A Road Trip That Resulted in Gratitude

Quiet gratitude. Not the flashy, shallow, #blessed #grateful Instagram kind, but the deep, weighty kind. The kind that anchors you to the moment and reminds you just how blessed you are to be living, breathing, experiencing.
Our recent road trip was more than a journey through four provinces of South Africa; it was a meander through memory, mourning, and meaning. Twenty days on the road with my parents, in a Toyota that is more like a companion than a car. And through it all, a constant undercurrent of gratitude. Layered, complex, and not always easy.

Gratitude, yes. Gratitude from the depth of my bones, because there’s still a hole where my heart used to be.

Let’s start with the big one: Gavin, my beloved late husband

Gavin is the reason I’m able to take road trips like this, the reason I know how to tackle a dirt road pass. Before I met Gav, I hadn’t been on holiday to many places other than my Nanna’s house in Durban and a trip to the Kruger Park when I was 12. Gav introduced me to road trips and holidays far and wide. That’s how I learnt to look for magic everywhere.
He’s not here anymore, at least not in the way I wish he were. But his fingerprints are all over this journey. On the car, the plans, and the places. In the stories we told along the way. The places I revisited. The new ones we braved without him, but because of him. He left me secure, but more than that, he left me empowered. He taught our children and me how to explore. How to make memories. How to love the road as much as the destination. And for that, my gratitude runs deep.

Then there’s my folks

Both still here. Both still well enough to tackle misty beaches, steep mountain passes, dodgy dirt roads, and the terrifying splendour of Swartberg. I don’t take that lightly. Many of my peers have had to say goodbye to one or both parents or are facing the heartbreak of watching them fade away, shadows of the people they used to be.
From the whispering wildness of the Tsitsikamma Forest to the autumn-kissed trees of the Free State, my parents were right there beside me. My mom, brave in the caves and brave on the mountains. And my dad, driving part of the Swartberg Pass like a bucket-list boss.
We traced family roots in Cathcart, collected bramble berries in the fynbos, and shared countless lime milkshakes and Chai lattes. Every kilometre of more than five thousand was a shared memory, every sunset a combined sigh. I am grateful for their presence, their pluck, their passion for life.

Let’s talk about my Fortuner

Yes, my car. She deserves her own paragraph. She’s not a 4×4, but don’t let that fool you; she’s got the heart of a lioness. From gravel roads to pothole playgrounds, she handled it all like she was made for it. And honestly, there were times she felt like a fourth travel companion. Reliable, responsive, and somehow always ready for more. I’m grateful for her strength, her stamina, and her comfort. She made the journey smoother, safer, and far more enjoyable.

And oh, South Africa. My beautiful, broken, breathtaking country

This little patch of planet, where you can go from subtropical beach to semi-desert in a single day, from cave to canyon before lunch. We drove through landscapes so diverse that it felt like flicking through a geography textbook. But so much better, because there were no tests, just magical moments. Mountains, forests, arid scrubland, bushveld, vineyards, and valleys. Fynbos one minute, ferns the next.
Yes, we have our issues. Power cuts, potholes, and politics. But also, we have people. Kind, curious, beautiful people. Everywhere we went, we were met with smiles, stories, and strangers who treated us like long-lost friends. We saw elephants so close we could hear them breathe, lions lounging like royalty, and warthogs that wiggled their way into our hearts. I’m grateful for the wild, for the warm, and for the way this land gets under your skin and stays there.

And now, the behind-the-scenes hero of this entire expedition: technology

If you’ve ever tried to navigate using a paper map while your husband drives and you’re “rigting bedonnerd” (directionally challenged to the extreme), you’ll understand the sheer joy of Google Maps. Although I mock my Maps Assistant and argue with her more than necessary, she is a great guide. Not once did I have to rotate a map mid-drive or argue about whether we’d passed that windmill before.
Apart from the real-time directions, the tech on my smartphone enabled WhatsApp check-ins, Facebook photo dumps, and email updates to Tim in the States. I got to share this journey with people who couldn’t be with us. My family and friends got to “travel” through our photos and updates. And that means something. It means the memories live beyond the moments. It means I didn’t just take a road trip with my parents; we took a couple dozen people on the adventure with us.

Grief in the rearview, grace on the horizon

This trip was a decision to actively expand my life circle, to keep living, even in the shadow of grief. To keep growing, even while healing. Some places held memories of Gav. Others were brand new, discovered with my parents, claimed as mine. Each one carried meaning: closure, continuation, courage.

Gratitude isn’t always loud…
sometimes it’s a quiet night as you watch the stars blink to life in a sky so clear it feels like the beginning of time.
sometimes it’s the taste of a wild-picked bramble berry on your tongue.
sometimes it’s a mother pushing past her fears.
sometimes it’s a father’s delighted exclamations from the passenger seat.
… and sometimes it’s the ache in your chest when you realise how much you’ve lost, and how much you still have.

I am grateful…
for the man who taught me to explore.
for the parents who journeyed through life with me long before this road trip.
for the car that never faltered.
for the country that stole my heart, again and again.
for the tech that kept us all connected.
… and for the courage to keep going.

Always forward. Even when the road winds.
Especially when it winds.