekade is lank, maar liefde maak tyd relatief. 

Jy lewe voort Daantjie donderbos. 

Liefde, jou seun.
xoxo

English follows Afrikaans

Dammit Dad, today marks 10 years. It’s now been a decade that your voice and laugh are no longer with us. It’s now been a decade that your farm’s fields lay dormant just like you left them. For the past decade the dirt road has been calling you, the pebbles begging to crackle underneath the wheels of your bakkie/truck.

The pieces of wire that you and Shadrak used to fix the fence with are starting to disintegrate. As if they too are ready to let go, to let loose and break free and to release everything it’s been protecting for so many years, out to run free. They’ve started to realize that their master is never coming back and they are ready to say their final farewell.

Metal fatigue over the past 10 years is starting to weaken my own wires slowly but oh so steadily. The thing is dad, I was trying to keep my fence strong for you, but you’re not coming back, are you? I don’t know, perhaps it’s supposed to break? Maybe my fence should become weak in order for me to grow strong? Perhaps my fence should fall to the ground so that those who want to leave can leave, and those who want to stay, stay.

You see dad, I didn’t only lose my father on April 19, 2009, but also my brother, my sister and a part of myself. I buried on that day a part of Werner that was a son to his father. Something I would never get back. And together with this a part of me that was an older brother. For a decade now, I’ve not been either one of the two. I went to back to being an only child. My brother, sister and I were all victims in the wake of your death.

Over the course of the past ten years, I have been wondering about them. I’ve wondered whether my brother looks like you or whether he has your soft temperament. I’ve wondered if my sister is still as smart as she was the last time I saw her. I hoped, man, I dreamed and wished that they would reach out to me. But even more than that, dad, I wished, no I yearned for them to reach out to grandma. She has been missing them immensely for 10 years now, and it was/is painful to watch. I want to say that I can relate with her, but for me they were a brother and sister, for her they were your children. Your children were the only part of you that grandma had left. For me, they were all I had left of a life of which you used to be a part of.

A part of my history was buried with you under rock and dirt. The end of your life was also the end of a relationship between two brothers and a sister. Dad, ten years is a long time to miss someone. It is a constant feeling of clawing and gnawing on the inside. It feasts on you like a hungry lion, but it is time for this to stop. Not to forget about you, dad, but rather to let go of the omnipresent unanswered questions. I will always miss you and the earth will still make decades worth of trips around the sun leaving my feelings unchanged, but I can’t keep longing back to my life when you were still here. My life back then, when I was still a brother.

The time has come for me to finally part ways with what was and to let go. I accept now that I am an only child. I accept that I am no longer anyone’s brother. I wanted things to turn out differently for your sake, but you are not coming back and now I should repair things for the sake of my own sanity. My fence’s wires are rusted, they are starting to break, and I am not going to try and fix it. The time has come for my fence to fall. It might be difficult at first, letting go and saying goodbye, but over the course of time the memory of the fence will fade into oblivion under the thousands of footprints moving in and out.

I am angry at you dad, I’m angry because you were an alcoholic. Your drinking habits were the cause of your divorce with mom. It’s because of your drinking habits that I grew up with a father I only saw every other weekend. Your need for alcohol led to my need for a dad. Alcohol has deprived me of the privilege of ever knowing or experiencing what it’s like to grow up with a dad, a privilege that is taken for granted by so many. I remember you with a glass in your hand. I remember how I found bottles of Cape to Rio in your cupboards, under beds and behind furniture. You were hiding your alcohol just like you hid the pain inside of you. On the inside, you cried, your thoughts milled and the demons in your head screamed. With every sip you tried to put them to rest/show them up, to drug them until it became thunderously quiet. You looked at me with gauziness in your eyes, looking for love, looking for acceptance, but instead you saw disappointment. You saw a son that was ashamed of you. You saw a son who wished he had a different father. It must have been heart-breaking seeing your reflection in the disappointed eyes of your son, and today I want to say apologize, dad. I want to say sorry for not seeing you; I want to say sorry for being prejudiced before I enquired. I didn’t understand or knew anything about the wars you were fighting on the inside. I am sorry that my short-sighted religion saw an alcoholic, but failed to see the beautiful soul behind the glass.

Please forgive me.

There were many things inside you, ugly things, raw things that you never told anyone about. Things you took with you the day you died. You waited for us to ask you, to help you, but instead we failed you. In the hospital, nearing the end, I could see in your eyes how desperately you wanted to talk, but the tracheal tube in your throat would not allow it. Did you finally want to shout out your frustrations; did the realization sink in that this would’ve been your last chance to let it all out?

What happened in the border-war, dad?

What did you see? What did you have to do?

That was the beginning of the end for you.

You fought your own war and you lost.

There were no allies to help you then. Patriotism seems to be one-sided. Where were they when you had to wrestle with your demons? Where was their love? If only they would have fought as hard for you as you were willing to fight for them.

Your fence was strong and it kept most of you and your thoughts on the inside, but at the same time it kept me on the outside. Ignorant 18 year old me didn’t know any better, and it was frustrating.

I scolded you when you poured a brandy, instead of listening, instead of noticing. I felt ashamed when you showed up drunk to my rugby games. I got angry when you complained about paying alimony, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen. I saw, but I didn’t notice. I was blind.

For years I wanted you to apologize to me, but today I want to apologize to you. I am so sorry that I couldn’t help you. I am so sorry that I didn’t make an effort to notice you. Today I wish I could’ve helped you cut the wires of your fence. I wish could sit down with you and cry out all the ugly and all the hurt. I now know that you were sick. You couldn’t help it.

You had a family yet you were alone. Nobody was a someone for you but you were a someone to so many. Thank you for everything you taught me in the short time you were here, thank you for allowing me to tell you how sorry I am today, thank you for understanding, but most of all thank you for being my dad.

On April 19, 2009 your fence finally fell down and you were liberated. The shackles were broken and you walked, a free man, into eternity. I can see you looking back, waving at me, with that shy smile of yours.

I don’t even have a picture with you.

A decade is a long time, but love makes time relative.

You live on Daantjie Donderbos.

Love, your son

xoxo