That friday evening as i slopped back home,she told me you had been admitted. Even though we call her a drunko, I sensed fear in her tone and she was actually acared because unlike the other days she was back with the next five minutes. It was the inviting news before i could even say hello to dad (anyways he never waits for a greetin when he has something to say). My heart skipped though i gathered strength to say u shall be fine and if you don’t we let you rest in the Realms of heaven. I entered my room and said a short prayer like my spiritual father always teaches but my spirit was sure you wouldn’t make it and the voice in my head was loud ‘let her rest’. Why did i take long to accept or have it sink in? I recall telling him. ‘Tonight i will switch off my phone because i don’t want people messing with sleep’. It was only an excuse i created because i actually didnt want to accept.
Is this how writers mourn?
Rwozzi woke me up as early as six when the bad news was announced but in denial of wanting it to sink,i grumbled about why he had to wake me up. My day was okay until the lovely human you gave birth to, my mother showed up from the corner of the compound and as i stood to welcome her, I actually hugged a broken woman who wouldnt hold her tears. I teared with her not because you were gone but because my mother was broken and all the lamenting she did left me helpless. When dawn broke and the house was now full, i looked out for your favourite hymns and sang with my cousins just hoping i would hear your voice join in as usual and i would laugh at you trying to catch your breath yet appreciate the lover of christ you are but i got no response. I kept on going hoping maybe you were asleep and would wake up when you hear us so i raised my voice but no, u didnt show up. Mukya u let me worship alone!. After dinner as everyone looked for where they could lay down i went to my room that we have always shared just to make sure i catch some sleep. In my bed with your other two grand daughters we lay and chat and nobody slept on the other bed (the one you always slept on) and before i knew i was talking to myself because sleep had stolen them. I turned to your empty bed this time full of bags and it when it hit me. All these people are gathered here because you are gone. I couldn’t hold back the loud cry my dear, I walked through to the sitting room carefully with all these people laying down i was floored. I couldnt explain what i felt by speech but i knew i was broken.
Is this how writer’s grieve?
So, I went to see Sheka (as you foundly called him) at school and when i couldnt get myself to break the news of your passing to him is when i realised how messy i was. I actually do not recall ever breaking it to any individual unless through my posts of celebrating your life. All i could do when he asked about you because he left you home was show him pictures of the funeral. I havent accepted your passing but i have accepted the fact that you are not with me.(i dnt knw what sense that is). I am lost in this. I cant find myself. I still cry, I still call you, I still talk about you like you are next door. But I am still so lost Mukya my darling grandma. But today allow me, I know it wont be easy get myself together easily, I might still write and cry but allow me today say Fare thee well Grandma (i ve said this before though). Till we meet again in the realms of heaven. If this is how writers grieve then allow me grieve till i heal.