Learning from Loss

Once upon a time there was a girl.  She was as light, as lovely and as laughly (yes it’s a word) as they come.  Her joie de vivre was contagious.  Always.  Often, in the middle of a conversation, she would exclaim, “Oh Mah Heavenly!” and just like that, she would clasp her left hand over her mouth, her eyes would light up and she would giggle.  When she laughed, she laughed with her belly, and doubled over for effect.  Every semester after our final exam, we would have ice cream at Java.  I would have the chocolate chip cookie and she would have vanilla.  On her mother’s bill.  Or her father’s.

This story is about a man that she loved and left behind.  The man I promised to visit when his daughter left the country to study in Malaysia.  The man I saw years later when we buried his daughter.  This story is about the man I promised to visit after we buried his daughter.  I visited him once, but I promised to visit him again.  Four months ago, I promised my grandfather that I would visit his friend.  On Sunday, I promised my mother that I would visit our family friend.  Yesterday I was told that he had passed on.

Mr. M, you are gone and I will visit your house again.  I will see you but you will not see the tears in my eyes, or hear all the unspoken things I wanted to say to you.  Like thank you for making sure we got home safe after Mr. Luketeero’s class on Friday nights.  Thank you for loving your family so consistently that each of them shone with humour and a love for life that was consistent and contagious.

I will never forget walking to Westlands with Alyce.  She regaled us with kitchen tales.  Everything from how cabbages were cut in your kitchen to how she burnt the meat.  She told the tales and infected us with her laughter.  Fun times.  Times also to see something that was crystal clear.  She was Daddy’s girl, and in her eyes, you shone like a star.  Because of her, you and I developed a friendship of our own.  I knew that we were friends when our conversations took their own course.  No awkward silences.  No wishing that I was in a different place when I was in your company.

From your friendship, I was able to learn afresh the meaning of hope and the value of living in the moment.  I have taken these lessons more lightly than I should, but I must do better.  I will do better.  I must let your legacy shine through the power of my actions.  Mr. M, thank you for loving me like your daughter and challenging me to dream beyond my capacity.  Thank you for teaching me more about Life’s Journey than I could ever learn for myself or read in a book.

There are no words that will dull the pain felt by your wife and sons as they bid farewell to their husband, father and friend.  No one can dry the tears they have cried for the loved ones that they have lost.  However, I am certain that the same God who carried Job through his season of loss and introspection is able to carry your wonderful family through this season of loss and introspection.

I pray that they will find the grace and peace that only He can give, and that they will feel the warmth of His embrace as He shelters them under His wing.

Rest in peace, my dear dear friend.  There are many unspoken words that will have to wait until I see you in heaven, but these few found their way to cyberspace:

 Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
You will forever
Be in my heart.

Love
Wa Makeri

Life’s Journey

My Dear Readers

The 100 posts are still going to happen before 1st November 2012.  Don’t you worry.  My father’s name translates to ‘Tortoise’ so I’m sure you’ll understand my speed.

These last few weeks have been difficult for a lot of people I know.  In the past week alone, 4 of my friends have had to bury their loved ones.  One will bury her father tomorrow and one of my aunts will bury her son next week.  In the course of writing this post, I have learnt that another friend has lost his mum.

I am always lost for what to say when someone I know is grieving, but I have found comfort in the words, “We are praying”, “God is on the throne” or “May God’s grace and peace be yours”.  Comfort because of my certainty that my utterances are true – and that God Almighty will see them through.

Life is fickle, often snuffed out without warning or without prior preparation.  However, I pray that whenever I hear mounds of earth thud softly on a casket, whenever those thuds fade into the finality of a filled grave, I will have the grace to thank God for the gift of life.  Mine and the departed soul’s.

And I pray that I will have the grace to Praise Him In The Storm.  And to tell my story.

Ciiku Mrs. Babes, thank you for this song.

God bless and keep you all.