Beloved 

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

​She is a friend of mind.  She gather me, man.  The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.  It’s good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.  

~ Toni Morrison, Beloved 

I’ve never been a great pretender. I don’t keep it together for the kids, hence all that therapy! 

If I’m happy you will all know about it. When I’m sad, dissapointed, hurt, ashamed – I’ll tell you. Feelings are neither right, nor wrong. They simply are. I just acknowledge them out loud with no apology. 

Today I cried. 

My soul mate. My person. We met online sixteen years ago and we immediately bonded. It was stronger than “we clicked”. It was a surreal “Oh there you are!” experience. 

We have supported each other even when we have totally disagreed with decisions made. We have loved, forgiven and protected where and when we could. We have been apart, but a nudge away. We are my most successful marriage yet! 😉 For richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, till death us do part. 

When she said “It’s cancerous”, I said #fuckcancer… followed by “We need to learn how to make African headgear, very stylish”. When she said surgery, I said “Who needs breasts anyway?” When she said chemo, I said “Now there’s a way to lose weight.” Poking at cancer has become the subtle, empty joke to deflect from my inner “I want to vomit in fear” reaction. 

Mel is gracious and kind. She is respected and people look up to her. She is caring and giving. She is slow to anger and quick to forgive. She is funny and loving. 

She is everything cancer is not.

Her cancer journey started at diagnosis. The tumour has been removed. The chemo port was fitted yesterday. It is all too real. 

Melany is greatly loved by many and while we will all walk with her with massive support, I know it is not going to feel that way at 3am. 

I know you will keep it together for the kids. Your parents. Your friends. Die Tannie by die Tuisnywerheid …. so let me assure you, that I will be your 3am.

I will love, honour and cherish you throughout this journey. I’m so grateful for you. 

Stel ♡

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In French, you don’t really say “I miss you.” You say “tu me manques,” which is closer to “you are missing from me.”

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

I know I’ve been writing about Tim more than usual. I will not for your sake curb my emotions, therefore I will not apologise for my truth. That is not #Wenchytude

When my Tim died I knew I would miss many things about him. Besides his windswept and interesting self, of course.

Who else would quote Shirley Valentine at great length with me, sing Sinatra, Rodriguez and be the only man I ever baked an apple pie for?

Tim and I did not always agree, but he listened. He never tried to convert me to his way of thinking. He tried to understand and would challenge us both. Hell, we could both be wrong. Imagine!

He kicked my ass when I needed it, he was moody, contemplative and sometimes downright depressive.

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Love your curves and all your edges. 

Dear friends and other interesting creatures,

To be vulnerable is to be alive. I would not live my life any other way. Nor would I write anything but what is my truth. So here are my perfect imperfections.

Wenchy

My rhythm and blues.

We easily share our smiles, what amuses us and definitely our successes, so why should we shy away from sharing our sadness? It is surely the other side of the coin? It is not a fault, a negative and certainly not a weakness.

It is the truth. It is living out loud. It is being you, abundantly without restraint.

If you want to live out loud, you do not handpick the parts to share. You own it. Every high. Every low.

In a world of pretend, be you! You only have this oneself, this one life. Be brave – throw every colour you have at it. 

 

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