‘God my one leg, Phyllis the other’
When my daughter Phyllis dies I'm not sure I'll be alright again. It is as if God is my one leg and Phyllis the other. It was Phyllis who helped me build my house and bought me a stove when she was working, and also the tiles for my house, and my bathroom set that we still have not managed to install.
A few weeks ago Phyllis came home to my house to die. She said all that she wanted was to be with her mother. I have been feeding her, washing her, comforting her, looking after her all the time. She was even sleeping in my bed with me. It was difficult for me even to leave the house, in case she needed something.
She has said the same thing so often: 'It's a long road, mama, and I have to travel it alone, but I am ready to die now. I accept it because nothing is going right for me anymore. All I am worried about is you. How are you going to cope?
Where will the money come from to bury me?’ I have seen her looking at me when she thinks I'm not aware of it, with a tear rolling down her cheek, and I know she is worrying about me again. I think she is hanging on to life just for my sake. That's not good for her. And for me, it is now just too much.
Seeking Help from Friends
I went to some other grannies, my friends nearby, and asked them to talk to Phyllis and tell her she must go to hospital to die, because the way things were was just too painful for me and I could not do it. They helped me. They explained it to her, and she went to hospital. Every time she has been sick in the past, I felt so lonely, thinking of what it will be like when she goes.
But now, the neighbours are already coming to me, talking with me about what is happening with Phyllis, bringing me food to help me. The church members will also come to her funeral. And now, I've got my GAPA sisters. This is my true story.
Oh, how I wish my mother was still alive to hear my story. I am going to show it to my granddaughter Juliette, so she can see how much her grandmother has suffered — and how, after all this time, I am the victor. Truly, I am the victor.
By Jo-Anne Smetherham