Image is a photo taken by me of the letter
A letter from the past
A letter wears a jacket that hides its form. You’ve got to open the jacket to reveal the nature of that form; good tidings or bad. Sometimes it’s a bit of both. My good-bad letter was from my father; he was working away from home and had been feeling unwell. The letter he sent to my mom was full of sweet words for my brother and I, but my mom often says, in retrospect, that the letter was a premonition moment; the first time she thought she might lose the man she loved. The reason: he explained in that letter that he’d tried to get life insurance, but had been declined because of the state of his health.
My father was an unusual, dynamic man who, despite his health issues, built an advertising empire during his short lifetime; he died when I was thirteen-years-old. He was only forty-two.
Unfortunately, for my mom, his death brought not only incredible sorrow, but debt. My mom had a huge house to upkeep, innumerable servants, two young children, both of whom were in private schools, and two aging parents to care for; she was a housewife, with limited knowledge of the business-world at large.
My mom took stock of the situation; I remember sitting at the dining room table with her sorting through endless documents, none of which made any sense other than to say that we had absolutely no money. My grandparents lived next door to us; my grandfather ran a construction business that, although eventually successfully, was going through difficult times. My grandmother was a seamstress, who made wedding dresses for upmarket clients, but it was really a sideline to her housekeeping, a tiny enterprise. Both my grandparents relied, as we did, on my father’s income.
I grew up very quickly in those months. My mother and I brainstormed; what could we do? My grandmother came up with the idea of opening a fashion enterprise. My mom had always been interested in fashion; it was part of her function as an executive’s wife to look good at all the events she attended at my father’s side. Anyway, my sneaky grandmother had been doing a lot more than just thinking. She had a shop picked out, had already approached the owners about a lease and priced all the fittings we’d need for the enterprise, including a till. But where was the money going to come from for this harebrained venture?
Planning took over our lives. It deflected our pain and became ridiculously exciting. My mom sold her car, which was the only paid-for asset we owned, and used the funds to secure a lease on the high-street; a perfect location in an affluent suburb. Of course, the funds were horrendously insufficient to set up a business, but we forged ahead. My grandfather built all the rails, racks, constructed two fitting rooms, erected a bright red and white striped awning over the display windows and painted the shop. We were ready…but we had no stock. (Haha! how could we have been so innocent?)
It was August, which is a very cold month in South Africa. It’s also the worst possible month to open a fashion enterprise because of the seasonal nature of the merchandise. My mom found a few manufacturers willing to supply, and bought a few coats and beautifully embroidered jerseys, which were surprisingly inexpensive. Little did she know that this was the worst decision ever; fashion stores stock summer clothing from July, all winter clothing goes on sale in July!
We opened the doors with a few, sparse hangers blowing, forlornly on the August gusts that flurried through the widely welcoming door. To add woe to the situation, my grandmother contracted a mystery illness and became critically ill. As it turned out it wasn’t a virus, she was on warfarin for her blood viscosity and had taken too many tablets, accidentally rupturing her stomach muscles. This took care of the balance of my mom’s funds. Things were very, very bleak.
Then luck found us…
I came home from school one bright day and my mom was nowhere to be found. I went into her room looking for her; her usually impeccably neat bedroom looked as if it’d been hit by a bomb; cupboard doors hanging open, everything gone, leaving a disarray of hangers in a jumble on the floor. I knew that she must’ve gone up to the shop, so I walked there to find her. On arrival, my jaw dropped; hanging in the cabinets were all my mom’s clothes, and people were in the store, BUYING!
I cannot begin to tell you the level of our celebrations; it was very, very fun.
Both my grandmother and my mom quickly learned the ropes and the shop became a renowned fashion venture, frequently featured in fashion magazines. The business paid for everything; private schooling for both my brother and I, a new house to live in after our house (and furniture) were auctioned to pay my father’s debts.
...and, of course, she also bought a new car!