Let’s talk about loss

 

I was about seven years old when I (secretly) attended my very first funeral out of sheer curiosity. While at a school parade, our teacher announced the death of one of the neighbors and he encouraged kids who were friends and family to attend the funeral. And this is how I voluntarily took myself through a horror movie.

Many years later, I lost my granny, auntie, and eventually my dad. Now, for the longest time, it never occurred to me that someone younger, who hasn’t been sick for so long can die too. I always waited for people to reach their 70s or 80s to start thinking of a possibility of losing them until I was utterly shocked last year in September when my 40-year-old sister died. It was (and still is) absolutely unbelievable.

When you lose someone you grew up with, the one who taught you your first rhymes, one that taught you godly values, one who constantly told you stories just to hear your giggles, and one who always made you feel special no matter how grown you became- when they finally leave this world, your heart fails to react to the news.

She fell ill for a week and was gone within three days of being hospitalized. But there’s something about a soul that’s about to depart. Have you had dreams where you’re in the middle of a desert, with parched lips and exhausted feet, trying to find the next shadow and drops of water. This is exactly how I felt two days prior to her demise. Nothing gave joy to my heart. Not my friends’ big days, birthdays, upcoming weddings, new babies; not even my saxophone could pull that off.

I had a job at one of the hotels where I was to play during their brunch but this particular Sunday, 20^th September, the music felt dry. My heart felt like it was in a different dimension altogether. And just a few hours after that, the announcement came through, that my sister had rested, marking the beginning of endless exhaustion that lasted two weeks, even though it felt like a year and 3 months of suffering.

Even before COVID-19, loss was numbing but what followed my attempts to reach the funeral (in Uganda) on time so that I could say my goodbyes, I wouldn’t wish for my worst enemy. With the Ugandan airports being closed due to the pandemic, and the boarders being impenetrable, it was by the grace of God that I finally managed to make it to the vigil. To the vigil because I arrived long after she had been buried, and for the very first time, I wondered who it is that passed the law that graves can’t be opened for late comers to see their loved ones. I still secretly wonder, but because grief and the questions that come with it aren’t popular, I’ll probably never find out.

Grief makes you desperate, bitter, and exhausted. After the two weeks that followed her demise, I felt like a 70-year-old who just returned from the battle field. I once did a video call while at the vigil and wondered how a few days managed to turn my eyes and skin so dark and cracked, but grief does that to you. You run out of tears and energy and what’s left is the deterioration of your skin.

 If you lost a loved one during the lockdown season, I would be happy to buy coffee and we start some sort of support group because the pain we went through while people were safely tucked into their houses to avoid COVID-19 was simply unbearable.

There's nothing more painful than watching someone you love lay straight in stillness, in a box moreover. But almost two weeks ago, my cousin and friend, Maurice died on spot after being knocked off his bike by a bus while he worked out.  Maurice was a gentle soul that loved everyone and made us all feel at home, but death doesn’t know about all those details. What would be its purpose (death) if not to continually break our hearts?

Anyway, when I finally gathered the energy to go and view him, I realized how important this ‘ceremony’ is. It gave me some kind of closure that I think is very important for every grieving person, or not.  Because that’s the thing about loss. It is so personal. Dealing with grief is so private you can’t compare notes because it hits differently.

Telling a grieving person that “it is well” should be out of question because, no. It is not well. Reminding us of scriptures that say we shall have a long life and die after 70 is equally insensitive and painful while someone grieves. Bible verses that suggest people should not mourn are also inhumane during this season. Grief is continuous.

You think you're over it but instead, the first chance you get alone, say you’re traveling in the middle of the night, looking out of a plane window to see distant lights would be met by one thought, your deceased close person. Those distant lights, they bring so many thoughts, making you wonder what the occupants of those houses are going through. Are they grieving loved ones? Celebrating a birthday perhaps? Or keeping the light burning for the hope of things not yet seen. It always ‘ends in tears’ and I’m pretty sure the flight attendants might think it's because of the generous portion of wine they served you, but in reality, it's your heart aching for your close one who left too soon.

I understand death is a foreign concept to young people because we weren’t used to losing young people, but it is about time we learned how to deal with it. Children were previously shielded from death till they’re older but we need to start having these conversations with them because how we deal with grief plays a great role in character development.