Love. Memories. Loving memories of all the times we spent together.
When the night falls and the tears dry up, that is all we’re left with. To cherish and hold on to as our source of comfort. Alleviate our pain and fill this void that death has left in our hearts and lives.
When my mother shared the news , she started with ‘sorry’. I stamped my feet, screaming No, No, No in defiance. My spirit rejected the news, my heart got very heavy and I was blinded. That last No led me to surrender… to the truth of your demise, the stream of tears clouding my vision.
I was defenseless and I wished for only one thing: to be home where we would all share the pain and comfort each other just like you would have done. Mother said sorry, but I wanted to be there to tell her it will be alright. I know how much you meant to her, to us. Amie is heartbroken. We all are.
It hurts. It is difficult to come to terms with this new reality.
It is painful to know that when I finally come home, my degree in hand, you wouldn’t be there to cheer me on as usual. I think of this and remember our trips to get me registered into Junior and then Senior Secondary school. My mother left everything in your hands, because to us, you were another Mother.
I draw strength from your words on those trips, where you never hesitated to let me know how proud you were of me. I think of the day I left home and how we held on to each other, unable to control our tears, as you shared valuable advice with me. I listened and I practiced. Now I’m almost at the end of the road and you’re gone.
I woke up today, but the pain was still here. The tears still fall. The void remains unfilled. I try to be strong, because it’s what you would have wanted. I worked hard on my dissertation today… it will be my gift of success to you. My concentration flickered a few times, but I kept on, encouraged by the loving memories I had.
I remember the amazing summers we spent with you in Mansakonko, watching you work and serve the community. You were the nurse everyone came to, for your infectious good spirit alone could make the sick better. We were always reluctant to go back to Kombo, because in your home we found love, warmth and everything we needed.
I remember our trip to Tendaba, the joy you brought into our lives, the patience in dealing with a rowdy bunch of kids excited to be free in that natural environment. You were a natural at giving love and making everyone around you feel comfortable and happy. You were the life of the party and when there was no party, you still made it feel like one.
As my tears fall, I am comforted by the visions of your smile and the echos of your hearty laughter. Death took you away too soon, Aunty Marie. Too soon.
I’ve tried to be strong, to stop crying, to pray for you instead. When it all fails, I turn to my words. It is through writing that I find peace. It is through remembering the many moments we shared, each filled with love, happiness and endless laughter that I find the solace I seek.
I write to come to terms with this. I write for closure. I write because God is the only one I can talk to right now and so I will ask Him to take care of you. I will pray to Him to forgive your sins and welcome you among his righteous servants.
You are gone from this Earth, but we are comforted knowing that you have only gone back home to Heaven, where you belong. The Angels will welcome you in their midst and you will share with them the many gifts you’ve blessed us with while we still had you. They’ve won you now, but we still keep a piece of you in our hearts, where you’ve always been.
Take your rest now. You have done well on Earth and it shall be well with you in Heaven, by God’s mercy and grace. When you look down upon us, know that we grieve but still keep you in our prayers. We will miss you.
Till we meet again, Aunty Marie Forbes. God be with you.