They're Right, It Really Is Hard To Say Goodbye.

One by one they stepped up on stage and gave their tribute to the woman who motivated them, taught them about life and fashion, who was there for them when they were making their way through high school and university, and was like a second mother to them. Some told of the fun times they shared, others couldn't hold back their tears because the grief was too much to bear.

It all felt so unreal. Yes, we were in church with all our family and friends, yes the flowers and programs were there too. Yes the casket with her picture on it was right up there, front and center, but it still didn't feel right. It wasn't right, it wasn't time, it was too soon. There was still so much we all had to do together, at least 15 to 20 years worth of stuff to do, she had just turned 70. But alas! There we were sitting in the front row, listening to tributes to our mom. When it was our turn to speak, Dad shared first. He talked about the first time he laid eyes on her and knew she was the one, then took us on a journey through their lives, up until her last days. He held it together pretty well and taught everyone a new word to describe his wife: Quiessence. Then it was my turn to read what my siblings and I wrote to pay homage to Mom, and honestly how can you summarize what your mother has been to you for the last 40+ years in one page? What do you share? What do you leave out?

Grieving is almost like a fingerprint, it's individual to each person who has gone through it. Some people withdraw, stay in bed for days without eating or drinking, and sometimes just lose the will to go on. That's what, we believe, happened to Dad. In the midst of all this, he was also battling his own health issues. However, after he buried the love of his life after being together for 52 years, and married for 48 years he probably felt he couldn't go on, and two weeks after we buried her, four days after their 48th wedding anniversary, his heart gave in and he went on to be with her. Death by heartbreak? Probably. True Love? Definitely!

And just like that, we were back at the same church, the same front row, only this time to pay tribute to Dad.

Then there are those who drown their emotions in alcohol, those who keep it all bottled up inside and try to hold it all together for everyone else around them. There are those who talk it out with family or friends, and then there are those who...well..write. Whichever way one chooses to deal with their grief, I don't think there's really a wrong or right way, because in that moment you just want to deal with that pain. Experts may beg to differ with my humble opinion, however who are we to judge how one deals with the loss of their mother? Their father? Their sibling? Their best friend? Grieving is a process. A five step process they say. To be honest, sometimes you can go through all five steps in a matter of weeks, and other times you can get stuck in one of the steps for a long time and not know it, and other times five feels more like fifteen steps. Grief counseling would not be a bad option too to help deal with everything you are going through.

Grieving made me question if what I was feeling, or not feeling was normal. How come I'm not crying? Shouldn't I be crying? Maybe I'm not a crier? I don't know! I've never had to deal with this kind of thing before. Is it okay for me to laugh? To go out and have a good time and just release? Or will I be judged? Afterall I just lost both my parents in two months, I should be broken, crippled with grief. I mean talk about a rollercoaster of emotions. One of my good friends who had lost a sibling some years ago told me simply 'be kind to yourself'. I took it to mean I should just let myself feel whatever the *bleep* I was feeling and not feel guilty about it. To take it one day at a time, and if today is a happy day, then be happy. And if tomorrow is a low, wallow in misery and listen to sad music all day while reliving memories kind of day, then that's okay too.

I remember a few days after we buried Mom, I was on the phone with a friend of mine who sadly had just buried her younger sibling just a few days before Mom. I think this was probably one of the most brutally honest phone calls I had had during that whole period. We talked about our discombobulated emotional state, some of the crazy, morbid thoughts that went through our minds during the funerals, and were so relieved to know what we weren't alone in feeling that way. The sights and sounds of the funerals, the surreal out of body experiences, and the constant thought that this isn't right, this isn't how it's supposed to be. We were supposed to be coming home for vacation, not for funerals. The continuous messages of condolences. Don't get me wrong, the love and support we both received was amazing and very much appreciated, but after a while it becomes too much and all you want to do is say "Enough messages!" Text me about the weather, what I watched last night, if I like Biggie or Tupac! Anything. Just please no more condolences. I think we were both going through the Anger stage.

When you lose someone so close to you, you start to ask yourself if you got all the advice and lessons you were supposed to get from them. Could you have called them more? Visited more? I keep trying to go over the tidbits of advice my mom gave me over the years, just replaying them in my head afraid that if I don't I'll forget them, and won't be able to pass them on. While at the same time wondering if there was more she needed to teach me about being a wife, a mother, a woman in the second phase of her life. I grieve for the shared moments my daughter, her namesake, will miss out on. Being spoilt by cucu*, sharing secrets with cucu, being advised by her, At this age she probably doesn't really grasp how much she's lost, but I plan to remind her often that she was named after one heck of a phenomenal woman. I grieve with my son, who misses his b.f.f. He got to see her every year from when he was born to when he was about eight, but they talked and video chatted often with her and guka* making plans for future visits, and keeping them abreast of how he was doing in school.

I'm still haunted by the cry he let out when we had to tell him she had gone on to sleep with the angels.

Loss, whether it comes unexpectedly, or you are somewhat prepared for it, still stings the same. I am grateful though that I got to say goodbye to Mom. I got to talk to her in the hospital and read to her. Even though she couldn't respond, I know she knew I was there and I told her it was okay to let go and suffer no more. I'm glad I got to spend some quality time with Dad too, and talk and laugh about the good old days. He told me about his and Mom's first apartment and how little it was, about life as a child during the colonial days when his father was a sub-chief. A conversation I'd always wanted to have with him, and was so glad I got to have it. I'm glad my kids got to see him and video chat with him so he could see how big they'd gotten, and get to call my daughter his 'wife'. She was so tickled by that too.

These are the memories that have gotten me through the last few months, and will continue to do so till my time comes. Along with all the memories and jokes I share with my siblings about the time Mom did this, or Dad said that. The silly stories I tell my kids about how Cucu whipped us into shape, or how Guka took us on trips and the laughs they get from learning more about my childhood. Talking about them with my hubby over a glass of wine as we agree that they left us way too soon. Occasionally seeing a flash of my mom's laughing face, or remembering my dad's impromptu grammar lessons. These are the things that will keep them alive to me, and their grandchildren. They say time heals all wounds, but I don't think you totally heal from losing your loved one. Time just makes it a little more bearable day by day to live without them in your life.

Now go and call your mom, dad, sibling, aunt, grandparent, uncle, whomever...and just say hi because tomorrow isn't promised to any of us.

*Cucu (shoh-shoh) - Grandmother in Kikuyu

*Guka (ɣùːkǎ ) - Grandfather in Kikuyu