Support Tips

A Family Tragedy

By Eulalia Zukas

When tragedy struck my host family after I’d been in Cape Town for less than a month, I knew I would never forget my study abroad experience. I had gone out to a favorite local pub with my three host brothers. We had spent a few hours there, when Lyle received a page from his mother. She said to come home, but not to worry…

Still, with my host father, Len, having suffered a stroke just two weeks earlier, I was worried. Lyle dropped me off at the house and everyone else went to the hospital. I got a little scared because I believed deep down that everything was not okay, so I called home to the States. After talking to my father and my boyfriend, I lay in bed, alone in the house, with the certainty that Len would not make it through the night. He didn’t. …

When I arrived in South Africa, my host parents had welcomed me with warm hospitality. They took the time to show me all their favorite sites in Cape Town and immediately made me part of their family; I was their first host student and “daughter,” as they would joke.

Len had the stroke the morning we had planned to go to a festival at a local beach. They brought him to the hospital and discovered that the left side of his body had shut down due to the pressure of a malignant tumor on the right side of his brain.

The next two weeks were a blur. I was busy with classes starting. Two of my host family’s sons came home from abroad. The family spent their time with Len while I stayed at the house to answer phone calls and direct extended family to the hospital. Adjusting to my new life would have been challenging enough simply with homework and cultural differences, but this nearly overwhelmed me.

Every day the news changed. Len underwent three extensive brain surgeries and was obviously in a lot of pain—it was tough for my host mother to bear.

One night Shirley broke down in front of me for the first time. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. I felt like she was my own mother. We were upstairs in the hallway, a place where we happened to meet quite often, when I saw the look in her eyes. She was ironing sheets and I could tell that this moment had been a long time coming. She hadn’t shown this much emotion to me since the stroke occurred. She started crying and I knew I wanted to be strong for her. I leaned against the hard cold wall listening to her words through tears. She continued to iron the sheets that would go on my bed that night. She felt his pain, and that of her sons, and knowing she could not relieve it broke her heart. She was scared, and although unspoken, we both knew that if we were to hug, the tears might not stop.

That next evening, right after dinner Shirley, asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital with her. I wanted to see Len, but I said no. In the conversation the night before, she had mentioned how his hospital room was always so busy with people visiting. She appreciated all the love and support for her husband, but she didn't get to spend much time with him alone. I wanted her to visit Len that night by herself, just the two of them. Ironically, that was the night he died.

Shirley came into my room the morning after Len passed; the look on her face was of despair, sadness, hopelessness, and love, somehow all in one. She hugged me and cried for what seemed like hours, telling me all about the moment that he was taken to the angels. Husband, wife, and sons were the only ones—rightfully so—in that room when Len was peacefully taken away. Somehow, I managed not to shed a tear that morning or in the six days between then and his funeral.

My on-site director, Basil, stopped by the house with flowers the next morning. He spoke to Shirley first to see how she was doing. I was in the other room preparing coffee and tea, as is the custom when visitors arrive. I heard my name come up and I knew they were discussing my placement. Surprisingly, I hadn’t thought about it until that moment. A thousand different thoughts ran through my mind and still I could only think of one thing: I wanted to stay. How could I switch host families now when I had become so close to this family after only a month? It seemed silly to move, but at the same time I didn’t want to get in the way. Basil and Shirley only talked for a few minutes, which worried me. I came out with the coffee and tea and feared the worst. Shirley grabbed my hip and pulled me into her. She said to me, “You aren’t leaving us, right?” I was so touched that I wanted to cry but could only laugh and reply, “You won’t let me, right?” And that was that.

I knew funerals in coloured families in South Africa could last for a week, with a prayer meeting every night, and involved a constant flow of family and friends, but I was prepared.

For the next week I became the American girl serving coffee, tea, and biscuits. Most of the family already knew me but some distant relatives would come to the house, take a cup of tea, look at me with wondering eyes and say, “Who are you?” I never had to answer because one of my many loving uncles or my funny brothers always threw in a comment about how great I was. Serving beverages to guests was fun for me and seemed like an appropriate way to communicate with everyone suffering the loss while at the same time keeping my distance.

At first I had a couple of mishaps when it came to the cream and sugar and also remembering which guest had requested tea or coffee. My face would turn beet red, but we all just laughed about it. My host uncles kept telling me I could never leave.

I was surprised at the light-hearted atmosphere. There was definite sadness and many moments of silence, but the family's uplifting spirit kept things moving along. At times, only for very brief moments, I would have to remind myself why all these beautiful people were joined together.

The last day of the week was the most difficult. Len’s body was brought into our home for a family-only ceremony the morning of the funeral. The priests led a service and we all sang “Amazing Grace.” I fell weak at that moment, walked myself to the bathroom, and cried. Trying to stay strong for the family was becoming so difficult that I couldn’t do it anymore. But I had no choice but to gather myself together and go to church. Most of the eulogy was in Afrikaans, which I could not understand very well, but it was clear even to me that the words spoken were full of grace.

After the funeral there was a gathering at the church for friends and family while thirty close family members went with Len’s body to the crematorium. Shirley led me to the car, my hand in hers. Despite my uncertainty I ended up going with them. The ride there was silent—it was the most terrifying half hour of my life.

I could tell I wasn’t going to be able to sit through this service without showing my emotions. The second we arrived I was scared to go into the building, scared to see his coffin, scared to hear the desperate cries of his three sons and wife … I was just so scared.

Sheer white curtains covered the platform that his coffin lay upon. After we finished singing and praying, the doors opened from underground and blew the curtains open. They slowly lowered Len and his coffin; people cried their final goodbyes throughout the hall. I looked at Shirley, Lyle, Reese, and Keenan and saw the weakness in their knees, all the while feeling it in my own. That moment was the first time I wondered, “Why?”

We left that hall singing “Amazing Grace,” leaving behind Leonard Henry Consul. Len was laid to rest while his closest family and friends walked outside to console each other. I stood alone outside, tears welling up, shaking and feeling lost until Len’s sister came up to me and said, “Thank you for loving my brother so much.” Len’s brother also came up and said, “Thank you for being his angel.” Another family member: “You were sent here to take care of us.” Another; “You are my guardian angel and thank you for filling this gap we have all been left with.” Right before my eyes, thirty of Len’s family members made me feel more a part of their family and more loved than I had ever hoped.

Although life went on after the funeral, there will always be a hole in the hearts of all who loved Len. There were moments when I would look at Shirley and know that she was thinking of him, because of the faint smile on her face. My host brother, Reese, went back to England with his family while my other brother, Lyle, stayed for a while to help get everything in order. Keenan went back to school. As for me, I was going to class and continuing my excursions with my study abroad group. For the next three months or so Shirley and I had many talks about how she was doing, how I was doing, and what was going on. She was open with me about really missing Len and being scared for her sons. We talked about my departure, and I would open up just enough to give her a hint that I would really miss her. Shirley always encouraged me to go and travel, but only if I promised to tell her all about it. She loved to hear all my crazy stories.

Although I have not seen Shirley since I left, we stay in contact through mail. I also have close e-mail contact with Lyle and will see him in a few months when he comes to the U.S. with his wife.

If I had known about this before I got onto the plane at Logan Airport on my way to South Africa, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I cannot pinpoint exactly what in these four months has forever changed me, but I am thankful for it.

At the time this article was written, EULALIA ZUKAS had studied abroad in 2004 with Lexia International, www.lexiaintl.org. She graduated from Endicott College in May 2005 with a degree in Human Services. Contact her at eulaliamarie@yahoo.com.