My mom received these incredible beautiful photos from her sister in Australia, and she sent them through to me. The tidal wave of emotions ha been very hard to contain. Some of them, I recognize everything in the photos from the chairs to the plant on the table to the curtains in my Grans apartment. In sea point. I remember clearly, falling in love with the moon here. I believe it was one of my first words.
We had such a special bond. I can hear the lullaby tick of her gold plated clock helping me sleep when I sent nights there, nd with her in her other apartment right next to the Company's Garden, where we spent countless ours watching the fish, and the birrds and feeding peanuts to the squirrels. My gran went into a retirement home, far to early, I think, but she found so much joy in participating in plays and festivities. She was always the Belle of the ball and much like my mother, retained her beauty for most of her life. And t least I looked like her...
(my Gran, far right)
I remember our Cape Town home with the giant garden. I remember the next one where we had Snowey and she and her only stripy kitten, who we called Tigress, had a few too many litters! In the back of the couch and in my mother's cupboard on top of her angora jersey! Although I was too small to remember the ginger kitties, they are pictured here as my mom often refers to them.
If I had a time machine perhaps I would go back to you in your indescribably beautiful and free youth, Mom, and I'd tell you to run for the hills. To put yourself first nd know that although you had a yearning to start a family, you should have waited. This is advice, ironically, I would have given myself. You did not deserve the hell that was awaiting you. I'm so sorry.
I believe my parents truly did love eachother... for a time anyway... and these pictures show me that there was a time of happiness in my family, and we were "whole."
I also know what was going on behind the scenes and that my father had long begun his decent to the dark side. I wish he'd gone for help... he was so damaged from his childhood, but mental health in the 80s, especially for men, was unheard of or just totally taboo to even speak about. My father gained some success in his own business and was recruited to IBM in Johannesburg, where I was conceived and born. He lost that job around the time that IBM pulled out of South Africa as we reached the pivotal years of the end of apartheid. Although in the big picture, I understand why the sanctions were necessary, but it was also what sparked my father's total shutdown. He never recovered.
It's both heart breaking and beautiful to see what must have been our last Christmas together, as a functional family. This was also just before my fathers whole family immigrated to Australia These are the last few pictures I he of my cousin and I, who looked like my twin. My mother would often curl my hair and she and my aunt would dress us in matching outfits.
These were the last few celebrations where my father was even present in the photographs, or at all: of birthdays, family gatherings and other celebrations.
A perfect family, from the outside. nd God my mom was beautiful.
The connection between sisters; my sister being 5 years older than me, always possessed a grace and beauty that I felt I never measured up to.
When I looked at photos of my family with my mother when I was very young, I was convinced I was adopted. I was clumsy, odd looking, very blonde and just so different. The fact that I'd learned to dislike myself so early in my life is absolutely tragic.
It all comes back to this though. If I had a time machine, could I really fix it all? Sometimes I think my family would have been better off if my mother only had one child, and that I was a mistake.
That I was what pushed us over the edge.
Now in my 40s, I realize that at the time, these were no my mistakes to make. In most of these photos I'm between he ages of new born to just under 5 years old. What power did I really possess to somehow shift events and void the shitstorm that was my childhood.
I suppose all that is left to do is appreciate these memories and let go of my unrealistic and unfair expectations of myself as a toddler.
These photos, although I know the ending of the story: a tragedy in wait, bring me joy and ters and overwhelming emotions. A least I have these few memories, a few happy moments to hold on to.