Such is Life

Today, a Sunday, happens to be a celebration of two events – Mothers Day (in Australia) and it is also Magucha’s birthday. She would have been 68 today.

 

I’m pulled in two directions – to celebrate the fact that motherhood is celebrated partly because it is something that no man can fully understand and also that this is not only Magucha’s birthday but that she is no longer in this world to share it with us. 

 

Motherhood, in fact life generally wasn’t easy in Zimbabwe (still known as Rhodesia in those far off days) but I did try my best to support Magucha in what was a very difficult time for her. She was married to a non-Portuguese speaker (me), in a "foreign country" (Zimbabwe) without close family or her mother’s support. Her mother did eventually fly out from Portugal to lend support. That didn’t last long and after a few weeks she returned to Portugal – I’m not sure of the reasons now but I believe it was because of the (usual) arguments that erupted between the two and my dedicated support of Magucha wouldn’t have helped smooth over the daily "eruptions".

 

Magucha was a devoted mother. She was so proud of firstly (against all medical advice) falling pregnant and then producing a beautiful daughter. The fear expressed by her doctor was that her already compromised kidneys would fail thereby threatening the lives of both mother and child.

 

I’ve written about this before but when Magucha’s waters broke and I took her to what was then known as the Lady Chancellor Maternity Hospital, I was presented with a document to sign. If a "medical situation" arose that threatened the life of either mother or baby or both did I want the mother to live at the "expense" of the baby or did I want the baby to live at the "expense" of the mother!  

 

That was the most difficult decision I’ve ever been called upon to make! I knew that if Magucha lived at the "expense" of the baby, she would never have forgiven me. That I know for certain – it would have always been a dark shadow over our relationship, even if that could continue. 

 

On the other-hand what was I supposed to do, as a working single parent in Zimbabwe, with a new-born baby and a 7yr old son? My mother was too old to be of much assistance, and in any event she and my father were living in a retirement home some 60 km away.

 

Fortunately the stars must have been properly aligned because both survived. And the rest, as the saying goes, is history.

 

So I now celebrate the two – a birthday and Mothers Day –  but without the person directly involved. 

And by way of celebration I (as is my usual way) offer this poem – for mothers everywhere and especially for Magucha – that poor girl suffered ill health for as long as I knew her.

 

The Anvil

Stand like a beaten anvil, when thy dream

            Is laid upon thee, golden from the fire.

Flinch not, though heavily through that furnace-gleam

            The black forge-hammers fall on thy desire.

 

Demoniac giants round thee seem to loom.

‘Tis but the world-smiths heaving to and fro.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Take the doom 

            Their ponderous weapons deal thee, blow on blow.

 

Needful to truth as dew-fall to the flower

            Is this wild wrath and this implacable scorn.

For every pang, new beauty, and new power,

            Burning blood-red shall on thy heart be born.

 

Stand like a beaten anvil. Let earth’s wrong

Beat on that iron and ring back in song.

 

                                                            Alfred Noyes

Uncompromised Love.

Love has always been the driving force of life. And by “love” I do not just mean passion though that obviously plays a part. I am talking about the love between friends; between husband and wife (or the equivalent partners) that develops after many years of life together; between parents and their children and love for Humanity. That kind of love – which IS uncompromised.

The power of love is recognized in poetry, in song, in novels and literature, in art and in opera - it is the power that drives us all. This cannot be just “chemicals in the brain” or hormonal juices, there is much more to it than that!

Now I loved my wife in a manner that I find difficult to portray in a meaningful way to others. Tenderness – yes; closeness – yes; deep understanding – yes; ability to communicate without necessarily speaking – yes; trust – yes; talking about problems – yes; sharing – yes; respect – yes, all this and more that I do not have the words to explain.

While neither of us was in anyway saintly, there was a fulfillment that seemed to make the two of us stronger in our own way. Magucha was an amazingly strong person, not physically strong (she was very small in stature) but emotionally and mentally she was spring steel. Her resilience, which defied all that the world could throw at her, astonished everyone with whom she came in contact.

This strength – which I, for one, found quite inspiring – is epitomized by the following poem by Alfred Noyes, and this is for her:

The Anvil

Stand like a beaten anvil, when thy dream

            Is laid upon thee, golden from the fire.

Flinch not, though heavily through that furnace-gleam

            The black forge-hammers fall on thy desire.

Demoniac giants round thee seem to loom.

‘Tis but the world-smiths heaving to and fro.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Take the doom 

            Their ponderous weapons deal thee, blow on blow.

Needful to truth as dew-fall to the flower

            Is this wild wrath and this implacable scorn.

For every pang, new beauty, and new power,

            Burning blood-red shall on thy heart be born.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Let earth’s wrong

Beat on that iron and ring back in song.