My Mother

 

While I’m not the authority on grief I know firsthand just how jarring it can be. I lost my mother when I was 9 years old. I remember how that August I had gone to my Aunt’s house for the holidays. The day I left home my mother was out in the garden tending to her strawberries and I went there to bid her farewell except I did not know that was the final one. I ran into the garden and hugged her and I said “Tichaonana kana Mwari vachida.” I don’t remember how she responded but to my 9-year-old mind, my statement seemed very clever and adult. I did not know these words would haunt me for a greater part of my life.

So I go on holiday and I’m having the time of my life with my cousins when one day my aunt leaves home abruptly without so much as a goodbye. We all thought nothing of this and we continued playing and having fun. Late in the afternoon my other aunt comes over and says I need to go somewhere with you guys and she singled out the cousins that were related directly to my mother’s side of the family. We packed bags and left the house headed to my house which I didn’t realize until we almost got there.

The first thing I noticed was the cars. There were so many cars parked on the road and in our yard. My first thought was someone was dead and a tear slid down. I quickly wiped it away because I thought to myself, “Maybe that’s not it.” Dear reader, it was it.

When I got out of the car the first person I saw was my father. He came running towards me saying “She’s gone! She’s gone.” In my mind I eliminated both my brother and him from the “death list” and now it was down to my sister and mother. The next person I saw was my brother and then soon after I saw my sister and that’s when the realization hit, the “She” was my mother. Mai Kamu was gone. I walked on into the house and lo and behold the coffin was right there in the middle of the living room.

I remember going to her bedroom because I thought it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true could it? I had seen her just a few weeks back. She wasn’t in the bedroom, nor the kitchen, nor the toilet. She was in the coffin. I was numb. I couldn’t believe that was it. I couldn’t believe I had gone away for the holidays. I couldn’t believe I had said tichaonana kana Mwari vachida and most of all I couldn’t believe Mwari vanga vasingade.

The funeral is kind of a blur but I remember the speeches people made had the same theme, she was a woman who loved God and people. She was a woman of faith. She was passionate about the things of God. I also remember how my brother cried loudly when the coffin was lowered into the ground and reality hit which is actually inaccurate. Yes it’s inaccurate I am the one who did that but I only found out 16 years later that it was actually me.

For a long time what I remembered the most were my last words to my mother. I asked myself whether God really didn’t want me to see her again. It hurt me so much because I never got the chance to get to know her. I never told her I loved her. I never got to experience her like other people did. I blamed myself for a while. Then blamed God and I was angry at him. 

It took me until I was an adult to really come to terms with it. 

The truth of the matter is that we are all going to die. What we can do is make the most of the time we have with our loved ones because we don’t know how long we have with them. It could be our whole lives or it could be just a few years. Make that time count. I now appreciate the few years I spent with Mai Kamu my mother. I learned love firsthand from her. I learned the importance of prayer and faith in God. She went out of her way to make me happy so many times given how stubborn I was. I thank God I had those 9 years to love her and to be loved by her.

  An ode to my Mama

I could have loved you, Mommy. But I never got the chance. Now I can only love what could have been. An idea, an abstract based on the memories of those who knew you. I can only love the thought that you loved me so dearly.

I can only love the mother I know you would have been to me. The mother you were to the others. I wish I knew what love was back then. I would have told you that I loved you and I couldn’t wait to see you when I got back.

They say I look like you. Some even say I sound like you. What I would give to remember what you sound like. What I would give to sing with you again. What I would give to get a chance to tell you I love you.

I miss you, mama. I miss what could have been. I miss the conversation we would have had. I miss the bond we would have shared. I miss the mother I never got to know. 

I miss you.