There’s a point where the talking must end, and the doing must start.
My Dad died 18 years ago. My Mom lived on for another 15 years and passed away in October 2018. My Brother died last year in November. These were my 3 “go-to people” for as long as they were alive. All the advice I ever needed, they always offered me wise counsel. When challenged and needing encouragement, they were there to offer support and guidance. Every achievement—a new car, a promotion, a bonus, or good grades—they were my Pom-pom girls, my biggest fans.
And one by one, they’ve been removed from my life.
The loss of my Father was devastating for me. I had grown ever closer to my Dad as he got older. Being the first close family member to die in my family, I was rocked by his death. Nothing like the grief that hit my Mother. My Mom and Dad had celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary shortly before my Dad passed. Like is so often the case, we believed my Mom would soon follow—her mourning was so intense.
My Mom came out of a long period of mourning and surfaced as the loving, caring, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother we all knew. My Mom and I picked up where we had left off without skipping a beat. She was back to being my sage, my muse, my confidant, my mentor, my biggest fan, my pom-pom girl. Our friendship and bond grew more intense and intimate until the day she drew her last breath. I had enjoyed another 15 glorious years with my Mom after my Dad died. She was there, nudging and guiding me through my trials, challenges, and victories.
Her departure ripped me apart. The relationship we had was so integral to my existence, her absence almost broke me. I searched for answers to the myriad of questions that had built up in my mind. Fortunately, I had one last lifeline—my older Brother by 11 years. He was like a second Dad to me and had played a pivotal role in my life, helping shape my character. I felt fortunate to still have a confidant and mentor that knew and loved me, to ask for guidance.
I hadn’t finished grieving the loss of my Mom when my Brother passed away last November. He and I spent the years before his death in deep discussions and dialogue. We laughed and we cried together. We were shaped and moulded—transformed—God doing His work. Our bond as Brothers never stronger.
But something strange happened.
I never fell apart. I had lost my last human crutch and I felt calm. Why was I not completely devastated and in deep mourning? I felt grief and loss, but not the way I thought I would at the loss of my second Dad and last mentor. I was in a “dwaal”—nice Afrikaans word for confused. I couldn’t understand but felt the answer is out there and will appear when the time is righ
The answer revealed itself.
At some point, you must stop asking questions and start thinking for yourself.
It is when we take action—lift our hands and apply our minds—that real transformation happens.
I have been moulded and shaped for 58 years by the greatest mentors and teachers a person could ever ask for. All the preparation in the world without action is worthless. It’s time to take off the training wheels. I am still blessed with many mentors who still love and care for me and continue to lead and guide me.
What are you waiting for?
Do something, now!
Have an awesome weekend and please be generous! 😄
As always, thanks for reading 🙏