She Inspires Me

Today I want to write about 2 powerful women. Two of the strongest women I know. Two women who in my opinion, should have their names written in books of history for generations to come. These women inspire me. Not a day goes by that I don't think about these women, and what they would do if put in my shoes. On the days when I think HB turning his back towards me is temptation for me to smack his head with a chapati pan and plead temporary insanity, I think about these women. And I calmly hug him instead.

The first woman I write about isn't as privileged as I am to still be walking the face of this earth. She, at the tender age of 26 was taken from us... painfully... in a road accident... late last year. I write about the sweet inspiration that is Wanjiru Mburu. I don't know her personally. I never got the chance to meet her. But those that did, were blessed to have encountered such a bright ray of sunshine. She TRULY was a beautiful woman inside and out. I remember accompanying a mutual friend to her funeral. My heart screamed from within when her husband Andy walked down the aisle behind the coffin bearing his wife of three months. Yes, they had only been married 3 months when an accident brought to naught what I believe would have been a marriage worth emulating. I remember wiping endless tears when Andy rose to speak about his wife. "I knew that I was loved. Without a doubt I knew she loved me. We dated for 6 years. And those were the best 6 years of my life. And if God had told me before hand that she would be taken from me so early, I STILL would have dated and married Wanjiru." My heart pounded. Overwhelmed with the grief of love lost. Thoughts running through my head. What if that was me in that coffin? What would my husband say? We were also only days away from celebrating 3 months of marriage. Andy's soft voice rang through the microphone as he sang "I close my eyes, and I see your face, if home's where my heart is, then I'm out of place..." There wasn't a dry eye in the sanctuary. What if that was MY love in that coffin? What would I say? Would I talk about how upset I was with him because he wouldn't let me buy a new set of sofas and how I wasn't even speaking to him at the time?

I couldn't believe I was at another funeral. Crying not just for those we had lost, but those that they left behind. Which brings me to my second woman of inspiration. I have never left a church in as big a rush as I did on that day. The day they served a wedding cake at a funeral. I have never zoomed by so fast, ignoring all the friends I hadn't seen in a while that I would have loved to squeeze and play catch up with. It was July of 2009, about a month to my wedding day, and two weeks to Chris's. Yes, Chris passed on two weeks before his wedding day. Everything was set. Even the cake was baked and ready to go. There was nowhere else for it to go, so a very strong Grace, Chris's fiancee, asked that we have it as we left the service. I just couldn't. I just couldn't imagine having to serve my wedding cake and my fiance's funeral. My stomach knotted with empathy for a bride left at the altar. Not because the groom changed his mind, but because he really couldn't make it to the wedding. He wanted to, but he couldn't.

What do you say to a young grieving widow or widower? What words of comfort do you use? Someone please show me the verse in the Bible that will take their pain away? What song? What poem? How would I put my words so nicely together that they would feel like the world around them is not crumbling? He is in a better place? She is happier where she is? God knows the plans He has for you? All these are true. But spoken to someone who lost a fiance two weeks the wedding; spoken to one who lost  his wife of three months... the sound would outlast a resounding gong.

Then I realized what I could say to comfort these two. It came to me, much later, but it came to me all the same. I could remember to say "I love you" to the man I married, even when he doesn't let me have my corner sofa with a view. I could chose to pick my fights. Who cares whether I sit on a cold toilet in the middle of the night because he left the seat up. Is it worth two weeks of silent treatment? I may not even have those two weeks to make up for my sulking. I could remember to say "I'm sorry. Please forgive me" when I'm wrong. I could remember to tell God each "Thank you. We are alive. We are well."

Thank you Wanjiru, thank you Grace. You inspire me!