I have a new friend called Lizette. We are very different and, at the same time,very similar. She is young , a brunette, quiet, dainty, loves dogs and adores kingfishers. I am middle-aged, blond, loud, not dainty at all, love cats and can hardly tell the difference between a hadeda and an eagle. Those are superficial things, but the things we have in common are the important building blocks that make up a life. We are both acutely aware that we need people, we both love our daughters, we both love God, we both question God and we both live in worlds where we experience the brutality, but also the intense beauty of life daily.
When people hear Lizette’s story, they tend to first be very curious and look for someone to blame. Then, they are mortified that such a catastrophe can happen to anyone, and they tend to want to forget all about it. Maybe the fragility of our lives are easier to deal with if we do not have to face it head on. It is simpler not to admit that some lives are not Disney-perfect. Some journeys will never have a happily-ever-after and it scares us that people still have to show up to lives they did not choose and that are so different from what they wanted and expected..
Lizette has been paralyzed from her neck down since an avalanche of misfortunes during 2021’s Delta-Covid wave-horror. A joyous occasion of wonder after the birth of her little girl, turned into an unfair and brutal reality that has left her on a ventilator. It is horrendous and I wish it did not happen to her. It is also not her only story or what should or does define her.
Lizette moved in with us here a few weeks ago. Her husband, who is brave and loves her, and has made incredibly difficult choices, helped us get her room ready. It got painted in her favourite mint colour, a stunning (ridiculously expensive) door was put in and a new ramp was built. We planted flowers to attract butterflies and hung bird-feeders all around the window. While the move took place, Lizette’s little girl ran around, getting to know our cat, being carried on the hip by dear Eileen (who works here) and her team of carers slowly got used to their new environment.
I’m in awe of Lizette’s courage. Even though she knew this move would be heartbreaking, she knew it was the right decision for everyone. I went to her on her first day and promised her that we would be her cheerleaders and her support, and that we are honoured that she would trust us to continue the journey here.
We all want Lizette to know that she is not just another tragic story. She is not just a person lying helplessly in bed. She has meaning and purpose. She cannot mother her little girl like she planned to, but that does not take that calling away from her. She cannot have the career she planned or the marriage she envisioned and she is very much aware of this loss. She is still a person with a fabulous sense of humour, and gorgeous blue eyes. She loves her friends, her dogs, and for a reason I don’t know yet, is obsessed with elephants.
Lizette has a team so totally devoted to her that I get teary just thinking about them. Last week we met with her doctor, the nursing sister, social worker, OT and speech therapist. They all love her. Really love her. To these wonderful women, Lizette is a priority. She is not just part of their work and they all actually like her. They motivate her without platitudes and while I sat in the meeting, I was intensely aware of the fact that she could not have a more committed and passionate team. Last week. we came up with innovative ways to fill Lizette’s life with beauty. One of our plans (and of course with Lizettet’s input) is we are going to post updates under “Loving Lizette”, telling her story, sharing the mundane, the memories and even hopefully, the miraculous. She and I designed her logo, choosing colours and designs and fonts. She might not be able to communicate with a voice, but there is no mistaking what she does and doesn’t like. In our feed, we will never stop acknowledging that while her life is anything but ideal, she is very much still able to achieve and learn and help others. She has old friends who remember her when she was healthy, but she is also making new friends. She is going to finish her half-completed paintings with the help of an art teacher, Lynne, who is getting to live out her calling by coming to see Lizette. Lizette and I will argue about which holidays are better and learn about the bush as we read stories about the Kruger to her. On Wednesdays, a group of ladies gather in her room, and at the moment they are working their way through the Gospel of Luke. Our friend Allison comes weekly and they laugh and cry as though they’ve known each other a long time. From time to time, and with great excitement, Lizette and all her “getoet” get in the wheelchair and we go for a walk. Last week we took a maiden grand tour of the property and Lizette and I laughed at the bad driving over the cobblestones. I pointed out some strange people and we giggled. I told her the whole history of how the lodges started and we were lucky enough to see our tiny swarm of lovebirds descending on the bird food put out for them.
People think healing looks like a big miraculous event; like blind people who can suddenly see or a cancer that has entered remission. I’ve learnt that sometimes, there is healing in small moments. Sitting with Lizette next to the pool the other day forced me to take a breath. I healed there next to her in the first moment of quiet I had all day. Gently taking Lizette’s nail polish off and reapplying the colour of her choice with my daughter got us all to connect. No one was on a phone or dared think of unimportant things. We were all right there, in the moment. Eileen, who has so much love to give after her own daughter passed away in a car accident, has the perfect recipient of love in Lizette who can do with a bit of mothering (can’t we all?). Communication is not easy as Lizette cannot speak, so we often have to spell things or point to things or guess. It slows us down, and wonderfully so. When you are with Lizette, you are forced to be in the moment and somehow her life reminds you of how precious all our lives are and that nothing should ever be taken for granted.. She reminds us that sometimes, healing doesn’t look like wholeness or strength, but it is in our deepest frailty and humanity that we can bring healing, joy and life to others.