I'm once again that angry, shocked, utterly let-down 34-year-old widow who had to grow up overnight and learn to become two people.
My late husband and I decided, together, to bring a baby into this world. And what a joy he is to raise, tantrums and all! But five years later, I'm still disappointed in my career-driven, work-obsessed husband, who chose his laptop over his child. It's a disappointment that death hasn't erased, and perhaps that's something people don't talk about enough. You can grieve someone, miss them and still be angry with them.
I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I get to raise Riaan, watch him grow and witness the fine young man he's turning out to be. I'm glad I get to be there for the little things, the big things, the tantrums, the laughter and everything in between.
The last five years have been the most brutally chaotic and exhausting years of my life. I've had to figure out motherhood, work, grief and an entirely new version of myself, often all at once. And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.
Perhaps I'm still learning to balance work and life, but I've learnt this much: life, and the tiny human I brought into this world, will always take precedence over a paycheck. No job, no deadline and no career milestone will ever matter more than being present for the people I love.
And yet, all it took was one old Facebook album, a decade old, to turn me back into that heartbroken 34-year-old who had no idea how she was going to put her life back together.
With this piece written, I'm reminded once again that healing isn't linear. We learn to live with the pain, let it wash over us, and somehow find the strength to carry on. Again and again and again. Until, perhaps, one day, the memories stop hurting quite so much, and we find a little peace.
Perhaps I'm still waiting for that day.
Until then, I have my Riaan, a life that's still very much mine to live, and a body that hasn't gone to heaven yet.
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