Life on the other side of the Mountain pre- and post- Mom, plus her successes and successors.

We suppose this narrative, including photographs, makes a change from postings of nature but it's something worthwhile as we sit around and contemplate. Truth be told, once a person reaches an age where she has accomplished most of her goals, is both mentally and physically frail and tired and above all, considers she's had enough of this world, then a full life has been lived and moving onwards makes sense. Should this be accomplished before one deteriorates and suffers to an extent one can no longer function meaningfully and without pain, then perhaps that is a full life. An essay of sorts, relating the first days of our return to visit Mom, follows at the end. 

Granny Ruth feeds her great-grandson Benny (2013). 

Ellie, my favorite little girl in the universe. Heck, I could 'eat her up'. (About to turn 13).

Unfortunately, Granny Ruth never met her great-grandson, Casey (2021). (Robert and Shelby)

I was most fortunate to have a second mother. Meet Katy Bokaba.

Aged, sad, jet-lagged, but still standing alongside Katy before heading to the funeral.

Lousy photography, immediate family with Katy. (Gavin, Natalie and Robert) 1995.

Our extended family which includes Jemina, Audrey, Johannes, Katy, Rosalie and of course, Mark.

We ran out of chairs. Katy takes a breather from lecturing me.

How the times are changing. Baike, Katy's great grandson.

Darkened legs and feet indicate her decline circa 2020.

Maid of Honor, Late Wendy, dear sister, and the groom, December 1974.

Mom and Dad, more than double missing you.

Natalie, the Late Aunt Wendy and Gavin...plus Huey, D...1992. (The only ones that have not aged are 'Jenni's ducks'.)

Breaking bread with Jemina, Katy's older daughter, a grandmother herself. 

We planned on visiting the new South Africa to spend time with my Mom (the ‘my’ should read ‘our’ for Jenni and Mom had a special relationship). Someone mentioned that Jenni filled the gap left by my late sister, Wendy. It’s a beautiful sentiment and well received. However, it’s not true. Jenni became a daughter to Mom many years before. And if you want to know something special, Jen’s relationship with my Dad was that of a true daughter, even stronger. While still courting, I could see that my father loved Jenni—it was special. 

We were due to arrive in Johannesburg on Thursday, March 17th in the afternoon. We last spoke to Mom on the Sunday morning in which she remembered we were due to visit her in 4 days. It indicated she was quite well. At 2:30 am on the Monday morning, we learned of the awful news and that the visit would be to praise and bury Mom rather than enjoy her company and presence. In addition, we would no longer receive her more than occasional instructions, criticisms and questions why a 69-year-old wasn’t wearing shoes and socks, why he was working in the so-called dark and a host of other lessons he had since forgotten after marriage. I never realized how I would miss the guidance that followed freely as I continued to get basic living wrong. I had been tempted in earlier years to ask her how we should invest our portfolio seeing that she had better knowledge of most things than her son.

 We won’t go into any details of the funeral but rather focus on a fascinating aspect of life in South Africa, certainly from a Lazarow perspective. When we finally gained admittance to the house, (issues with communication from the gate), a human story evolved. Mark, my brother, had arrived earlier. Mom’s caregiver of 14 months, Catherine, proceeded to update us. Following this, my second ‘mother’ arrived unexpectantly together with one of her daughters. Katy Bokaba of Hammanskraal, a person who had been our housekeeper since I was 4, had decided she might never see us again as she is in her 92nd year. She has her full faculties and despite aging and being doubled-over has become even wiser and totally intolerant of fools, lazy individuals and city life. Jemina her elder daughter accompanied her. In a way, Katy is a firebrand and continued to both praise and lecture me throughout the period. I always learn from her as she has something that is lacking in many people nowadays, both wisdom and understanding. She kept harping on when we would be returning to the USA. She intimated she had little time to live and wanted to spend time with Jenni and me and I’m sure, Mark. Time with Jenni I could understand.

 I was also informed through Jenni that Katy would be spending two nights with us. She had decided Jen and me would be sleeping in my parent’s bed, she and Jemina would occupy the second bedroom, Mark would have the couch and Catherine, the outside room. Well, that was that. The day of the funeral, Rosalie (weekly maid service) joined us, and we took two cars to West Park Cemetery. I must add that Rosalie who we saw once per annum for over twenty-years dressed in an outfit that made this woman in her fifties look like a gorgeous, African Mary Poppins. Mark, Jenni and I felt privileged at this show of support and may I say, love and respect for Mom. I found it interesting that many people had wonderful things to say of Mom and yet the attendance at her resting place was sparse. Just mentioning.

It has always been our wish that Mom’s household effects, many items of high quality, should be distributed primarily amongst Katy’s family which included Audrey, the youngest child who was waiting for us at the house after the funeral. Katy’s first child, Patrick, had died some 54 years earlier. I have never forgotten the day when the news filtered through to Katy. As I returned from a vacation job, with great trepidation I entered her small room outside our main house and saw her sitting with some family members and friends. Nothing prepares a person for death and particularly, the sight of a mother whose child has been taken away, forever. The beauty of life has many extremely cruel obstacles positioned along its path. I cannot remember many things these days but cannot forget every moment of my short journey to her room, our embrace, superfluous words and return to my room.

 The distribution and allocation of the household assets proceeded in an orderly manner tinged with occasional chaos. There is so much that it’s an ongoing process. My Mom hoarded much. Just in dinner services, she could have hosted parties for more than a hundred people. The recipients were at all times well-mannered, courteous, helpful, with only the occasional outbursts of exuberance. For us, during a period of suffering a great loss, watching people who had been in the service of my Mother receive rich rewards, although tiny in the grand scheme of things, was a blessing. While they may have felt materially blessed, recognized for their years of great effort, Jenni, Mark and me were the most fortunate.

 Watching the clothing being carried out, while we all packed crockery, cutlery, furniture, appliances and television sets to mention a few items, was to see the free market operate at its most efficient mixed with human love. We had three stipulations: The first was that Katy had first choice, followed by her family and then anyone else. The second proviso was to leave us with sufficient bedding etc. so that we could remain in the townhouse temporarily after which time they would retrieve the rest. The final proviso was that our Sugar-free Cokes were off-limits. No exceptions. 

In a moment of silliness, an idea from the bible came to me. When Joseph’s brothers visited Egypt and pleaded for food, Joseph, the viceroy, instructed his men to hide ‘stolen wheat’ in the youngest child’s saddlebag (Benjamin). I hid a bottle of Coke in the one truck and of course confronted them on their way out. I was being very religious, of course. I suppose I’ve been known to be literal at times.

The family spent two nights with us which turned a period of mourning into one of meaning, of intimate stories of life, struggle, hard times for the black nation and above all, a show of pure hearts, may I say love, respect and humanity, at its best. I had to stop Katy trying to wash the tub after she had taken a bath one evening. She gave us lectures of how little food she normally consumed but she did not show any reluctance in accepting cakes, muffins, and other sweet dishes between meals. During these times while filling her teacup, I continued as did the others, to learn some of the lessons of life. While Katy spends much time working in her garden in Hamanskraal growing vegetables and flowers, I was ordered at the crack of dawn into Mom’s lovely, but small garden, to remove plants she would take back home and transplant. Some of the situations that arose as we interacted with each other were quite unique. Later, when her son-in-law arrived with her great-grandchild of 4, things got even more exciting once the kid realized these ‘white dudes’ were kinda okay.

 I should mention on the second day, Katy had lost patience with ordinary food. She felt her energy sapping. She needed red meat and the great African staple of mealie pap. Katy gave instructions for Catherine to get to the shops and make sure that dinner would comprise real food. Catherine, in typical African tradition, obeyed her elder. On her return, she got carried away talking and Jenni smelled the pap burning. Oy Vey! There could be a riot when the queen learned of this foolish behavior. Fortunately, enough pap was saved which allowed Katy to get to bed sated. A miracle had occurred. 

  Jen loved the fact of having some of the family joining us for the Sabbath meal, this time she preparing, cooking and serving them. How apt. Katy also educated us on Jewish traditions and customs, some even new to us...and rabbis.

 With some of our guests departing, others arriving to collect additional items, the traffic was rather unusual in a rather peaceful and quiet development. This continued the next day, too. The only items difficult to distribute were the books on Mom’s shelves we had published—the potential recipients had gone coy. Go Figure! Thereafter, Catherine took an Uber, Mark left for the airport to return to Dallas and Jen and I remained to absorb the peace and quiet of a home that had experienced pain and some suffering, the coming together of friends who had unique bonds dating back 65 years, memories to treasure and I would think a group of people that looked at each other’s hearts and souls rather than superficial differences.

 I wondered what Katy and her family thought. They had lived (suffered) through the Apartheid era (error). Katy had assisted the family and become a second mother to me, met Jenni and they took to each other. Our immediate family seemed to get ahead in life, emigrated, visited regularly, remained in contact, met every now and again, tried to assist with her financial needs and now shared a few days together following Mom’s departure. Did her family wonder whether we had changed, considered ourselves superior, snooty or special? Or did they look at us and see that we had developed in a direction different from earlier years but were still the same people they knew and we think, liked. That was an important and obviously, unasked question. In fact, it was more than important to us—it’s vital.

 Things were said, emotions were expressed, Audrey returned the next day to continue collecting items and so did Rosalie and her husband Frank. Within 5 minutes, I knew that Frank was a person I’d like as a friend. The question remains unanswered, but we felt a kinship with these former employees of Mom and Dad that remain stronger than ever. While they were enormously appreciative of the treasures they received, we believe we were the truly blessed and fortunate recipients of something far more than their material gifts. It almost seems unfair that we received more than they did.

 ‘We believe you would have been satisfied, Mom, perhaps not seeing others in your clothes, but overall, content that you added something else positive to the world. After all, your good deeds are sufficient to change the world.’

Cheers, 

Jenni and Jeffrey