Dear Mbuya...

 

It’s been a long year without you my friend, and I will tell you all about it when I see you again…

The Present

They say grief is like a pebble in a tin. When the tin is stable the pebble is at rest but any slight movement of the tin can set the pebble into motion. Walking to your room last month destabilized my tin. I walked in and realized that your scent is no longer there. It’s gone. It was such a permanent and characteristic feature of being in your room and to find it gone hit me really hard.

The Past

In 2013 we lost Coordinator, and at that time I mourned more for the relationship that could have been than the one that was. I shared those thoughts here .The loss of Coordinator was the birth of my attempt at being more intentional about my relationships with my close relatives. I say attempt because I acknowledge that I really can do better.

Thus began my frequent trips to see you. The hours of talking about everything and nothing. Me making you ‘chocolate sadza’ and road runner chicken and packing your cupboard, then fighting with you over old clothing that you refused to throw away. I remember our baths in the evening under the stars and finally going to bed where one of us would fall asleep while the other was still talking.

I wonder if you knew that I knew that you always chose to wear the clothes I bought for you when you knew I would be visiting you. That was wonderful of you Mbuya.

I treasure all those moments. The stories, the laughter, the advice and the gossip.

There was a year that you allowed me to use your house as a refuge many times. I know that you knew something was up and yet you never asked. You simply welcomed me with each visit and loved me and I would leave ready to go back to life, recharged by your love. Yours was a home full of love and you had space for everyone and anyone.

The extent of my love for you was clear when you were unwell, we both know that ‘ndinosema’, (lol) but when it came to caring for you no task was too big, if anything they all felt so small relative to how much I wanted (needed) you to recover…

Yours was a peaceful death which you seemed to have known was coming. In the days leading up to it you enjoyed the hymn ‘handigoni kukutendai’. In my mind you saw the Angel of Death approaching and immediately asked to not proceed to your physiotherapy session and to go back home instead. Those that were there with you say you gave instruction on how you wanted to be held; one child took your left hand, and the other your right hand and your grandson held your head as you drifted away to a land we will all one day go.

You visited me in my dreams a few months ago. You didn’t say anything. You just smiled at me while I washed and moisturised your face. I took it to mean that you were ok.

Oh my golden girl, how I miss you much…