Suurstof is ‘n belangrike item in die voortbestaan van lewe op hierdie liewe planeet waarop ons leef.
Alles het dit nodig, van groen sprietjie tot die grootste walvis, die aggressiefste leeu tot die kleinste premature babatjie. Inteendeel, ons is so afhanklik daarvan dat die liewe Vader dit bestem het dat dit nie ‘n willekeurige aksie van "asem in" en "asem uit" is soos die gim instrukteurs ons die voorbeeld gee nie. Nee, dis ‘n onwillekeurige aksie wat die vinnigste atleet tot die siekste van siek in ‘n koma outomaties laat asemhaal sonder dat daarop besluit word. As dit afgehang het van geheue sou die mens nie kon onthou of die asem uitgeblaas is of ingetrek is nie.
Daar moet selfs met Suurstof rekening gehou word tydens die bestryding van wilde bosbrande of wanneer groot oliebore aan die brand is. Want sonder suurstof sou daar nie eers ‘n vonkie gewees het nie. Daar kan selfs onder water gesweis word – solank daar suurstof is. Dis om ons, in ons, deel van ons. Dis nodig, ek's afhanklik, dit kan nie verruil word nie. Onvervangbaar. Ons het ‘n orgaan wat spesiaal vervaardig is vir die opneem daarvan. Daar vind ‘n spesifieke biologiese aksie plaas waartydens die suurstof in ‘n gas vorm opgelos word in die longblasies, en dan sy weg in die bloedstroom vind sodat die hele liggaam daarby kan baat vind – merkwaardig sou ek sê.
Maar wanneer die liggaam een kuggie gee, die asem stadig uitblaas, stil lê, weer ‘n laaste sagte asemteug neem, en amper onhoorbaar uitblaas, die hartklop in die nek se ritme verstadig, die gees opvallend maar geruisloos van onder na bo uit die liggaam gly, en ek my hand op jou bors plaas, oorleun en sê: “Dit is goed......... dit is reg......... jy moet gaan,” die kerslig droomweg flikker, my hande oor jou oë gly...
Die stryd is verby, die siekte is oorwin, die wedloop is voleindig, die lint is gebreek. Vir die eerste keer in 6 maande draai ek my rug op jou, ek moet jou agterlaat, jy kan nie saam kom huis toe nie, nooit weer nie. My hande leeg. Dis eenuur die oggend, die nimmereindigende hospitaalgang hou nooit op nie. Ek stamp die hospitaaldeur oop, ek's buite, dis koud, dit reën, die skoot klap, my wedloop begin.
Ek het mos genoeg geoefen, of het ek? Ek is onbekend met hierdie wedloop. Ek was goed geoefen in vrou wees, eggenote wees. Wie is hierdie weduwee-mens waarna almal verwys, die verwarde een, wat vreemde gedrag openbaar, wat sukkel om te huil, wat onbekend is met haar omgewing, nie kan slaap nie? Sy wat met die dokument in die hand staan met hom waaroor daar getjap is “DECEASED.”
Met die dowwe val van die sand op die kis, verbrysel elke blom. Ses maande smyt ek in die gat af. “Hy is nie hier nie”...... “WAT VAN MY GOD!”
Wie gaan mond-tot-mond asemhaling doen dat hierdie siel weer kan asemhaal, kan suurstof opneem en lewe kry? Waar is die baan? Wie het die sneller getrek? Vir watter item is ek ingeskryf? Hoe moet ek wegspring? In watter rigting moet ek hardloop?
Ek het nie asem nie, my suurstof is weg.
IS... DAAR... IEMAND... WAT... SAL............ VERSTAAN?
Leana
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Running
By Suna Keane (Leana's sister)
Race Day
My husband, Brian and our three children were bundled up somewhere on the sidelines ready to cheer me on. It was just shy of eight am, freezing and crazy around me and inside me. At that time I realized that I needed to find my center and become quiet, to cut the noise and focus on what I set out to do. Breathe.
The race started. I reminded myself to stay focused on my pace, my rhythm and my race. At mile three (kilometer 4.8) I started getting an asthma attack not being able to breathe. In a panic I searched for my husband on the sidelines with my inhaler. An official asked if he should call 911 but I continued to run. After 4 more miles (6.5 kilometers) of slowing my pace I was able to breathe again. A woman slid in running next to me asking me who Enrique is. She shared with me that she lost her husband 3 years ago to lung cancer … At mile 11 (kilometer 17.6) I finally saw my family. My little ones were cheering “Go Mamma go” and “Run Mamma run”. I was able to take a few puffs from my inhaler and get back to the race.
Thoughts During the Marathon
In struggling to breathe I thought about breathing and its importance to life. I thought about the simple things such as breath we take for granted each day.
As half marathon runners sped past me with half the distance to cover, runners having conversations, spectators chanting encouragement, I knew I had to find my center and stay there, stay focused and block out the noise. I thought about how often in life we are distracted, motivated and poised by the noise. How important it is to become centered, focused, quiet…
As I passed mile 18 (kilometer 28.8) I realized my body was in brand new territory. Never have I run further than 18 miles in one stretch. I thought about Leana and the brand new territory of life she is entering, not knowing what is laying ahead, not knowing how to react, not knowing…
At the 21 mile marker (33.6 kilometer) I was in pain. Every step I took hurt. I thought about Leana, losing the love of her life, the pain … and I cried. I wanted to feel the pain of each step because so often we fast forward through it all. I wanted to feel the moment, be the moment, and be the journey.
Along the way drips of spectators cheered the runners on. They chanted words of encouragement. In their own way not understanding what you are going through, your hurt, your pain, your glory. They find their way of supporting you, albeit it not what you need. My heart went out to Leana, who has spectators cheering her on her journey without understanding her pain, her hurt, her despair but finding in their own way a giving hand. I realized that no matter how much they cheer, you and you alone have to take the next step. Only Leana can take the next step in her journey, having to put one foot in front of the other, finding her center, finding her rhythm, finding her reason in her own time to breathe again.
By mile 26 (41.6 kilometers) I was overcome with emotions. With 200 yards remaining I knew I was going to be able to finish. I thought about my journey coming to an end. I thought about Enrique’s life coming to an end and saying farewell. I thought about two little girls who will never know their father. I thought about a son more in need of his father’s love and guidance than ever before. I thought about my sister’s abandoned heart and her road ahead.
I crossed the finish line after 4 hours and 27 minutes, broken. My daughter Sinead asked: “Why are you crying Mamma?” I answered: “I cry because I am happy and sad.” I held my husband and sobbed. We did it. Enrique and I finished the race. I did it for Enrique. I finished the race and I still get to hold my love of my life in my arms…
I dedicate my marathon time to someone who did not have enough time with us. Enrique, I thank you for inspiring me to do something that I thought I couldn’t. Thank you for inspiring so many others in different ways. You stayed with me through aches and pains and life happening around us. I will continue to think of you, your battle and the family who misses you every day. I will remember you and continue to run because I can. So let us live life to its fullest – because we can…
My heart goes out to you Leana, Lerique, Analeh and Sune with life’s marathon lying ahead. I promise to cheer you on and be there in any way I can.
In memory of Enrique Matthee
First of all I want to explain sharing my journal in English. So many friends outside South Africa have been part of Enrique’s journey and I wanted to share my thoughts in a language that is accessible to all.
I started running in December of 2007 after a long absence from running and three children later. I have started and stopped so often before, not quite finding my own rhythm. I forgot how much I enjoyed the elated feeling when I completed my run along with aches and pains and understanding my own rhythm. Running became my special place and time where I could gather my thoughts, plan my days, decompress and sometimes just breathe. Today, running makes me feel in control of my world and deep down makes me want to be a better person. Running became my sacred place and time where I truly dedicated something to me.
As the year progressed, Enrique’s well being continued to deteriorate. Living in the United States, being so far removed from Leana and Enrique and their brave battle, I felt helpless, not being able to be close to render a hand. What sticks in my mind though, even today, is every time I called, Enrique remained positive, laughing, smiling and always hopeful. It made me think about how often I go into a negative place for merely the smallest setbacks and here is someone putting up a brave fight for life continuing to look forward and up. During my early morning running I became consumed with Enrique’s battle and sometimes overtaken by emotion. I started running every day, with a new mantra, “I run because I can”. I found a new dedication through Enrique’s struggle in that there may come a day when I will not be able to run any more, but today will not be that day. Enrique became my inspiration to get up and “run because I can”. I found my voice, my cause. I was to run a marathon, my first, for Enrique.
Race Day
13 December, 2008 race day and I felt more ill prepared than ever. I had a handful of physical setbacks the month prior to the race which made me question if I could finish the race. The temperature was 25 Degrees (minus 4 Degrees Celsius) with an expected maximum for the day of 45 Degrees (7 Degrees Celsius). I was covered up with five layers of clothing with a picture of Enrique and the words “For Enrique” on my back to accompany me on my journey.
My husband, Brian and our three children were bundled up somewhere on the sidelines ready to cheer me on. It was just shy of eight am, freezing and crazy around me and inside me. At that time I realized that I needed to find my center and become quiet, to cut the noise and focus on what I set out to do. Breathe.
The race started. I reminded myself to stay focused on my pace, my rhythm and my race. At mile three (kilometer 4.8) I started getting an asthma attack not being able to breathe. In a panic I searched for my husband on the sidelines with my inhaler. An official asked if he should call 911 but I continued to run. After 4 more miles (6.5 kilometers) of slowing my pace I was able to breathe again. A woman slid in running next to me asking me who Enrique is. She shared with me that she lost her husband 3 years ago to lung cancer … At mile 11 (kilometer 17.6) I finally saw my family. My little ones were cheering “Go Mamma go” and “Run Mamma run”. I was able to take a few puffs from my inhaler and get back to the race.
Thoughts During the Marathon
I thought about Leana, Lerique, Aneleh and Sune and the marathon of life they have ahead of them, each with a different journey.
As I started moving and heating up, stripping down three layers of clothing and sweat pants, I thought about our many layers and how much we truly need. I also thought about how much can be taken away from us before we are finally down to our core.
In struggling to breathe I thought about breathing and its importance to life. I thought about the simple things such as breath we take for granted each day.
As half marathon runners sped past me with half the distance to cover, runners having conversations, spectators chanting encouragement, I knew I had to find my center and stay there, stay focused and block out the noise. I thought about how often in life we are distracted, motivated and poised by the noise. How important it is to become centered, focused, quiet…
As I passed mile 18 (kilometer 28.8) I realized my body was in brand new territory. Never have I run further than 18 miles in one stretch. I thought about Leana and the brand new territory of life she is entering, not knowing what is laying ahead, not knowing how to react, not knowing…
At the 21 mile marker (33.6 kilometer) I was in pain. Every step I took hurt. I thought about Leana, losing the love of her life, the pain … and I cried. I wanted to feel the pain of each step because so often we fast forward through it all. I wanted to feel the moment, be the moment, and be the journey.
Along the way drips of spectators cheered the runners on. They chanted words of encouragement. In their own way not understanding what you are going through, your hurt, your pain, your glory. They find their way of supporting you, albeit it not what you need. My heart went out to Leana, who has spectators cheering her on her journey without understanding her pain, her hurt, her despair but finding in their own way a giving hand. I realized that no matter how much they cheer, you and you alone have to take the next step. Only Leana can take the next step in her journey, having to put one foot in front of the other, finding her center, finding her rhythm, finding her reason in her own time to breathe again.
By mile 26 (41.6 kilometers) I was overcome with emotions. With 200 yards remaining I knew I was going to be able to finish. I thought about my journey coming to an end. I thought about Enrique’s life coming to an end and saying farewell. I thought about two little girls who will never know their father. I thought about a son more in need of his father’s love and guidance than ever before. I thought about my sister’s abandoned heart and her road ahead.
I crossed the finish line after 4 hours and 27 minutes, broken. My daughter Sinead asked: “Why are you crying Mamma?” I answered: “I cry because I am happy and sad.” I held my husband and sobbed. We did it. Enrique and I finished the race. I did it for Enrique. I finished the race and I still get to hold my love of my life in my arms…
I dedicate my marathon time to someone who did not have enough time with us. Enrique, I thank you for inspiring me to do something that I thought I couldn’t. Thank you for inspiring so many others in different ways. You stayed with me through aches and pains and life happening around us. I will continue to think of you, your battle and the family who misses you every day. I will remember you and continue to run because I can. So let us live life to its fullest – because we can…
My heart goes out to you Leana, Lerique, Analeh and Sune with life’s marathon lying ahead. I promise to cheer you on and be there in any way I can.
In memory of Enrique Matthee
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