Grief is a house where the chairs have forgotten how to hold us, the mirrors how to reflect us, and the walls how to contain us. Death is always at the door pacing forth and back waiting for an irony to catch up with you, so, tongues of metaphors could be twisted in your mouth. I have always wished to punctuate the word death with a full stop but it’s like a mighty ocean drying, which can never be possible. Mother says in-between “When you have a close encounter with death, you’ll appreciate life.” I learned this the hard way.
Ever since Grandma’s demise, the smile once adorned on my lips got swiped in seconds. It was a Monday morning when the unmelodious scream of my mother rang bells in my feeble ears. Sandwiched in between my bible and textbooks, I jerked on my feet in the direction of this commotion. My sight was still blurry but I managed to scale through obstacles on the way, to be welcomed by the scene of my mother rolling on the floor with a slightly loosed wrapper, veins popping out, hands out of order, and eyes forming a small pod beside her. Dad stood aside void of emotions, nodding his head in different directions like a robot. My neighbours tried to get close to Mother but she recoiled at their touch like she wanted to seal herself from the world placed ahead of her.
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My younger and only sister of about six years old kept on wailing at the top of her voice that I could imagine how distressed the roof would be. I panicked! Who will I go to first?
I found it hard to assimilate all these until words of curse repeatedly filled the air, “May her soul rest in peace!”, “Death is a word that can never be understood!”, others spat on the floor alongside each curse rendered. I didn’t want to start comprehending anything.
I have to call Nana. She’s in the hospital taking proper bed rest away from stress, she will equally be treated with the utmost care and attention. Dialling her number, it began to ring on a table beside the bookshelf. This attracted everyone like a bee allured by honey. I got entangled in a cobweb of confusion. I summoned the courage to ask questions because I was confused. I tapped Mother harshly, she didn’t respond until the third tap. She looked at me with tears swirling in her eyes. She hugged me so tightly that I could feel my breath being squeezed out of my body. Father who stood still throughout the scene held my hands and directed me outside.
Grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door, that blows into the air at the slightest gust, and that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is asleep. I was just 12, in junior school, When the news of Nana’s demise filled the air. I felt a warm liquid in between my thighs. I solely refused to digest and allow the news to sink into my spirit, mind, and soul. My body began to tremble as fear gripped me. I screamed. She can’t just come to the world, and then go back without any notice. I was her favourite granddaughter. She always boasted about me even though I couldn’t measure up. What does faith have in store for me? Not only did Mother lose her precious gem but I lost my mystery box like I named her. Mother began to sit on her own staring at nothing in particular like an empty body whose soul had drifted away, she was lifeless. Mother breaks like dawn each new day. Sometimes, she would mutter some strange languages. I worried about her welfare.
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Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks and slowly soaked my shirt. My head began to ache also, I held my head tight. My heart shattered. I unleashed words of prayers upon her at night. Father said I should give her some time to recuperate. I still consistently requested Nana’s presence but my father strongly responded that it was no longer in his power to do so again.
Heartbroken, I realized Nana was gone forever when a grand burial ceremony was made in her name. I wasn’t allowed to see her body before she was handed over to the soil to worship. I sat down on her most cherished crooked chair. The deliciously prepared porridge made by grandma out of the purest love and affection, all the folktales she fed me about the tortoise at midnight before I slept off still fantasizing how it would feel being in a story world, all the advice and prayers she rendered on me, the moral lessons, warmth, and peace, I will miss them all.
Nana would take me on a journey to the village. She showed me kids my age who had been denied and starved of basic education. Stories and dreams are enclosed in the corners of their abode. Their dreams and aspirations could have built a gigantic house; she would mutter with a heavy face. I was broken and traumatized. I made it a priority, that soon, with my career, I will elevate poor children.
Sadly, Nana left without teaching me the technique of knitting a sweater nor did she tell me about the many mysteries hidden in her body.
Blessed are those who bless and curse you, she would end her prayers like this, but why should my enemies be blessed? As if reading the curiosity in my eyes- my dear, this society and its people know how to mold little children like you into pain, misery, and nothingness. Don’t you think if prayers are whispered for the bad they will turn a new leaf? If they don’t, still pray, pray like never before.
I always wondered how one person could be so full of wisdom. All these thoughts awakened something in me, I shivered. The colour in my life drained. I recalled when Nana said she would return to dust one day and become a twinkle in the sky. My lips curved into a smirk, I figured out all her proverbs and mysterious words as soon as she gave up. Can this life get any worse? On a Sunday, my family and maternal relatives went to church for Thanksgiving. Thanking God for the success of the burial and for sparing our lives.
Grief is a house where no one can protect you, where the younger ones will grow older than the older ones. Days passed, weeks went by, and then a month since Nana’s breath.
I later found out from my parent’s discussion that Nana had high blood pressure accompanied by diabetes. It is unclear what brought about the BP.
Mother slowly began to adapt. Father and I put in all our effort to revive Mother’s once enchanting smile. Each time she smiles, I look at Father happily like I just scored a goal. When Mother notices this she suppresses her smile. Grandpa tried to fill in Nana’s space, and although he wasn’t good at storytelling we appreciated his little effort.
Gradually, the death of Grandma drifted away from our minds but not our hearts especially my feeble heart. We hope that life will be good to us as we await a new beginning.
This Creative Nonfiction was published in the October 2023 edition of the WSA magazine.
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