I drift in between numbness and bliss. The past two weeks have taken a toll on me, but they do not worry me as much as the next few seconds and days will. I had to take a break from writing to bear my grief. I thought all I had to do was cry and then it will be gone. You know like cutting onions, if they make you cry so much, you can stop before you shut your eyes and cut your finger. I was wrong and it is still with me. I lost my grandmother, a woman like no other whose will to go on after losing her husband saw her raise ten children, and behold thirty five grandchildren and twelve great grand children.
To many she was Monica, but to us she was NyarGiNandi. A woman who wore white, styled up in sunkissed hats and had the strength of ten men. She always talked about love and lived for this. Love your family and when you work give it your all. As a woman know your limits and go beyond them, tame your tongue and forge ahead. A woman should never stay down for as long as you can give praise, raise your voice to God and He will surely come through. She had those wise moments after midnight sitting on her chair, her radio beside her, her eyes slightly closed and her voicebox humming a hymn. She never missed a church service. God knows, I have missed plenty, but she prayed and prayed even when she was taking her last breath she was full of praise.
But, there is a certain kind of grief that defies grammar. It comes to me when I close my eyes. It came to me this morning when I scrolled through my contacts list and saw her number. Would she pick when I called ? I had to try, but even then I had two options, to call via Airtel or Safaricom. She wouldn’t answer, God knows she would were she alive, God knows she would laugh upon hearing my voice and ask me if I was eating well enough. She would then ask how my Mom was and tell me to love and take good care of her, then she would sign off by telling me God loves me. God knows. I’m not so sure how He knows, but it’s what I’m clutching onto at the moment.
So, I sit on one of the steps leading to my Mother’s house and wonder, just how special I must have been to have a beautiful soul for a grandmother. If she was mean I would not have missed her. In fact I would have spared her no thoughts or words, but she was love. She was class. Who else could only use the best body lotion for her skin? Who else got specialized sunglasses? Who else could love such a big diverse family?
I am taking time to find the words and with each breath give praise for having had the honor of being her granddaughter.
A beautiful gem, the most rare of souls. Love.