Dancing in the Shadows: Flying from Fear and Guilt into a Rainbow Sky

By Lizz Huesmann

The dragonfly symbolizes light and transformation. Dragonfly teaches us what lessons we need to learn and reminds us that as we think, so we are. Dragonfly came into Lizz's life, enabling her to see her experiences from a new perspective and find her voice, helping her to heal on an emotional, physical and mental level and stand in her truth. The body/mind connection is clearly illustrated in the true stories in this book, taken from her case studies, as Lizz and the dragonfly lead us through the mists of illusion into the light so that we can change, allowing our inner light to shine through, thus coming into our power. We are then able to see the bigger picture and live our lives to the fullest, as we gain wisdom and understanding as to why our lives are not as abundant as they could be. Experience peace, health, happiness, success, prosperity, forgiveness and most of all, love, as you let go and fly out of the mist into the light of a rainbow sky and dry your wings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490717012

Lizz Huesmann

Lizz is an artist and Complementary Health Practitioner who has always been fascinated by the body/mind connection. In her 17 years practising in this field, she has kept case studies which make up the sometimes unbelievable stories in this book on how the body has the capability of healing itself.

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© Copyright 2013 LIZZ HUESMANN.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1703-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1702-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1701-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918309

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Trafford rev. 10/21/2013

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BOOK ONE

Dedication

Dragonfly—

Breaking Free Of Illusions

Introduction

Inner Space

Into The Mist

Migraine—What Is Going Against My Grain?

It’s All My Fault!

Breaking Your Back

Gay But Sad

Digging Your Own Grave

Limping Along

I Love You Like A Brother

Ritalin Rose

I Will Go To The Grave For You

Who Is Getting Up Your Nose?

Giving You The Frozen Shoulder

Holding Things Too Close To My Chest

Tell Me That You Love Me!

Bi-Polar Syndrome

There Is Something Pressing Down On Me

Unconditional Love

Aspergers

Left Holding The Baby

A Rod For Your Back

From Lotus Blossom To Star

You Get What You Ask For

How Can I Be Happy When You Are Not?

Ritual

The Endocrine System

The Pituitary Gland

The Pineal Gland

The Thyroid Gland

The Thymus Gland

The Pancreas

The Ovaries

The Adrenals

Mother

God Speaks

BOOK TWO

My Quantec Reading

Memories

Questionnaire

Marrying The Same Man Twice

Aftermath

Afterword

We called Dragonfly to come.

He kept us waiting.

And then he came to Mabula, where wild animals roam under an amber African sky.

My daughter Liane captured him on film.

On closer examination of the photograph, I was fascinated to see how the colour of his wings was reflected in his shadow, wherein I saw a spindly-legged creature—an angel, or maybe a fairy—dancing.

And I realized that when we are in the deepest, darkest places, if we open our eyes, our hearts and our minds to see, we can find the light in the shadows.

And we are free to dance.

DEDICATION

As this may be the only chance that I get, I dedicate this book to my loved ones who have been and continue to be on this Soul journey with me:

My beloved husband of 46 years, Arnd

My daughter Kirsten and her husband Alex, with Samuel, Tahlia and Olivia

My daughter Liane and her husband Andrew

My son Mark and his wife Julie, with Dean and Ryan

My son Adrian and his wife Elrike, with Lukas

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I was designing a new business card, and for some unknown reason, I chose the dragonfly to be my symbol.

I had heard somewhere that the dragonfly symbolised transformation, and that it was I was aiming to do—help my clients to transform their lives.

Soon family, friends and clients were giving me gifts of dragonflies: a glass paperweight, a small sculpture, candle holders, pottery items, pictures, mobiles and wall décor.

On our 45th Wedding Anniversary my husband gave me a silver dragonfly pendant, which I wear constantly.

I decided to study the symbolism of this small creature of light in more depth.

DRAGONFLY—

Breaking Free of Illusions

When you watch the dragonfly flitting above a pond or stream you become mesmerised by the vibrant, shifting, shimmering colours which can look quite illusory. Spending time outdoors near water in quiet contemplation will help teach you to rest in that illusion of colour when the dragonfly appears and to then find your true power as you to listen to the inner prompting of your soul.

We are so limited by what we have been taught to believe about ourselves. We have heard it so often that we no longer know what is true, or who we really are.

As the dragonfly reflects light, in the same way we need to reflect our light. We need to be adaptable, inspired and creative as we change the way we think and act so that we can achieve our full potential. We are the only ones who can achieve this. Learn to express your true feelings as you stand in your authentic self and speak your truth in grace and love.

So dragonfly teaches us about transformation and becoming who we truly are.

Dragonfly Spirit Animal & Totem:

By Elena Harris, SpiritAnimal.com Editor

The dragonfly totem carries the wisdom of transformation and adaptability in life. As spirit animal, the dragonfly is connected to the symbolism of change and light. When the dragonfly shows up in your life, it may remind you to bring a bit more lightness and joy into your life. Those who have this animal as totem may be inclined to delve deep into their emotions and shine their true colours.

• Dragonfly Symbolism: The dragonfly is generally associated with the symbolic meaning of transformation: Change and transformation

• Adaptability

• Joy, lightness of being

• Symbol of the realm of emotions, invitation to dive deeper into your feelings

• Being on the lookout for illusions and deceits, whether external or personal

Connection with nature’s spirits, fairies realms

Dragonfly totem wisdom and change:

Dragonflies start to grow in water and then move into the air and fly. When this spirit animal shows up in your life you may be called to transform and evolve. Symbol of metamorphosis and transformation, it inspires those who have it as a totem to bring about the changes needed in their lives in order to go on to reach their full potential.

When this spirit animal shows up in your life, it’s an indication that it’s time for change. Just like the dragonfly changes colours as it matures, you may be called to live and experience yourself differently. Stay open to the enfoldment of your personal journey.

Dragonfly as power animal and adaptability

The dragonfly is characterized by amazing flight patterns as it appears to be able to change direction swiftly, gliding through the air with no apparent effort. Its lightness inspires those who have the dragonfly as totem to use their ability to be flexible and highly adaptable in any situation.

You can call on the dragonfly power animal when you’re stuck in a situation and need assistance to gain a new perspective. The solution might lie in your ability to adapt and tackle the issue from a different angle.

Lightness and emotional flexibility, two characteristics of the dragonfly:

By affinity with the dragonfly aerial lightness, those who have this animal as totem can develop the ability to take things lightly even in the darkest moments. Lightness in feelings, lightness in thoughts. The dragonfly spirit animal invites people to keep a light, positive outlook no matter what.

The dragonfly is often seen around water, ponds or on the edge of a river or lake. It symbolizes the affinity with the realm of feelings, water being a powerful symbol for emotions and the unconscious. If the spirit of the dragonfly comes to you, you may be called to explore your emotions in a light and joyful manner.

Dragonfly totem and the search for personal authenticity

The dragonfly is a fascinating animal characterized by the beauty of its colours, the lightness of its wings and its scintillating body. The meaning of this power animal is associated with the symbolism of light, but also illusion.

Those who have the dragonfly as a spirit animal may be encouraged to show their true colours more often and shine. Even if they may be more discreet than let’s say the peacock, they often exert a fascinating influence and arouse curiosity in others.

INTRODUCTION

The mind-body connection, as some have labelled the brain’s power of physical healing, is steadily altering the face of modern medicine.

Drugs and surgery are important and will never be replaced, but I believe that mind-body approaches, nutrition and exercise, will be at the heart of medicine in the future.

We can tap into our own natural healing powers, to help cure ourselves of everything from headaches and backache, to, according to some startling reports, cancer.

There are hundreds of convincing studies to show that mind-body therapy, from hypnosis to acupuncture, to reflexology and reiki, for example, can be instrumental in treating dis-ease in the body.

We need to become educated in what these therapies are, so that we can take an active role in not only healing ourselves, but staying well.

Although learning to will yourself well may not necessarily stave off illness, it can reduce its frequency and severity and speed up recovery. And although mind-body techniques may not in all cases replace traditional drug therapies, it may reduce the need for medication.

Complementary medicine represents a shift in modern medicine from simply treating the symptoms of illnesses, to dealing with the root cause, which is often emotional.

Deepak Chopra, world-famous endocrinologist, has said that Western medicine has traditionally focused on the mechanism of dis-ease. This means that if you get a bacterial infection, the cure might be to take penicillin. But the mechanisms of the dis-ease are not the origins of the dis-ease.

The origins of dis-ease have to do with how we live our lives. How and what we eat, breathe, think, feel, and how we deal with our relationships. (Including our relationship with ourselves.)

Toxic emotions and toxic chemicals produce the exact same hormonal and biochemical changes.

The physical symptom is only the superficial part of the dis-ease to be cured.

What is the original cause of the dis-ease? Listen to your body and make the necessary changes. Change the way you think, feel and act, and discover true health on every level.

We are going to explore through experiences and case studies I have had with clients over the past 17 years the different complementary health therapies with an open mind to understand this: physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

(See back of the book for an explanation of the various therapies.)

INNER SPACE

The tray of tea is placed on the duvet next to me, in the space which was occupied by my husband an hour ago. I mumble my thanks.

He walks around to my side of the bed. I turn my head to kiss him goodbye.

Through my half closed eyes I can see the digital bedside clock. 5.55. Funf Uhr funf und funfzig.

How often have we looked at the clock in the mornings, and as Arnd says goodbye, it stands on 5.55.

It has become a small ritual.

If he leaves for the office now, the drive will take him twenty minutes instead of the ninety it takes if he leaves after six.

I hear his footsteps as he descends the creaking staircase. His key rattles in the lock. There is a small wind chime hanging inside the front door.

I placed it there years ago when the children started dating, and going to clubs and discos.

No matter what time, or how quietly they sneaked into the house, no matter how deep my sleep, that tinkling sound would penetrate my subconscious, and then I would sleep easy, knowing that my sheep were back in the fold, safe and sound.

It tinkles now as Arnd leaves, and as of old, the sound comforts me as I drift back into sleep

The cat sits next to the tray, waiting for her saucer of milk.

Another ritual.

I love dreaming. I remember the dreams best which slip into my mind between 5.55 and tea.

I am looking through the bottom of the louvres of the door which leads onto the balcony off our bedroom.

I notice that the glass in the bottom two, is gone.

Small shards remain in the frame.

I look out at the railing.

There is a huge tarantula crawling ominously along the bottom.

Horrors! It is going to come into the bedroom!

I look around for a shoe or slipper to swat it with.

When I look again, it has turned into a beautiful black bird with a blue, crowned head.

He cocks his head and looks quizzically at me.

I wake up. It was only a dream.

The fear subsides.

I pour the tea and a saucer of milk for Misty, and ponder on the meaning and interpretation of what I have just experienced.

I reach for my book, ‘Animal Speak’ by Ted Andrews.

"Spiders symbolize death and rebirth. The spider is the grandmother link to the past and the future. The figure of eight body, and eight legs symbolize the infinity and the wheel of life.’

I had never thought of it like that. What a nice concept.

I read on: "They maintain a balance between the past and the future; the physical and spiritual; the male and female.

The spider awakens our creative sensibilities, weaving together like a web our thoughts, feelings and actions. An assertiveness of our creative force, a spiritual energy moving towards a central goal, or spiralling outwards in multiple directions."

What does this mean? Is my energy moving towards a central goal, or am I also expending my energies on too many things at once, and not doing one thing properly?

Am I focussing too much on others, and not enough on myself? Isn’t that the focus of my healing work, to concentrate on the needs of others before my own?

Now this is interesting. The spider is the keeper of knowledge, and teaches us how to use the written word with power, to weave a web around those who read the words. He is the guardian of ancient languages and alphabets.

The tarantula symbolizes change, through great psychic sensitivity.

I am amazed to learn that if you hold a tarantula in your hand (who would do that?) and dropped it, it would break and die!

It has a combination of strength for survival, and gentleness.

What is the message here for me? How often have I felt inspired to write, or paint, and not followed through?

I make excuses. I am always too busy.

I have made half-hearted starts.

I have been feeling closed, stuck in a web of my own making.

I am strong. Life’s lessons have made me that, but lately, due to circumstances, I have felt so fragile that if you dropped me, I too, could break.

I am out of balance. I need to pay attention to that.

Am I out of balance, or are those around me out of balance?

I need to write.

I must create.

I must be fearless in asserting my creative force, and learn from the spider.

Why did he transform into the bird?

The blue of the head symbolizes the throat chakra and creative expression, and talent that must be developed and used properly, modestly, and with unassuming happiness. (Ted Andrews.)

I have been shouldering too much responsibility, and must now move through the passage of time and movement to another level of being, and touch the joyful aspects of life.

What did my mother say? Let your journey be one of joy. Do not repeat the pattern, the legacy of pain that I have left you.

I must use the higher knowledge available to me to follow through the scattered thoughts and begin to develop the innate royalty within.

The blackbird has pointed me towards a new perspective of the power of nature without and within, and wishes me good luck and happiness in this endeavour.

I thank the universe for this beautiful prompting, and begin to tap into that psychic sensitivity, and that ancient language of the soul.

I begin to write.

BOOK ONE

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INTO THE MIST

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INTO THE MIST

Saturday, April 16th. Just another day on the calendar. Overcast and cool.

Across the town several people woke up to the new day, not knowing that by the end of it their lives would inextricably be woven together in the most unexpected and terrible way.

For Mike it was a special day—his birthday.

He smiled in delicious anticipation of what the day would bring. He was planning a braai party with close friends.

He looked out of the window. The sky was leaden. Damn, it mustn’t rain!

He switched on the radio to check the weather report. Cool, overcast with scattered showers. Oh well, he would take the chance. He wouldn’t let the weather spoil his plans. He had a lot to celebrate.

One week previously he had gone fishing at the coast. He had been swept off the rocks by a freak wave into the icy, churning sea, and had almost lost his life.

He looked at his wife and sons as they breakfasted together, grateful that he had been spared to celebrate this special day with them.

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Across town Des lay in bed, willing himself to get up.

Today was his best friend Mike’s birthday, and they were going to celebrate later. Earlier his wife Bridget had opened the curtains, nagging him to rise.

He just didn’t feel like it. Everything was getting on top of him, and he felt depressed.

Through the window he saw his beautiful black stallion grazing in the paddock. His heart lifted. How he loved that horse!

He got up, quickly dressed and after drinking a cup of coffee, strode to the paddock. Pegasus came galloping up to the fence and bowed his magnificent head under his master’s caress.

Des saddled him and galloped around the paddock feeling the sleek wither beneath his thighs, the muscles rippling with power. They were totally as one.

The feeling of freedom was like no other. How he wished that feeling could infiltrate into other areas of his life.

He often asked himself what it was all about; this constant striving for more, bigger, better. It never seemed to be enough. He had had enough.

All he wanted was for the feeling that he experienced while on his horse’s back, with the warm breeze on his face, to last forever.

Pegasus’ legs hardly touched the ground as they flew through time and space together in complete liberation.

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The meal was delicious, as always. My favourite calamari starter, and crispy duck to follow. It had rained quite heavily all evening, but in the cosy restaurant there was a convivial atmosphere and no-one even seemed to be aware of the downpour.

After a frothy cappuccino my husband Arnd and I left the restaurant.

The rain had now stopped but had left in its wake a heavy mist that draped the lights in the parking lot in its eerie blanket. I shivered.

We drove slowly. Visibility was almost zero. It reminded me of a time in Germany when we had driven home in similar conditions. Then the mist was so bad that my brother-in-law had to get out of the car and walk next to the driver’s window, so that we stayed on the road. This was almost as bad.

I had a premonition, a feeling of something ominous in the air.

It must be this mist that was making me anxious.

Suddenly I gasped.

We have just crossed that huge intersection at Ferreira’s, against the red light!

We had only seen the red glow of the traffic light as we drove through it.

Thank goodness there was no other car crossing through the intersection at that moment. There could have been a serious accident.

Maybe that is why I had had that feeling.

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At about the same time, Mike was enjoying his party. Good food, good wine, good friends. It was great to be alive.

His phone rang. It was his son, Sean.

Dad! Dad! breathless with palpable anxiety. Sorry to interrupt your party. Can you come and fetch me? I’ve been in a fight and been beaten up!

Oh my God! Where are you? Are you O.K?

Yes, I’m O.K. but please come! We are at the casino.

I’m on my way!

Sean had gone out with some friends to a nearby casino. A pseudo Tuscan village in the heart of an African city.

From the outside it looks as if a piece of Tuscany has been scooped up from the Italian countryside and been deposited on the outskirts of Johannesburg.

People driving past for the first time, blink in amazement.

Once inside, one loses all sense of time. Cobbled streets, Vespa scooters parked on pavements, washing strung on lines across the street.

In one section, clouds painted scudding across blue skies, in another, stars twinkling through black velvet night skies with the promise of fame and fortune as the one-armed bandits clank and gurgle as they burp out the promise of more.

People sit mesmerised, mechanically pumping the bandit’s arm up and down, up and down, and the greedy slot of a mouth never closes. It swallows and swallows and swallows until its belly is full, but its appetite is never satisfied.

I’ll come with you! We’ll take my car. Des.

Us too!

Mike, Des, Claude and Clive hurried out to Des’ car. A 4x4 which Des lovingly called the "Tank’. Indestructible.

They climbed in, adrenaline pumping, young lions on their way to rescue their cubs.

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The mist was thick and swirling. Des could hardly see the road. He focused on the white line dividing the two lanes.

Nervously they sped off into the night.

Visibility was about two metres and he followed the white ribbon through the mist.

Suddenly, the white line ended, cut by a giant pair of scissors. The road divided into two separate lanes with a central island.

Too late, the island loomed out of the mist, and Des drove straight into it.

The Tank swerved on impact, and started rolling. Over and over.

Inside, only Claude was strapped in.

Mike’s door flew open, and he was propelled outwards and upwards into the waiting arms of the mist. His body slammed into a palisade fence, where he lay in a crumpled, broken heap.

Des flew upwards, and he felt his skull fracture and shards of pain blinded him as he crashed through the sunroof. As his body was halfway through, the Tank rolled again, this time crushing his pelvis and rupturing his liver and kidneys. His hip and leg broke like matchsticks.

Then silence except for soft groans and frantic calls through the mist.

"Mike! Mike! Where are you?’ Silence.

Claude! Clive!

Groans

Des dragged his broken body over wet grass and unyielding stones.

What was wrong with his legs? The pain was indescribable.

He dragged himself towards the soft sounds.

He found Mike.

Talk to me! Mike, talk to me! Are you O.K?

He felt rather than saw the blood seeping everywhere. Whose was it? His or Mike’s?

Oh God, Mike, don’t die! Please don’t die!

There was a shudder. A soft sigh.

The shocking realization. It was too late for Mike.

The date of his birth had become the date of his death.

Sobbing, he cradled Mike in his arms, oblivious now to his own pain.

He pressed Mike’s head against his chest and his tears mingled with the blood as the Grim Reaper came to claim the prize that had been denied him the previous week.

How much sweeter to die in the arms of your best friend, than alone in the icy, unwelcoming sea.

Des lay with his best friend, closed his eyes and begged for oblivion.

Would this be the liberation he had been seeking?

He felt the nudge of a soft muzzle. There was his beloved Pegasus.

He lifted Mike’s body and gently draped it across the stallion’s glistening black withers. He swung himself into the saddle. He flicked the reins and together the three of them rode off into the mist.

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Claude shivered. He was bruised and shaken but otherwise unhurt. He had been wearing his seatbelt.

The car lay on its side. He managed to unfasten the seatbelt and climb out of the wreck. Where were his friends?

He stumbled through the darkness and then saw Des lying with Mike. Both seemed lifeless.

In terror he screamed for Clive, who loomed through the mist, fear and pain etched on his face. He had a broken shoulder.

There was nothing they could do to help Mike.

He let out a piercing scream of despair, which cut through the cold night air, slicing it into before and after.

They never reached the Casino. The lions had deserted the cubs.

He reached for his cellphone to call for help.

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Sirens. Screams. Sirens. Screams. Merging into one unearthly sound.

Des was aware of being lifted into the ambulance; aware of Bridget’s frantic pleas for him to hang in there, begging him to live.

His body felt dismembered. No part seemed to obey instructions. The pain was all-embracing.

X-rays. Screams. Screams Were they coming from his mouth?

The pain consumed him as they moved his body onto the X-ray table.

Multiple fractures. Extensive life-threatening internal injuries. Immediate surgery needed.

He went onto the stage and the theatre lights were like spotlights that signalled blissful oblivion as the anaesthetic did its magic.

He did not hear the doctor’s instructions.

Des is in a critical condition. I am going to operate on his legs and set the broken bones. His hip is shattered. He will need a hip replacement later on, but my first priority is to keep him alive. I am going to keep him in an induced coma so that he is immobilized and so that his injuries can heal. He needs to be ventilated so I am going to preform a tracheotomy. His liver has ruptured and his kidneys are badly injured and are failing. He will have to have dialysis. We will do everything we can to keep him alive.

Numbly Bridget listened to the doctor’s words swirl around her. In a mist of her own, she had to force herself to focus. What was he saying? Ventilator? Tracheotomy? Dialysis? Drips? Tubes? Critical? Fractured skull? Coma? Coma? Coma? She felt like slipping into one herself, like one slips into into a comfortable gown and wraps it around you and drifts off to dream of anything but this nightmare. Perhaps she would wake up and find that it had all been a very, very bad dream.

And Caroline? What about Caroline? She had lost her husband, the father of her children.

Bridget pulled herself together. "I’ll have to comfort Caroline, but how can I, when I need so much comfort myself? I haven’t got the courage to face this.

Des, don’t leave! Don’t leave me to face this on my own. Stay with me, dammit! Don’t you dare die too! We have three children who need you! I need you!"

The enormity of it overwhelmed her and she slid to the floor.

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The weeks dragged on. Three of them. Twenty-one long, lonely and terrible days and nights.

They carried Mike to his grave.

Bridget felt guilty that Mike had died and Des had lived.

Day after day she dragged herself up the 42 steps leading to the ICU, and sat next to Des’ bed as he lay unmoving, not even a twitch to indicate that there was life somewhere inside. No sound other than that of the ventilator hissing and pumping life-saving oxygen into his body.

She would lie her head beside his bandaged, broken skull or sit and talk to him about the farm, his horse, the three children; how they were all missing him and longing for him to come home. Even Pegasus was lethargic and pining for him.

And every day she would trudge back down the stairs, her heart leaden with lost hope. Why didn’t he wake up?

Three weeks later.

Des is still in a coma. This time it is not induced.

The doctor calls Bridget. He speaks the words she has been dreading all along.

I am terribly sorry. We have tried absolutely everything. At first we were making progress, albeit slow, with three steps foreward and two steps back. But now it’s one step foreward and three steps back. There are no more steps. There is nothing more that we can do for him. We have given Des 24 hours to live.

Again. I am so sorry.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins, stopped flowing, and her sharp inhalation was the only sign that she had heard the words, before she slid to the floor.

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LIZZ

I sat quietly humming to myself as I completed my client’s card and filed it away. At last my filing was up-to-date. How I loved my work!

I had always wanted to be a doctor, but in the 60’s girls didn’t study medicine and anyway, there was no money for that.

I was born with a pencil in my hand, and so nobody asked, really.

It was just assumed that I would study art. And so I did.

I had always been interested in medicine and read up on new cures and treatments. I had heard about complementary health, but in the 80’s not many people practised things like reflexology.

The phone call came. It was my stepmother.

Lizz, I need your help! She was sobbing.

What is wrong?

Dad is stuck in the car. I can’t get him out!

In the background I could hear my father screaming.

The sound sent waves of fear coursing through my body. I didn’t wait to hear more. Grabbing the car keys I drove the 8 kilometres to my father’s house, prayers on my lips.

It was drizzling lightly. Even the sky was weeping for me.

I swung into the driveway. The blue car stood there, doors ajar. My father’s wheelchair was on the passenger side.

I jumped out of my car and ran to my father. He lay in the passenger seat, sobbing in pain. He was somehow wedged fast.

What happened? How did you get stuck?

I don’t know! Just help me!

My father had had both of his legs amputated, and to get in and out of the car, and into his wheelchair, he would sit on a board that was on the seat of the wheelchair going onto the car seat. He would position himself on the board so that his back was facing the wheelchair, and then slide himself along the board and into the chair.

It usually worked very well, but this time he had managed to get himself wedged in tight.

I climbed into the car from the driver’s side and literally lifted him onto the board, clambered over the seat, and with my stepmother pulling the wheelchair backwards, I supported the other end of the plank and carried the weight of my father, supporting it with my knees.

By the time we got him to the bedroom, I too was crying with the strain of it.

I got my father onto the bed, and then lay down beside him and we both cried together for his helplessness and our combined emotional pain.

That it had come to this!

Numbness and pain in the right leg had been the first signs that something was wrong with my father. They went unheeded by the doctor who said he was a hypochondriac and simply prescribed more painkillers!

When he was eventually diagnosed with arteriosclerosis, a bypass was indicated. But it was too late. The operation failed. Gangrene had already set in, and the toes were affected. The only solution was the amputation of the foot.

I remember sitting at his bedside in shock. My tall, strong, athletic father, who loved walking, playing cricket and dancing, struck down in his prime!

Days and weeks of recuperation followed. They were punctuated with complaints of phantom pains mixed with anger and helplessness.

The wound would not heal. The flesh was rotting, and still no help was forthcoming.

Sunday evening. Another phone call. Dad. Dead drunk.

I am just phoning to say goodbye.

I didn’t know you were planning a holiday! Where are you going?

I’m not. I cannot stand the pain any longer. I am rotting. I smell. I cannot go on. I am going to kill myself.

Arnd was standing next to me as I took the call. Go. I will stay with the children.

How I got to her father’s house I don’t remember. All I could hear in my head were the words: I am going to kill myself. I am going to kill myself.

Such desperation, such anguish. Where was my stepmother?

I arrived at the house. My stepmother was sitting in the kitchen with her son-in-law, drinking, laughing.

Where is dad?

With hardly a greeting and a toss of the head, she indicated towards the dining room. I went in. There sat my father, slumped over the table, sobbing. He was so drunk.

Daddy, come on. It can’t be that bad. We will find someone to help us.

Lifting his head, he pulled the bandage away from the wound. The flesh was indeed rotting, soft and oozing. I turned my head away as my stomach heaved at the smell that emanated from the wound.

I took his hands.

Look at me, come on! Look at me. Focus!! It is not the end. Come on!!

Honour the father. Honour the father. Honour the father. Who sits drunk and smelling of death before you. Honour the father.

Games of cricket, bowls, ballroom dancing that he so loved. All relegated to the bottom drawer of memories.

Daddy, I am just the child. You are the one that is supposed to be in charge! You are the one who always told me to be quiet, what did I know. You took my voice away. And now I am the one who is supposed to take charge, who is supposed to know everything, to know what to do!

Honour the father. Honour the father. Honour the father!

I honour you. You are my father and the only father for me. No matter what. I thank you for my life. Give me the courage, oh yes! Give me the courage, Please give me the courage to live a happier life than you, a healthier life than you, a more successful life