ODE TO AFRICA

Following the incredible response to last night's post "Marrying Africa" I have felt very sober minded and simply unable to post anything further. Thank you for your compassionate words and encouragement. Comments from two very special women touched my heart because they understand. One lost her husband three years ago, the other is currently fighting that good and hard fight with her beloved husband, as I did with mine. This is a heart-wrenching journey and it changes you. Forever.

Death carries the survivors to a place that is something like science-fiction. You float in this haze of sorrow - between worlds. You long for yesterday and fear tomorrow and yet you don't seem to be in the present. Waking you wish for sleep. Sleeping you want to wake. The grief is as tangible as if a part of you were wrenched from your body. When I buried my (first) husband it felt like I buried myself and only the shell remained. Nobody can tell you how to survive the loss. Each is different. Each of us have to walk that dark, dark valley alone. Being robbed of my young husband by cruel cancer has re-molded me. I can never be who I was before. I like who I am today. I have a heart for those who are grieving. But were I to have that life again, with the loss, I honestly don't think I could do it. Man was not created to survive this. Man was not created to bury young husbands, wives, children, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends.

My first husband loved the African bush. It was in his blood. He epitomised Africa. A teeny bit of the story is: https://steemit.com/love/@buckaroo/marrying-africa ; if you haven't already read the post. Because it was so well received I am sharing more photos of my very unique life. Being South Africa does not mean you automatically live in a mud hut, surrounded by ferocious beasts, beating out your corn for each meal on the dirt floor beside the fire. However for a very select few - and I was one of those - we are surrounded by animals in the protected Game Reserves.

As a trails officer my first husband had to be highly qualified because his guests entrusted their lives in his hands. People would come from around the world for a few days walking in the African bush, close to the animals. The trails officers carry rifles (as you can see) but they are seldom needed. Duncan was brilliant at what he did. He was headhunted in his field. Often. He was a very humble and loveable nature, despite the red hair, and yet when he walked into a room he commanded attention. His knowledge of the wild; birds, beasts, bugs even the bushes was astounding. We lived in isolation, as the Game Reserve is very far from civilization but he was constantly invited to speaking conferences. His passion and knowledge was contagious.

Africa lost a great man when he died. Not only was he an ambassador of the majestic animals but he opposed wickedness and clung to the truth. While he constantly reminded people to leave only their footprints in the bush, his footprints are cemented on the hearts of many. Tennyson immortalized loss in his poem with these famous word: "Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all". May it be said of us - after we are gone - that we left footprints on the lives of those who loved us.

This is one of my favourite photos of him. Doing what he loved best. And with such barely contained joy, as I have never seen in anyone else. He loved life and the joy of living. He had no regrets. My one regret was wasting time trying to make things perfect for him and not simply "being". Let me encourage you to do what you love. Be passionate. Have no regrets. But don't forget to simply BE!