Dorothy Obubo
(Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal)
There seems to be an accepted phraseology amongst those who have lost someone very close to them, phrases like “I’m doing fine” “I’m okay” “I’ve moved on” abound when we reply to those who have expressed their condolences to us.
When people inquire about my mother and I tell them of her passing 15 years ago, they readily offer their condolences and ask about how I’m coping with it. 15 years is indeed a long time and time does heal wounds, but the words ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I’m okay’ always leave bitterly from my mouth. I feel as though I have done a great disservice to the memory of my mother to imply that her death does not affect me till this day. It still has a profound effect but it seems that for the sake of propriety and convenience I rather give people a curt reply than fully express the emotions I have about her untimely departure.
The death of a young child’s mother is a terrible tragedy, a misfortune I have sadly experienced. It is really as though a part of you dies with them, it is an abrupt cutting of a branch of your life, it is potential never developed, it is jokes never shared, celebrations never witnessed, weddings never enjoyed, grandchildren never seen, it is a promise never fulfilled, it is a dramatic shift in one’s life, a shift from what could have been to what now would be, and the ‘now’ means going on with your life without the woman who brought you into this world.
It is at milestones in one’s life that the pain is strongest, when I graduated and I saw my friends with their mothers, and saw the looks of pride on their faces knowing that I will never share that ‘look’ with my mother is a very bitter pill to swallow. I have my aunt, my grandmother and my loving father, all are people who love me greatly and have made me the person I am, but no level of familial relationship can serve as a substitute for one’s mother. It is not as though their surrogacy has not being sufficient, it has, and it is, but there is that ever present thought of "what if she were here? still present in the flesh with us", and this question remaining in my head invalidates the statement that ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I’m okay’. The memory of my mother still penetrates my mind today so I can never say I have moved on.
And they say time is a healer, and it is, a cruel healer. With each passing year I obtained new memories, I met new people, I had new experiences and each year I grow increasingly different and distant from the little six year old boy who had just lost his mother. I had moments when I was about seven or eight where I would begin crying uncontrollably in class because I missed my mother so much. And each year distanced me from these manifestations of grief and love that I showed when I was younger, and there was this sense of remorse that I seemed to be coping so well. It is as though there was no other way to show you loved and missed someone than to be in a permanent state of mourning.
But I’ve come to the realization that even though I spent six brief years with her on earth, she left an indelible mark on me, and with every good deed I do, I honour her legacy. When I look at the faces of my siblings and indeed when I look at myself in the mirror; I see her. I see her handiwork, her brief stint as a mother created such beauty. I know her short life was not a waste if her children can live diligently and God-fearing as their mother did. She left each one of us as permanent mementos- I am part of her, and she, a part of me. Therefore instead of feeling remorseful that I say ‘I’m fine’ or that I haven’t mourned her enough, I must realize that by living my life the best way I can, I honour and celebrate her life.
