“Don't go far
off, not even for a day,
because,
I don't know how to say it - a day is long and
I will be waiting for you,
as in an empty station when the trains are parked off
somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me,
even for an hour…”
– Pablo Neruda
“What is wrong?” She asked me with
trepidation in her voice. Perhaps it was the distraught look on my face or the
pool of tears that instantly welled up in my eyes. Either way, she knew that I
had just received some bad news. I struggled to hold it in, to reign in my
emotions, afraid that if I let myself cry, I would never stop. I got off the
phone with my husband and pulled myself up to a sitting position in my hospital
bed. “My grandmother!” I exclaimed through bouts of broken breaths. I did not
need to say more; she understood. She
came over to where I sat and gave me a hug. She enveloped me, and I simply
clung on. I managed to calm myself down and when I was ready, she sat with me.
My only grandmother was gone… Dani, my direct connection to my roots, was. no.
more. Reality refused to sink in. I started to bargain with God. Lord, if you
only let it not be true then I will do whatever you need. I got angry. Why
would this happen to our family, especially at a time like this? I even
experienced hope. I expected my phone to
ring anytime and for me to hear that everyone was mistaken, that she was alive
and well…the phone never rang.
All the regrets and wasted time
flooded my mind. I knew she was old, but she had always been there, a permanent
fixture. Dani was always there as long as I could remember, she always looked
the same, never changing, never looking old, but still old because of the passage
of time. I cursed time. I cursed the distance, and I cursed my inability to do
anything meaningful. I felt powerless. She never met my husband; she never met
my daughter; I never said goodbye. My friend sat there and simply listened. She
knew because she had also lost her beloved grandmother. In the hours to come,
my friend and I talked about our grandmothers. She showed me a picture of her
beautiful and regal looking grandmother. We celebrated their lives through our
memories. By the time she left my hospital room, I was calm and ready to face
my reality. Then the night came and with it. My memories and sadness
resurfaced. I cried all night and the next day, and the next. The nurses who
came to my room reassured me that all would be alright. I could tell they
wanted to do more, but felt powerless. Sometimes I smiled, sometimes I cried.
They did not interrupt, they just let me be, and let me know that they were
there if I needed anything.
Grief is a
strange beast. The stages are random and they can occur at anytime. If you are
reading this entry hoping for wisdom and insight, I am sorry, there is none
from me. I just needed to see my thoughts written on paper, to make sense of
and cement my loss. I have to accept and
believe that things will work out. We each have a purpose to fulfill in this
life, and my Dani had simply fulfilled her life’s journey. She may not have
lived a lavish and lush life, but she lived a long time. A child of the 20’s in
the harsh conditions of Africa, she lived through some things. My hope is that
she has found her way through the maze of eternal life. I look forward to being
reunited with her when God calls me home, then perhaps I would be able to tell
her all that I wanted to say. As for me,
my heart is still broken and I am still patiently waiting for acceptance.
Rest in Love Getruda Kipande
Okello, my Dani. Until we meet again.
Olorun mi, gba
adura mi (My God, hear my prayer)
When you take
all the ones we love
We’ll carry on
and it won’t be long
I pray to be
strong
Olorun mi, gba
adura mi (My God, hear my prayer)
-Tiwa Savage
