Mia: A Mother’s Story of Loss and Hope

Copyright 2023 Mariska Robberts

All Rights Reserved

Cover art:

Marthie Steenkamp

Proofread by:

Paula Limbaugh

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Contents

1.Preface

3.The Play of Light

5.Blue I

6.Black

7.Grey

8.Pink

9.Rainbow

10.Dark

11.Light

12.Blue II

13.Conclusion

14.When a Father Mourns

15.A Letter to Parents Who’ve Lost a Child

16.Dedication

17.Bibliography

Preface

We all have a story. The characters differ, the environment is dissimilar, but ultimately there is drama, humour, brokenness and hope in everyone’s story. In His mysterious ways, God the eternal Writer weaves our stories together into His own story. Our lives represent an extraordinary paragraph of the all-mighty and all-powerful God’s writing that sings his glory.

I have the privilege of being a part of Mariska’s story. When you co-write someone’s life story, you share in times of happiness and joy, but also in times of trauma and misfortune. In the end, you also share in the hope of good things to come.

Hope and faith are two words that stand out in this story—and in this family’s life. It was part of Mia’s purpose on earth: to bring hope to the people whose lives she touched.

Is it easy to find hope in hopeless situations? Not at all. But God is faithful, and He has already sown the seeds of hope in the most unlikely places; at the right time they will bear an abundant harvest.

This book is part of the harvest of hope that Mariska found in God’s hands. It is an incredible story, with incredible emotions and incredible people…and certainly the (in)credible God.

I am delighted that this story has been written down and published. You and I can find hope in the pages of this book.

All the best with your own story. Know, always, that God is co-writing it with you.

Erika van der Merwe

January 2019

Colorado Springs, USA

Hope noun

1. a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

2. a feeling of trust

- definitions from Oxford Languages

The Play of Light

It was nearly April, officially autumn, but in the Boland it still felt like summer.

Vineyards and orchards blurred past as the five members of the Robberts family and Pauline Nugget set out from a guest farm in Klapmuts. People and tractors were hard at work on the farms they passed. But the Robberts family had taken a break from work. It was day three of their holiday, and they had two fun things planned for the day: a pottery workshop on a farm and a lunch date in Stellenbosch.

On Delvera farm, the potter’s wheel went round and round as Mom Mariska threw a small pot; Dad Franché also tried his hand at shaping a pot out of clay; Stéfan and Morné painted pots; and little Mia made a mask. The works of clay art were by no means perfect, but the goal of the outing was achieved: the five Robberts family members spent time together. And they played and laughed together.

Excitement about the morning lingered in the air in the Mercedes Vito on their way back to the guest farm, only 10km from Delvera. Just for this one trip, Mia was allowed to sit in front on her mother’s lap. Usually she was in the back seat, properly buckled up.

Like an autumn leaf, that’s how light she was. Later, she would flutter lightly in the wind on her way to a new destination.

When the red tractor and the grey Vito collided, the occupants couldn’t see the play of light.

I think Miemie is gone, Franché said.

The play of light had begun. But, for now, only the great Potter knew that.

Colette du Plessis

April 2018

We humans can distinguish a huge array of colours. Scientists are not entirely certain why, since the ability to see that many colours are not critical for survival. Perhaps we should regard this ability as a gift, a token of love from the Creator, encouraging us to enjoy life.

Blue I

Blue is the colour of the heavens.

In the beginning

She was home for a week before she had to go back to the hospital. She had developed mild pneumonia, probably due to an excess of kisses from her two older brothers. Still, 2009 was a good year. Mia Ananja Robberts was the first of the Robberts siblings not to be rushed to the neonatal unit immediately after birth. Like other healthy babies, she could share a hospital room with her mother, and then go home with her mother.

Mia did have to have surgery for an intestinal obstruction in the first few weeks of her life. At the time she held a record at a well-known Bloemfontein hospital for the youngest baby ever who’d had an appendix removed.

Barely a month old and already a record breaker. Inside me, however, something else broke that day.

The wait outside the operating theatre doors felt like an eternity. In the first 24 hours I wasn’t allowed to pick her up. She cried bitterly. The doctors didn’t want to give her too much pain medication, partly because she was so little. Meanwhile, my breasts felt like bursting from all the milk and my baby’s crying.

After the operation it looked as if her tummy had been stitched up using a sewing machine. She had a distinct zigzag pattern almost 5 cm long across her abdomen. Weeks later it still looked like the incision had not healed completely; there was a hole in which my finger could fit.

We went back to the paediatrician, and he determined that she had developed a hernia. She had to have another operation. But I told him I was going to pray for the hole to close up on its own. He laughed and said we should go on holiday first and then make another appointment to see him.

I resolved not to let Mia go under the knife again. In the days following the diagnosis of a hernia I kept praying for a miracle. I was convinced the hole was getting smaller. After the holiday, spent swimming in the sea and praying, we went back to the doctor. The surgeon confirmed there was a hole, but she wanted to wait before operating again. Within a few weeks the hole had disappeared completely.

The joy of having a healthy baby girl finally became a reality.

It was a completely different experience from bringing up my two sons. Not better, just different. Like playing with a doll, I dressed her in pretty clothes. I bathed her, put lotion on her skin, changed her nappies and fed her. I was a girl mom, and we were all truly happy.

The years went by. As Mia grew older, we got to know her as anything but a quiet, reserved little girl. She was exuberant. She laughed with her mouth open. She could get furious. She did everything to excess. And we loved her excessively.

It’s only a wee-wee

In the last few weeks of the first school term of 2013, Mia was irritable and tearful. She was also more clingy than usual; she wouldn’t let me out of her sight.

I knew she was tired and that the long, busy term had taken its toll. Mia just needed a little extra love, but it was difficult to find the time in between her brothers’ activities and my work commitments. I would sometimes put her in the car and go for a drive, and she would sleep for the entire trip. But every time we had to get out of the car, she would cry. There wasn’t much more I could do. Alone time with her simply had to wait for our forthcoming holiday in the Cape.

As usual before going on holiday, the day before our departure I had numerous tasks to tick off my to-do list. I was frustrated by all the things I couldn’t seem to get done, and with my frustration came impatience. With Mia too. She didn’t even want to go to the bathroom on her own to have a wee. My irritation at her brief helplessness that day would haunt me for years.

On holiday!

We left Bloemfontein on Friday, 22 March 2013, towing a full trailer. Our main destination was Stellenbosch. As usual on a long car journey the children repeatedly asked how far we had left to go. Mia was part of the choir. She wanted to know how far it still was to Skelmbos, her name for the town where– as the word "skelm" (villain) foreshadows—she would be stolen from us.

We stayed over for one night on a farm near Three Sisters in the Karoo. Next to the farm road there were two crosses. Only later that evening would I find out about the freak accident that had happened on that farm: a father accidentally drove over both his children. It struck a deep chord of empathy in my heart. Travelling with children in the car, we couldn’t help but be deeply affected by this family’s pain.

I woke up the next morning to silence except for the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. This was in stark contrast to the hurry-scurry of the previous few weeks. After breakfast we walked to a Bloekombos tree ¹ next to the farmhouse and took our first family photos of the holiday, as always gathering new memories of special moments. That’s after all what holidays are for!

It was late afternoon when we arrived at our cottage on the guest farm not far from Stellenbosch that would be our home for the holiday, a lovely place with a stunning view over the vineyards. It was exactly what we’d hoped for.

Over the next few days we criss-crossed the Cape Peninsula, but in the evenings we were back at our farm cottage. From our porch the sunsets were even more spectacular than from Camps Bay Beach. That’s what we thought anyway. There was one evening at sunset in particular when God reminded us that He was close by.

On the morning of Tuesday, 26 March, Dad and the boys went golfing, and Mia and I stayed home. With nothing planned, I had plenty of time to play along when Mia asked me to make up her face too. This was the day I was going to give her the full treatment, I decided: foundation, eye shadow, even mascara. She could indulge in what would be a no-no on any other day.

I also blow-dried her hair until there was not a single girly curl left. She looked breath-takingly beautiful.

When she saw herself in the mirror, she was also struck speechless. Then she ran to the kitchen to show Pauline what she looked like.

I never captured that moment on camera.

Mia couldn’t wait for her Daddy to get back. When she heard the car driving up and stopping outside, she hid from him. Then, as quietly as a three-year-old in play high heels could tiptoe, she sneaked up on him. She waited for the right moment to startle him with a deafening Wha! The usual "Whose