I am my father’s [and mother’s] child

There’s a tree at the parents’ house by the lake. It is withered and worn. I suspect it has been there since we moved in the first time 10 years ago. Normally, mother replaces the old trees because they look unsightly in the midst of her carefully manicured garden. However, she made an exception.

“This is Clara’s mulberry tree,” she said. “She will want her berries when she comes to visit.”

Today, I went to visit mother. She’s not well but refuses to let life wear her down. I found that my trees [there are three mulberry trees in the front yard] were full of dark juicy berries. I had gone out to curiously poke at the new wall. The rain had washed away the base of the old one forcing it to collapse into a heap on our neighbour’s land. The labourers looked on curiously at this child who walked and harvested like it was her own home. This was the first time they had seen me. It suddenly struck me. I am my mother’s child. She delights in me.

The reality of turning 30 with no children and no stable career has finally hit. Usually, the excuse for abandoning one is to focus on the other. But now that there are barely any fruits, biologically and financially, I have run out of excuses. Recently, I tried to engage a group of my age-mates in a conversation about homeschooling and planned parenthood vs parenting-on-the-go. I was put in my place and told to “shut up and sit down”. Since I have no biological children, my voice is just noise. In addition, a number of them mentioned that they were firmly established in whatever field they were in. They were at the point in their career where they could control their schedules and call the shorts. Meanwhile, my father and I keep having the same conversation each month.

Father: Where are you off to now?
Me:      Oh, you know, Mexico/USA/Chad/Congo/South Africa…
Father:  When are they offering you a permanent position?
Me:      This is a permanent position. It’s just that at the moment, I am in-training.
Father:  Who trains for 3 years? Aren’t training programs meant to be about 6 months? Didn’t you train enough during your 4 years of undergrad and 3 years of masters? I really hope that this training is nearing its end. You need to get a permanent place, here or elsewhere but one place.
Me:      [smile and change the channel on the TV to supersport]. So, Maria Sharapova and the drug scandal….

The travel sounds glamorous, and I am sticking up for the few women in this field so I ought to be proud and glad, right? Well, I am. Until I return home and notice how empty the house sounds. I can only imagine how much emptier it is when I am away. There are clothes I left in a pile in December 2015, in the corner of the study room. I found that pile intact when I returned in March 2016. There are parts of the house that do not see life for weeks, almost as if the emptiness haunts them.

I find that it is easy to become numb to joy. It is too easy to slip away into a state of nothingness where nothing matters. Nothing stays or comes. Nothing amuses. Nothing frightens. Nothing hurts and nothing rejuvenates. I have also found out why it is important to be unconscious during surgery. The other day the doctor and nurse were discussing the layers of fat I have, talking about how white they are. I imagine it is like that white layer separating the pink of the pork from the hairy, crusty top. I was the pig in their slaughter house…

Where was I? Right. Doom and gloom.

There are, however, days of sunshine in the midst of the numbness. Today was one such day. I dined with father. It was a rare day, when he had no meetings to rush off to, no body guard or driver to remind him of his duty to the nation. We laughed and carried on like we did when I was 11, right after PLE. He picked me up from school and we went out for ice cream. It was like I had just won a marathon and he was at the finishing line, waiting to carry me home on his shoulders. I was not sure that I had done my best that day, plus I was having my monthlies and bent over from pain. Somehow, he knew ice cream would solve all my problems. Just like he knew today, that I just needed to remember that I have a father who will never leave me, even when I feel like I am not at my best. He has a rare habit, something only old men do. He pays attention. He listens. I caught myself allowing distractions to interrupt our interaction. Shame on me for letting the phone ring and even worse for answering it. He sat patiently and waited and watched. I am my father’s child. He delights in me.