Life

Two years ago today, you cut your last birthday cake. You’d turned 73, and every time I look at the pictures and videos from that day, I am so sad seeing how frail you had become from all the chemo you were having to go through. Yet you remained positive and still tried to live your life as normally as possible – working and all. I remember in that moment, when you were cutting your cake, you said, “Ndinoriona here ini rechi74?” (Translation: Will I get to see my 74th one?) I swallowed a blob of hurt and pain hearing you say that, even though we did encourage and assure you that, of course, you would. But you didn’t. God decided it was time. Exactly 34 days later, He called you Home. Oh, the pain of that day! Even as I type this out, it’s cutting through my chest like a blunt bread knife – rough, painful, lasting. And that blob in my throat is back, wanting me to cry. I don’t even think I realised the full impact of losing you at that moment because of everything that needed to be done—funeral logistics and all the drama associated with that. Then it all passed, and life had to go on. The fact that the real funeral starts when everyone else is gone is not talked about enough. By the time you passed, I was already in therapy dealing with the lemons life had dealt me. So I continued, but to be honest, I didn’t feel better as soon as I would have wanted. Life seemed to be getting worse. On the outside, to someone who I hadn’t told what I was going through, it appeared like I had it all together – a strong woman who had it all figured out. But deep down inside, my world was falling apart. Everything was just crumbling, and more than anything, I needed you. I needed my daddy. I needed your assurance. I needed your encouragement. I needed your protection. I needed you to deal with some people who were getting on my nerves because some people really muster the audacity to deliver nonsense behaviour once one’s parent is gone (I wish I were joking about this one 🙄). But no, daddy, you were gone. In a last-ditch effort to “find you,” there was a day I went to the prayer garden at your parish, and the cry I cried that day. I was tired of a lot of things, and my spirit just needed some peace. That cry made me feel better. So I continued for a few weeks. Every day after dropping off your grandson at school, I would go into that garden – first to cry, then to pray. Eventually, it became just to read the Bible and pray. Some days, I would just sit and talk to myself. I don’t remember at what point I stopped, but I know I was beginning to feel better. I guess this was the beginning of my journey with God and learning to depend on Him wholly and fully. Because prior to that, ah, I depended on you, daddy – the solver of my two million seven hundred thousand five hundred and sixty-two problems. I was telling someone the other day that you took care of so many aspects of our lives that after you left, I was so disoriented that I even struggled to eat right for a bit. You always made sure there was healthy food around and would challenge us to make healthy choices. Dude, I know snitches get stitches, but the amount of cake that was eaten in the house last year? You would have been disgusted, I know. Also, Mum, if you are reading this, I am not saying you don’t give us healthy options. You just don’t make us feel bad for eating cake. Anyway, I digressed. So fast forward to this year – emotionally, I have gotten better. I started finding my way out of the pit of depression and sadness that clouded me after you had gone. The forgiveness journey my therapist got me started on two years ago began putting more pressure on me this year as I came to understand more about what Jesus did for me on the cross and the depth of God’s love for me. And understanding that I always have a Father in Him. He loved me first. I started rebuilding my life (again 😂). They should crown me the Queen of New Beginnings at this point, right? I also accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour. I got baptised. I forgave. I asked for forgiveness. I went back to school. I started reading more books and watching less TV. I lost a whole 10kg since your funeral! Your girl is out here drinking water, eating more cabbage, minding her own business and making you proud 😂. I’ve started feeling a sense of calm even in the middle of storms. There are so many things that don’t appear “right” in my life at the moment, but since I learned another (more sustainable) way to fight my life’s battles, I have found so much reassurance from the promises of God’s Word. I read my Bible often, and it is so comforting. That said, I still think of you and every memory we shared often. And I miss you every day. We used to drive each other up the wall, but we still had each other. You always had my back in all seasons, even when your support was sometimes served with a side of your unfiltered, Korekore ChiKunda-inspired comments. There are things I go through today that make me wonder what you would say about them. For instance, I know for a fact if you were here, you’d be the one telling me everything I need to know about Autism because you liked to read on EVERYBODY’s behalf and then hook us up with the summary. But

I was today years old when I learned there was a difference between these two words: expectation and expectancy. Seriously…They meant the same thing to me! It actually took me back to a few years ago when I had a friend lecture me about having expectations of people. “That’s how you get disappointed Tari,” she said to me. At the time, it didn’t make sense to me. I expected people to behave in a certain way, to treat me in a certain way because I had been kind to and considerate of them in past interactions. But, I quickly learned that that’s not really how life goes. Another friend is always telling me, “Stop expecting other people to behave or react how you would in a particular situation.” We are all different. We have different priorities, levels of integrity, moral compasses, you name it. We are not the same, and, most importantly, we are not perfect. Then a few weeks ago, as I was listening to a discussion on an episode on Better Together TV, I heard one of the ladies talk about why we need to stop having expectations and instead have an expectancy. Huh? Yes, that was my reaction, literally. I rewinded. What are you saying? Immediately, I started looking up definitions for these two words as a start, because to me, “it didn’t sound right”. But how they unpacked it all blew my mind away and I immediately put this title in my drafts because I needed to share it with someone. Now, according to Oxford, expectation is defined as a strong belief that something will happen or be the case in the future. It’s rigid, it’s fixed and 99.999% of the time, it’s tied to a specific expected outcome. I hate saying this, but it actually reeks of entitlement. Of course, going back to my conversation with my friend, I started thinking, was I being entitled? OK, let’s keep going. I did create a picture in my mind of how things were supposed to unfold and, as my friend literally put it, I set myself up for disappointment because what then happened to me in reality didn’t match what I had established in my head. Sigh! Think about this: If you are expecting a promotion at work because you’ve been putting in extra hours, you are going to be very frustrated if and when it doesn’t materialise. I remember when I used to work at the bank, very long hours during my time as a graduate trainee. The major reason I was doing it was because it gave me an opportunity to learn more. There were so many distractions during the day from colleagues needing help and support and we would only get that focus time after hours, when everyone had gone home. That was the major reason. Now, on another side of my brain and soul, I was thinking, if they see me putting my head down like this, working hard (and late) they would see that I deserved a raise, a promotion and more resources on my team to support the work we were doing so that we didn’t have to put in these long hours. That was my expectation. And when it hardly materialised in the way I pictured in my head, it led to a great deal of frustration on my part. I’m sure you all know by now how that story unfolded. Outside of work, let’s think about friendships or any social relationship we can think of. This is where I was struggling with this because if I had been a good friend (sister, daughter or partner) to you, I expected you to extend the same “kindness” or “graciousness” or “loyalty” to me when I needed it. And if I didn’t get that, best believe, I’m going to be beyond disappointed. I’m going to be pissed! And this is what my friend was trying to rescue me from because she could tell how disappointed I was. And I remember thinking, how can I just go through life expecting the worst from people because that’s how I then translated it. It was either black or white. You either do or you don’t. And because I kept having these expectations, I continued to feel a lot of disappointment and sometimes even resentment and bitterness. Now, expectancy on the other hand, is the thinking, hoping or feeling that something, especially something pleasant, will happen or be the case – as the Cambridge dictionary puts it. It’s more fluid, open, and adaptable. When we live with expectancy, we are hopeful and optimistic without being tied to a specific outcome. That last part – without being tied to a specific outcome. Expectancy allows us to remain positive and open to various possibilities, reducing the sting of disappointment. Personally, it actually reminds me to maintain the posture of knowing that “No experience is wasted”. Everything is happening for my better good and this scripture has never been more true “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.” – Romans 8:28 NKJV In my journey of life, shifting from expectation to expectancy has been a game-changer, especially for my emotional and mental well being. When I expect people to treat me a certain way, any deviation from my script leads to hurt feelings and resentment. But embracing expectancy means I can hope for positive interactions while understanding that people are complex and unpredictable and also making space for that. This mindset shift has not only improved how I approach and navigate my relationships but also my own sense of peace. Consider this: with expectancy, you can still hope for that promotion, but you’re open to other opportunities and outcomes. Maybe you won’t get that specific promotion, but perhaps another exciting project or role will come your way. Expectancy keeps your mind and heart open to the myriad of possibilities life can offer. So,

For a long time I was having an internal struggle whether or not to share about my journey with my son who was officially diagnosed with ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) last year. There were a lot of things I was scared of but topping that list was definitely judgement because I honestly felt I had had enough of it dealing with plenty comments at gatherings or public places that usually started with, “Your son does not talk because you…” or “Leave him to walk on his own otherwise…” I got tired trying to explain the challenges he was (read: we were) having and ended up just avoiding accepting invites, and paying visits as much as I possibly could. Now, fast forward to December 2023 when I was planning to start this blog, I really was having this strong inkling to share about my journey caring for a child on the spectrum because I felt besides the need to raise awareness around this neuro-developmental condition, there was need to also reach out to that person who is probably dealing with this alone, in silence. I used to be that person. And I know how lonely it can get in that world. That’s why I decided to start sharing about it first here. So, I’m mum to my very energetic toddler son who turns 4 this year. If you had asked me 4 years ago how I would have envisioned my motherhood journey, the story would definitely not look like the reality I am living now. First of all, let me say this: Motherhood is a very humbling experience. Well, at least that is the summary of my own story. Nothing seems to go according to plan. From the pregnancy which literally rules your life for months, to teaching them how to poop in the potty and everything in between all of that. Nowhere in my journey through pregnancy and child birth did it ever occur to me that there was a possibility that I would have to deal with developmental challenges with my son. I don’t know whether it’s naivety on my part or I just had too many other things to think about like, Huggies or Pampers? Boob or bottle? Push it or C-Section? Why is my nose getting so big? You see? My mind was always racing. I remember being so excited when my son started to crawl and then walk, and would respond when I told him to clap his hands or say “Thank you”. “Progress!” I thought. But some of it just went away. One day, he woke up and he was no longer responding to those prompts or clap his hands or showing gratitude. It was like a part of his brain that stored those little bit of skills had been wiped clean. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. He was just 18 months and was walking and making baby noises so he was fine. Just before he turned 2 we enrolled him into day care. That’s when I started noticing some things. He struggled to integrate into the classroom environment and cried EVERY DAY. I remember being ridden with guilt thinking, “Maybe it’s too early for day care” but then I would look around at his classmates, some even younger than him, and they would be “calm” and seeming to do well. I know people say don’t do this but many parents are guilty of “comparison-i-tis” when it comes to their children. I also noticed how it was hard for him to concentrate on class activities. He would just want to do his own things and not follow even basic instructions like, “Sit down”. Deep down inside, something didn’t feel right so I asked the teacher what she thought and, unfortunately she dismissed my suspicions and said that if there was anything wrong they would know and take necessary next steps. Anyway, fast forward to the end of that year, I wasn’t keen on us continuing there for this and other reasons. We had also then received a referral from a paeditrician that he needed to see a neuro-developmental specialist for an assessment and evaluation. So we changed schools and moved to another which my son seemed to love IMMEDIATELY. He spent a year at this school but, again, we noted there was hardly any improvement in some developmental milestones which we considered basic. In the middle of that year, we had finally decided to go for that assessment and had officially received a diagnosis that he was on the Autism Spectrum. So in the middle of trying to accept our reality, seeking support and making decisions around what was best for our son, we found ourselves wanting to pick another school for the following year. This time, our need was clear, we sought to enrol him into a special needs school that specialised in helping toddlers with autism and other developmental disorders to thrive because that is our greatest desire and prayer for our son every day. I’m happy to say, for now, we seem to have found a place that ticks a lot of the boxes for us and as much as I would love to say our son is thriving, I’m going to be real with you at this point for the sake of managing expectations of those who may be on the same path. You have to know how far we have come with him to understand why we celebrate the tiniest of milestones like saying, “Mummy” or “Bye” or even just agreeing to shake another’s hand in greeting. We have come such a long way. But I am immensely grateful for those who have dedicated their lives to learning about this condition and mastering how to support those affected by it. The greatest gift I have received whilst on this journey is the gift of community. Understanding that I am not the only one experiencing the unique challenges I face as I try to raise my

A few weeks ago I fell soon after walking out of a pharmacy where I was getting some medicine for myself. I bruised my knee, was bleeding and had to go back into the pharmacy to get some bandages. It was so painful. I limped back to my car thinking, what’s next? Because I had scratched my skin off my foot just a few days before and was struggling to wear shoes. Why was I scratching, you might wonder? I have been battling eczema from birth and when it gets hot, I get so itchy. And Harare had been hot for a minute. The next 2 weeks, wearing shoes was a mission. Thank God I work from home and don’t have to be wearing them ALL THE TIME. Playing with my son also became dreadful because he would just (unintentionally) poke at my knee. He also seemed to not understand why I had bruises. The confusion on his face seemed to rise when I put a bandage on. Poor boy, couldn’t even ask mummy. He just would sometimes softly try to touch those nasty wounds. Besides wearing shoes, kneeling was difficult, something I do a lot when I am trying to pick up his toys. “When will this end?” I thought to myself. But slowly, the wounds started to heal. And when I realised that the pain was getting less and less, I remember thinking to myself, Finally. Because it honestly, felt like it was going to last forever. I also started having thoughts about difficult seasons that we go through in life that seem to have no end. The shock we get at the onset of the difficult events, the bleeding (physically, emotionally or spiritually), and the many attempts we make to heal. Right there, in the beginning, it really feels like there is no end in sight. But healing comes, we start to cope and, eventually, pain ends. Seasons are not permanent. I’ve just told you earlier how I scratched my skin off because the heat was really affecting me. But as I type this, it’s a cool 19 degree morning and you can tell that “Winter is coming”. The hot season is coming to an end. I know that before we even blink, everyone here will be complaining about the cold and, even that will end too. I am writing this post for that person who is going through a difficult time, a pain or discomfort that seems endless. It will end. The sun will shine oh so beautifully again. The heat you are feeling will be cooled off. You will not feel like this forever. It’s been about a month since my mighty fall outside the pharmacy, my wounds are completely healed but the scars are there and very visible. When I look at the scars I think about that fall, I remember the pain but I also am so grateful that the pain did not last forever. Touching those scars doesn’t hurt me at all now. I can play with my son without worrying about him poking at me and inflicting pain. He still looks at the scars in wonder but, if he was to ask me about it, I would only have a story to tell about a difficulty I went through and a pain I once felt. As much as there are scars left, the pain is gone and am not even triggered by any pokes at them now. Think about about the physical and emotional wounds you carry. Have they healed? Are you giving them time to heal? I know you want it to happen right away so you might want to take off scabs prematurely off your wound. I remember how badly I wanted my knee to heal. I did take out a scab and, my goodness, started bleeding again. Pain can feel like such an inconvenience. It is also very uncomfortable. But give yourself time. You have been hurt. You will come out on the other side – healed. Another thing is healing doesn’t leave us the same. There are scars which may manifest as changes in our character, personality, preferences or life choices. Whatever it is, I hope you emerge stronger, despite the pain.