Читать книгу Shéri - Shéri Brynard - Страница 10

I often wonder why my dad had to die.

For months I wondered why my dear piano teacher, Juffrou Susan – who never ever wanted to learn to drive – was run over by a car.

And why my dad had to die so alone and so far away from us, at a waterfall. My dad, who always came home early to be with us. Who always wanted us around him. Who said that he could not live without us. And who was afraid of heights.

He died in 2001, two months after Juffrou Susan, in a way that we could never have imagined, and just as unexpectedly as she did.

On 14 August I was nineteen years old, Marisa was in matric at Oranje Girls School and Suzette at the primary school. I was at home watching television, Marisa was studying for the September exams and Suzette was at a school choir practice. My mother was visiting my granny. And then chaos erupted …

Prof Stef Coetzee, at the time vice-chancellor of the University of the Free State and also a friend of my father, heard that my dad had gone missing at the Augrabies Falls. He and his wife, Rienie, immediately drove to my grandmother’s to tell my mother.

People streamed to our house. By then my mother had fetched Suzette and told her that my father was missing. Marisa somehow knew something was wrong and went to my granny’s house, where she heard the news. I was the only one who did not know. When my mother got home, she ran upstairs to my room to tell me. I was in the passage when I heard it. I stormed to my room and slammed the door. I wanted to be alone and didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Rev Charles Mitchell, one of the ministers at our church, came to see us, and my mother told him that I hadn’t left my room and that I didn’t want to see anyone. He came upstairs to see me and we chatted for a while. He encouraged me to always let my light shine for Jesus. I remember this like yesterday.

That evening, my mother decided that we had to go to Augrabies as soon as possible, to look for my dad. Someone from the university offered to take us, and the following morning we were on our way. It was very far, and we cried all the way. Rev Riaan van der Merwe, our other minister, was waiting for us at Augrabies. My dad’s brother and sister had also driven there from Calvinia, as well as his brother from Cape Town.

The rocks around the waterfall were extremely slippery. While we were walking around, I was with Rev Van der Merwe, Marisa with my mother, and Suzette with Mariette Klopper, a friend of my mother and a colleague of my father.

We were all still crying when my mother suggested that we make my father a cross. That kept us busy and Mr Attie Smit helped us. We used two pieces of wood and a plastic bag, and stuck some wild flowers under the plastic band of the cross, and placed it on the spot where he went missing.

My mother, Marisa and Suzette joined a local farmer in his light aircraft to look for my dad.

I didn’t want to go. I wanted to be alone. I had no idea how to handle the extreme heartache I was feeling. I loved my dad so, so much. And it was terrible to see our whole family so sad.

The following day my mother decided that it was time to say goodbye. It was as if my whole world crumbled. My mother knew that my dad’s body would only rise to the top of the water once decay had set in, and she didn’t want to expose us to that.

Rev Van der Merwe decided to conduct a service where my father had slipped. I didn’t want to go there; the rocks were too slippery. I saw my mother telling him that there was a problem, gesturing in my direction. He then talked to me for a while and convinced me that it was time to say our goodbyes. He took my hand and I went with him to the spot where my dad had slipped.

The service was moving, in spite of the noise of the falls. We were very sad. I cried throughout the ceremony. So did the others. After the service my mother, my sisters and I stayed behind for a while to say goodbye to my father.

We dropped notes for him and tried to make our calls for him heard above the noise of the waterfall. But the water silenced our voices.

When we drove home the following day, I still hadn’t found peace. It was still so unreal that my father was never coming back. I was only nineteen years old. Rev Van der Merwe took us home and Mariette Klopper drove behind us.

On our way back, my mother began to arrange a memorial service. My sisters and I just cried.

Hundreds of people filled the church. I just wanted this awful day to end. Our house was constantly full of people. I was so relieved that my mother hadn’t invited anyone to stay over. In the evenings, after everyone left, our family had some time together. People kept on coming for quite a while. Every day Mariette Klopper helped in any way she could.

Three weeks later, Suzette took part in a debating competition in Bethlehem. My mom took her there. Early that morning, the police from Augrabies phoned her with the news that my father’s body was drifting in the water. Someone had to identify him once the body had been retrieved from the water.

She decided not to tell Suzette, and she did not turn on the car radio. Her friends, Ryk Neethling and his wife San-Marie, went with them. People kept phoning my mother and sending smses. She had to answer in such a way the Zettie would not suspect a thing.

Zettie won the Free State competition. Only afterwards, on their way home, did my mother tell Zettie that our father’s body had been found. My mom asked Dr Edrich Krantz, a doctor and very good friend of my father, to accompany her to Kimberley to identify the body.

Afterwards, she did not talk much about that day.

Fortunately, the big service had been dealt with. My mother asked Rev Van der Merwe to conduct a small service at the grave, with just a few people. She also asked six of my dad’s best friends to be the pall-bearers. And she organised helium balloons to be released while the coffin was being lowered into the grave. We also released balloons as a symbol of letting my dad go.

Everyone did, except me. I did not want to let my one and only dad go. I took my balloon home. That night I could not sleep. Later I had a recurring dream of my father coming home. And, when I woke in the mornings, it would be difficult all over again.

At some stage, Mr Ben Janecke, the psychologist at Martie du Plessis, came to see me. He chatted to me and told me that my father lived within me. He put a chair in front of me. I had to pretend that it was my dad and then I had to “tell” him everything that I wanted my dad to know. After our talk, I started facing life again, even thought it was very, very difficult.