TM: Eulogy for Frans Moller

Today, I’d like to remember Jacob Francois Moller. A son, a brother, a father and a friend to many, I had the privilege of calling him husband for a brief, but wonderful time.

When Frans died, I wasn’t able to eulogise him. My grief and exhaustion left me numb and unable to properly convey the depth of my love and admiration for the man I adored, so the task fell to others. They did wonderfully well, but I have always regretted not being able to speak on that day, or say the things in my heart to those who knew and loved him too. I hope that it’s okay that I do so now.

Frans, this month marks 8 years since you left us, and 12 years since we embarked on our whirlwind romance. You’ve been gone for exactly twice the amount of time I had you in my life, and yet your voice is still as clear as a bell in my mind. Sometimes, its as though you’ve only stepped into the next room, so close you are to us all, in memory.

So many memories, and time has done the work of removing the pain and leaving behind all the good, and the sweet, and the funny stuff, so that I always smile now, when I think of you. Of how you could make anyone laugh, in any situation, no matter how dire or awful. The beige, depressing corridors at Steve Biko Academic Hospital must still ring with the sound of nurses screaming with laughter at your antics — you were by far their favourite patient! In the hospital lobby, you once made a pregnant girl laugh so hard, her waters broke. And that was only a day after we’d had the worst news of our lives. That was you, though — glass half full and ALWAYS up for a laugh.

I miss your laugh.

So many knew you as a soldier — a tough, audacious 20 year veteran of the SANDF, who’d commanded with fairness and distinction, and left a notable impression on all the men and women who served with you. When you needed to be, you could be so decisive, so capable and commanding — a leader that people wanted to follow, because you inspired them to be the best versions of themselves. I still get messages from people, reminiscing about their beloved Majoor.

I wonder how many of them know how gentle you could be, too. How appreciative of art and beauty and well-crafted things. You were most at home in nature — in the silence of the bush — and you loved to share those spaces with the people you loved. Nothing gave you more pleasure than a circle of friends, around a fire, sharing food and drink, and celebrating life with you under the African stars. You were always great at celebrating. I hope that’s what you’re doing now, out there in the cosmos. Causing havoc and shining so much brighter than all the other particles of light around you — that’s how I’ll always think of you. Especially the havoc part — that was my favourite thing.

It would take more time than I have to convey the true worth of the years we spent together to me. Being loved by you was one to the single most redeeming experiences of my life. Your legacy in my life was, and will always remain, a lesson in courage, in persistence, in humility, in love and good old fashioned Afrikaans hardkoppigheid. You taught me to value myself, to draw lines and never cross them, and to laugh and love wholeheartedly, regardless of the cost.

I know you’re looking down on all of us — I have felt your guiding presence and protection many times in the intervening years. Few people are privileged to know the name or the face of their guardian angel, but I do.

Rest in peace, my love. Always.