If I’m honest, I am really struggling to write this week’s blog, not because I’m tired from late nights working or because I’m upset about a young person’s death, or even a challenging recovery. I’m struggling to write it because I am just having too much fun right now. I am on an unexpected, last minute, unplanned holiday in the Netherlands with my mom and uncle. There is an incredible safety and sense of wellness when you spend time with people who have loved you your whole life. There’s something deeply healing about being with people who’ve loved every version of you — and believe me, my teenage self was no walk in the park. These people have chosen to love me in every season.
At work, I’m confronted every day by the circle of life: how those who once nurtured, now need care. Living it yourself is different. At OR Tambo I reminded my mom to remember her walking stick, helped her find the right gate, lifted her luggage and handled the paperwork. There’s a sense of balance to it all. She used to do that for me. There were countless times she had to bring my PE clothes to school, she taught me to drive my little Datsun 1200 and picked me up onto her lap when I fell. In some ways, it feels like just the other day. Our roles might look like they have reversed, but it is just the tides changing.
I see my uncle’s frustration when he forgets a name and my mom’s embarrassment when she sees her older reflection in a mirror. I wish they could see themselves through my eyes. My mom’s slower pace forces me to hold her and take in every moment. I get to treasure the now because of the reduced speed. My uncle’s wrinkled hand resting on my knee fills me warmth because it speaks of his unconditional love. They earned every grey hair, and I can sit and absorb their wisdom, protected from having to make all the mistakes myself. My uncle’s gait reminds me of my grandfather’s. My mother’s fingers are shaped like my grandmother’s. I suppose this sense of safety is called generational love? I listen to stories of when they were young and realise that these very stories are the ones that shaped me. Their shared past is part of the foundation of my life.
We love to joke that old age is not for sissies, and it’s true! (At 52 I’m well aware of my aching joints and frown lines) But there is so much grace that comes with these later chapters of our lives. I am experiencing Europe differently because I’m with them. She’s 85 and he is 82. The collective wisdom they generously share is shaping this holiday. I am reminded that no relationship is healthy if it is a one-way street. They might need a steady hand here and there, or some guidance with the iPad, but I need them to learn how to stay grounded, to be present and to feel loved. I need my mom to call me out if I use a harsh word. I need my uncle’s solid business advice. It’s the best kind because I know he wants the best for me and has no other motives. I got to witness my mother’s gentle disposition all my life, and here I still get to see it in action. Her deep faith and prayer life was present in every moment from the beginning of this trip. Her faith was certainly tested when her passport arrived only after the VFS Rivonia kept their doors open for her way after closing time on the eve of our departure. These consistent and enduring traits in their lives are parts of the scaffolding that holds me up.
The Netherlands is at her most beautiful right now as a new season is approaching. There are flowers everywhere, ducklings, goslings and right outside my window as I am typing, two baby storks in ahigh-up nest. The mommy stork ate one of her babies to make sure the other two will have a better chance of survival (I googled it: it is called filial cannibalism and although not common it does happen, especially when weather is predicted to be harsh – thank you global warming). Despite this traumatic occurrence, there’s joy in getting to watch the surviving nestlings test their wings and grow bigger. They stretch their wings and hover around the edge of the nest but dare not yet take a leap of faith. For now they are safe, sure in the knowledge that someone wiser, who has had the courage to fly will provide everything they need.
Is that not just what happens with us? We learn to fly and soar because those who loved us taught us how? The ones that went before showed us that it is safe to take the chances, or to love despite possibilities of heartache. They taught by example how to be kind, forgive, respect your elders, be generous, work hard, be punctual, listen more than you talk, show up, stay humble, do your best, that relationships matter and that you shouldn’t burn bridges.
Change is and always will be scary, but it does not help to fight the seasons. I like to think that aging is not a decline, but a deepening. Soon it will be my daughters reminding me to take my blood pressure pills or helping me adjust my hearing aid. I hope by then I can be their inspiration and share my wisdom. This unexpected holiday is a gift. I, like the stork nestlings, feel loved and treasured in the nest of the very ones who taught me how to stretch my wings and leap into the air with no guarantee of flight.