You Went To A Funeral and then You Went Home

You heard some bad news from a friend, relative, social media, church or maybe in a gossip circle. However you heard, you immediately felt bad, asked how to help, donated time, food, money or prayers. Whatever you did, the family was grateful, even if they didn't say it. They were blessed by your gifts.

Life goes back to normal. The family sits on your heart. You pray, you ask, you follow the updates. You did what you could.

One day, you heard the really bad news: Death won and a family lost. Forever.

Once again, you prayed, you helped, gave what you could. Even if you didn't know it, the family was thankful for you, your help, your prayers, your love and your support.

You attended the funeral, cried some real tears, laughed some real laughs, enjoyed the memories of the one who is gone. Finally, you hugged the ones who lost the most.

Once the funeral was over and the day was done, you went home. Back to life, back to love, back to those who make your world complete. You went to a funeral, and then you went home.

We all lose, but someone that day, went to a funeral and didn't want to go home.

Someone that day, drove home to the couch, the bed, the house that is forever empty. Life is not like it once was and never will be again. Where there was once laughter, sits an empty chair. The couch is bigger, the blankets and pillows are extra. There are empty shoes, clothes, toiletries that might never be used. Bags sit. Drugs disposed. So much to do and SO MANY MEMORIES left to be remembered, processed and grieved.

Time passes and the wounds are not healed. Sometimes, life feels normal and OK. Then a birthday, holiday, celebration occurs and the loss is real all over again. Sometimes life is normal, and for no reason at all, the LOSS comes right back, like it happened again.

There is loneliness, emptiness and tears. "Public faces" put on a show, and comfort the ones who interact. "Home faces" are real, raw and honest. There are headaches, stomachaches and countless mistakes made all because the grief lives in place of the person who completed a family. Not to mention the questions, the hurt, the anger that sits because it is hard to face.

Days pass, holidays pass, milestones completed the grief lives, despite how the family looks in public. Remember, it's a face, a show, an act, it's not always real; however, it's not always fake.

When you go to a funeral, and are allowed to go home to life, remember that at least one person goes home to a new life that was NOT asked for, but handed to them. Give those people more than sympathy or judgement; give them an endless amount of time to grieve in their own way. For that one act of kindness and grace, they will be forever grateful for you.

Courtney is a mom, teacher, photographer, writer and dreamer. Visitwww.oursmallmoments.com.

Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart

My mother died of a broken heart. She did I tell you.

Never have I had something occupy 90% of my time like I have my mother's passing. By God were we played. But even the thought of her being in a 'better place' or our ability to get on without her hasn't been able to calm my aching heart. No amount of crying has dulled the pain. I look at everyone who's lost a mother and wonder how they are living so normally. How do they do it? Are they pretending? What is it that was so precious about my own mother that I cannot bring myself to think of her as dead? Is there a percentile of people who just cannot cope with death? Am I it?

She definitely died of a broken heart. She who had never been so much as admitted in hospital since she had my brother in 1988. It was too much for her to take.

I remember when I had my 2nd child through emergency C-section, my mother was so apprehensive. She and my aunt sat outside the theatre and nearly flipped a nerve when the nurse wouldn't let them see my son after the delivery. I was still in recovery. My husband was miles away in another country working. A nurse left theatre with the little man, rushing him to the nursery and my mother let her have it. "We have to look at him! We have a right to see him and confirm that he's ours!". Boy did she let a nurse have it! And see the baby, she did. She made sure to note all his features "Lest they decide to switch him with someone else's". I eventually awoke from the operation and was taken to my
room, my mother in tow. There with me, alone, she sat till I was fully awake and on till she was sure someone else would be there with me. She offered to spend the night, but I declined. My mother didn't drive. She was frugal. Choosing instead to use public transport. I was in a hospital in South B. My mother lived on Thika Road and it was about 7pm when she eventually left the hospital.

It must have broken her heart that night in that God-forsaken hospital. It broke her heart so bad, she chose to die!

Let me help you understand just who my mother was. She was quite literally EVERYTHING to EVERYONE. She sacrificed so many things to make everyone comfortable. If I had a shilling for everyone that's come to us with stories of what my mother did for them, I'd probably be heading toward the 1000 shilling mark. Not much for money, but in people, that's a helluva lot! And I thought
I was the friendly one. Mum visited every sick relative in hospital, sent money for every harambee, attended every graduation, wedding and funeral. We knew an unexpected phone call from her would probably end in us contributing to buy a church pew or for someone's chemotherapy. We were so used to it. She'd say "I have this much, how much are you adding for me?" And "I'm broke" was not something you'd say to her. "I don't have a job, and I manage my money in a way that I can still put away some, you what are you doing with your money?" That was the response you'd get. We soon got the hang of it.

If there's anything we learnt from my mum, it was to give. To give and give and give. To give even to those who didn't deserve it. Especially to those. I can count off the top of my head a number of undeserving recipients of my mother's giving. Those that she gave her life for and who later spent their years trying to bring her down in word and deed. And yet, she kept giving. One of our latter visits upcountry before she died was to bury a young man in whom she'd invested so much in... despite a sour relationship with his family. She practically adopted him, right to the end. All we got from them when she died, was a text to say sorry. But that's alright. Now she knows. Doesn't she?

In a moment of deep heartache, my mum decided she'd had enough. How much more could she bear?

In her moment of deepest need. When she needed someone asking the hard questions like she'd done for us over and over again. When she needed someone to reach for the bell or call the nurse. When
she needed someone to call her doctor and consult him on whether all was well. In the moment that she needed someone asking if she was okay, if she needed a glass of water or wanted to use the bathroom.

In that aching moment of need, we walked away. We turned around and went home to sleep. We put our need to sleep, before her need to have us there. With the promise that we'd return the next day to do those very things.

She didn't wait around to see us live up to our promise. My mother died of a broken heart. Alone.

Grieving Graciously

The other day I suggested to a friend that I want to write a book about Grieving Graciously. He laughed. Yes he did. His words were 'that one would never sell because grieving is seasonal.' I don't think he thought through his words before they left his mouth. Because he truly is a good friend. His words tore what was left of me to shred. In my usual signature way, I laughed back and that season of my life ended.

I don't think you can use a statement like 'grieving is seasonal' until you've truly been torn apart with grief. Losing my mum has almost literally killed me! There are days, I can barely breathe! I spend endless hours watching TV, numbing away reality and disappearing in a world created by the Bruckheimers of this world. I've made friends with Elizabeth Keen and Meredith Gray. I've beaten the system with Neal Caffrey and Raymond Reddington. I'm the Next Great Baker and the Voice. And when I leave the walls of my house, I'm good old dependable me. Sitting outside a theatre waiting for a friend to have a baby; everyone oblivious to how much it hurts to remember sitting outside a theatre waiting for my Mum to come out. Her finally coming out after a successful operation. And her dying an hour later.

When I leave the confines of my house, I'm a Christian. Not just your typical Sunday Christian. I'm the high-capacity-volunteer type Christian. I teach classes in church. I host bible studies. I pray and post bible verses and remind my life group to have their quiet time each Thursday. When I leave the dark hole that I've been in since 31.7.13, I smile. I sing. I pray. Everyone asks me how I'm REALLY doing, when they really can't take the answer. I smile. I say, I am well.

When I post on Facebook, I don't say how many times my husband has found me muffling my wails with a towel, sitting hopelessly on the bathroom floor. I say, God is good. I am blessed. It is well. Far be it from me that I should say what I really feel. That would be an indication of my spiritual immaturity, wouldn't it? Because good Christians believe in the happily ever after that salvation offers. "I loved her, but God loved her more". "She's in a better place". "It was God's will". Isn't that what we good Christians believe? Far be it from me that I should experience a pain so deep, that only my children experiencing the same pain would keep me away from actually killing myself.

No I'm not suicidal.

Good Christians, trust in God. He is Sovereign. He knows best. He has plans for good not for evil, to give me a hope and a future. Good Christians refer to Job's story to remind ourselves that we don't have it that bad. "At least she saw you all through school". "At least she met her grandchildren". "It could have been worse". (I know I'm doing all my fullstops and apostrophes wrong, indulge me). Good Christians don't quote the Psalms 115:3 "Our God sits in heaven, He does WHATEVER pleases him". That's my go-to verse you know. God owes me nothing! It's like my kids questioning me; don't I know what's good for them? I do IT for THEIR good.

But God played us.

God played us a good one! That He did. Oh my goodness were we played! I don't even think the death hurts as much as the feeling that we were played. A healthy, living, breathing woman, going from normal, to a fear of being seriously ill, to a confirmation that it's really nothing, to a routine operation, that was successful, to calling us all by name post-op and leaving her resting, to death. We were played. And that angers me just as badly as it hurts. And yet, it PLEASED God.

I'm broken.

But I'm a good Christian. I would be misrepresenting Him, if I said how I really felt. It would mean that I truly don't walk the walk. Reminds me of one of the first things a friend said in her bid to comfort me... "Why don't you question God when He does good things for you, and yet you get angry when He allows the bad?" If I'm going to remain a good Christian. If I want 121 likes each time I post something Godly that my friends identify with. If I don't lock myself in my room and refuse to get up and out and attend my weekly life group meeting as usual. If I don't post and share verses on whatsapp. If I so much as look like my hurt could be overwhelming me. If I use up my precious time with friends sharing about the pain of losing my mum.

The I would not be Grieving Graciously now would I?

A Tribute To Mom

Sometimes God calms the storms in our lives, but sometimes he just rides them with us. Either way, Blessed be the name of the Lord.

A couple of weeks ago, I was honoured to stand before and speak to a group of mothers' who have left or are considering leaving their full time jobs to raise their children. At the event I mentioned to those present that mum through our children drove all us children, all five of us, to school and back right till when we finished high school. She never missed a sports day, a swimming gala, a visiting day, a concert. Everyone present at the event gave my mum a standing ovation. Everyone acknowledged that we truly were raised by the best!

As I reflect on my mother's memory I am so blessed to have had her in my life. She was my special blessing, she showed me what real love felt like and looked like. If no one else ever loves me in this life, I know that I have been blessed to have felt love.

The day my mom passed on was a day such as this. Nothing out of the ordinary. Joe checked her into hospital at about 10.00am in the morning. My mother was a stickler for time. Unfortunately, I have never been. By the time I got there Joe and Mum had already been admitted and booked into a shared ward with three beds. We walked her there and put her neatly packed set of bags into the drawers and sat on the bed waiting. A nurse walked in and we all looked at her expectantly as she marveled asking “Kwani nani ndiyo mgonjwa hapa?” I suppose to her we all didn’t look quite like her usual patients. Mom giggled in her usual humility and said “Ni mimi”. The nurse, who by the choice of God shared a name with me, Janet, brought her the hospital attire. The last time my Mom was in a hospital gown was in 1988 when she had Joe; obviously she couldn’t figure out the gown, and I helped her get it done. Noting her discomfort, I poked fun at her. I said “Eh Mum, of all the uniforms they could give you, they chose Milimani Primary?” In reference to the brown gown. We had a good laugh. Joe who was chatting with my elder brother Ronn on whatsapp took out his phone and started taking pictures of us. At that point, mum leaned over the curtain and greeted the lady in the bed next to hers jovially “Habari Ya Jirani?” The lady who seemed to be in a lot of pain managed a smile and responded “Mzuri!”. A little while later, I thought that she may get cold and decided to run down to my house to get her a pair of socks and an extra blanket. As Joe and I left to make a quick dash to the house, my mum asked us to fetch her bible from her bag for her to read while we were away.

So we went to fetch some socks and those who know me and my mum, must be smiling now. I take pride in having the largest collection of brightly coloured, odd-looking socks on this side of the continent. So even I had a difficult time deciding what my Mum would approve of from my collection. Still, we settled on a long pair of warm green socks for her and returned to the hospital. We found her just as we left her, soaking in God’s word.  I showed her the socks expecting her usual reaction of near-embarassment, but instead I got a huge smile, a thank-you and a “These are nice socks! Can I keep them?” Joe and I looked at each other in amazement. Sue joined us after her shift and the fun continued. We ate chips hoping not to get caught and laughed about everything under the sun.

At about 3pm a nurse came in to take her stats and prepare her for theatre. At that point she began to ask us to remain united, to stay strong, to keep praying… and she handed me a bag and asked me to take good care of it and only to open it incase of an emergency. We all dismissed her with our usual banter “Eh Mum, you’ll outlive all of us, you will be fine. You will still be here for Noa’s wedding”. Still she continued. She spoke of how happy she was that she had spoken to Ronn that morning. She spoke about how she wanted our graduation pictures hang on the dining room including precise instructions on how to arrange them. She spoke, we listened, but we didn’t hear.

Eventually the time came for her to go to theatre. Sue said a prayer and followed her to as far as they would let her. After that we had the longest wait of our lives. A few of our friends and our Aunty Sellah came to keep us company and we dulled our anxiety with endless stories. The surgery was to take 2-3 hours. After 4 hours, we began to worry that something could have gone wrong and we sent Sue to find out. She came back with the best news ever. The surgery had been a complete success and Mum had actually been in recovery for 2 of the four hours we’d been waiting. She was soon wheeled back to her bed and we went in to see her. She called each of us by name, all seven of us, and greeted us. Even in her pain, she was hospitable. She told us that the surgery was a success and we rejoiced with her. Because she was heavily sedated, we thought it best to allow her to rest. Joe said a prayer and we left her in the best hands we could – in God’s hands.

You can understand our absolute shock and devastation when the hospital called us at 1.30am in the night to let us know that Mum had passed on an hour after we left her. I have walked through the events of that day in every still moment since she passed on. I have cursed the day we walked into that hospital, I have cried bitterly at the thought that in my mum’s moment of weakness, when she needed me the most, I chose to go home and rest. My mum, who had been there for us all our lives, left this world on her own. Like Jesus at the crucifixion I literally have descended to hell.

PAUSE.

But I have refused to remain there. Mum left this world on Her terms. Only someone who walks that closely with God, gets to leave this world on their terms. I know for a fact, that when we walked out of that hospital, God showed Himself to her, and He asked her if she was ready to leave this world. I know for a fact, that Mum thought about all of us, her mum, her siblings, her children, her grandchildren, she knew we’d be fine and she said Yes Lord, let your will be done. And He in turn peacefully carried her into eternity.

Kazi ya Mungu haina makosa. The Bible that my mum loved so much says in Isaiah 57: 1-2 The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart, the devout are taken away, and no one understands

that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. 2 Those who walk uprightly

enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death. If you look at Mum right now, you can tell she is at peace, at home, she has found rest.

We may not have been prepared, we never thought it would happen, definitely not this soon, but Mum was more than prepared. And just so you understand just how closely she walked with God on the eve of her passing she wrote us a note and left it on the desktop of her computer where she knew we’d find it.

She also made sure to leave us accountable to the people she felt wouldn’t mind having us in their lives. The people who have held us when the grief threatened to overwhelm us, who have been present with us throughout every stage of mourning our beloved, even when they themselves had every right to mourn. Like Jesus on the cross gave his Mother a son and his beloved disciple a mother, mum gave us over to the people she loved and trusted. Aunty Pam, now, like your mother, you have nine children. Uncle Josiah and Aunty Sellah now you have ten. Mum knew you were upto the task, and we trust her judgement completely.  But you can be sure you have it easy. She already did all the work. She has handed over a finished product. We are good children. We were raised by the best!

Her final words to us (and that I now leave you with) were (and I quote): Despite everything, God is the father to the fatherless so to Him I leave you. Be strong in faith, live together in harmony. Do what you think will bring glory to God. Give towards God’s work and please shame the devil. Consult widely among yourselves and when it gets tough, go on your knees and pray.

She rests. The strongest, most loving, blessing we have received from God peacefully rests. And we give all thanks, all praise, and all glory to God for his perfect plan. Kazi ya Mungu haina makosa.

Amen.

How To Comfort The Bereaved

As I recover from what has been a living nightmare that was August 2013, I just need to write this down somewhere so that I never forget what to say or not to say to people that are bereaved. It's important. It must be done. So here goes. It's an article I found online and I've quoted the author at the bottom.

How to Comfort Someone

When a friend loses a loved one, our hearts ache for them. We want so much to comfort, soothe and make things better, yet we end up sputtering out the wrong words because we don’t know what to say when someone dies. “We’re trained not to discuss death,” says grief expert John Welshons, author of Awakening from Grief. “On top of that, we’re uncomfortable with silence, crying and sharing someone’s grief, so we try to fix grief instead.” Not only does that approach not work, but choosing the wrong words can cause more pain. Here’s why these nine common statements are particularly hurtful to grievers.

  You must be strong now. People need to fully express their grief before they can heal. Telling someone to pull herself together quickly isn’t helpful. “When my mother died when I was 12, everyone said, ‘Be strong. Take care of your dad,’” recalls David Kessler, co-author of On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, MD. “They were all well-meaning, but what I could have used instead was people saying, ‘This is going to hurt, but I’m here for you.’” When in doubt, says Kessler, err on the side of silence. Sometimes the best thing to do is simply be there. “My co-author taught me if you’re not sure what to do, just listen.”

  Your loved one lived a good, long life. Some people think when someone lives to a ripe old age, there’s no cause for grieving when they pass away. But “the mourner is likely thinking, ‘However long I had my loved one wasn’t long enough,’” says certified grief counselor Marty Tousley, author of Finding Your Way through Grief: A Guide for the First Year. Gratitude for that long life may come later, she says, but in the beginning there’s only the agony of loss. Tousley says it’s important not to gloss over that and give the person who’s grieving a chance to share stories about their loved one.

  Everything happens for a reason. When you lose someone you love, it’s difficult to agree that his death was part of some grand cosmic plan. “We have to be careful not to make assumptions, as everyone reacts differently according to their age, gender, personality, culture, value system, past experience with loss and available support,” says Tousley. She suggests skipping clichés like this and instead giving the mourner some space to find her own answers. If you offer words, she says, try, “I hope I’m one of the people who comforts you in the weeks and months ahead.”

  I know exactly how you feel. Even if you’ve lost someone dear to you in the past, you can’t know exactly how someone else feels because you’re not in that person’s skin. Besides, trying to make a friend’s loss relatable to something you’ve gone through takes the focus off of their needs and places it on your experience. It might also end up offending. For example, you may have truly adored your dog who recently died, but equating that to losing a parent can sting. “You can’t compare losses,” says Kessler. “We can be in similar situations, but saying ‘I understand your loss’ gets us in trouble because we could be comparing a big loss with a small one.” Kessler says we’re better off just saying, “I love you and you’re not alone.”

  It’s time to put this behind you now (or don’t dwell on it). Loss can feel fresh for a while, so telling a grieving person to just get over it can sound cruel. “People think you should be done grieving after a year,” says Lori Pederson, who founded IDidNotKnowWhattoSay.com after she lost her mother. “But there are times when I still miss my mom—and it’s been 19 years.” She says we have to respect a person’s individual mourning process and also understand that grief can rise up on birthdays and holidays and from other reminders. “Grief isn’t something you get over,” says Pederson. “It’s something you learn to live with.”

  You’re still young. You can find another husband/have another child. A tragic loss—such as of a child or spouse at an early age—is an unbearable loss, but in wanting to help the mourner see that she can be happy again, we may say inappropriate things. “I knew a woman who lost her husband, and her mother said, ‘You can get married again,’” remembers Kessler. “I saw a devastated daughter but also a mother trying to help her daughter live the life her husband would have wanted her to live. Saying the wrong thing usually comes from wanting to help,” explains Kessler. Instead of focusing on the future, help that person celebrate the memory of her departed loved one by sharing a story about that person, he suggests.

  Let me know if you need anything (or call me if you need to talk). Mourners are often in an altered state, and they aren’t necessarily sure what they need, says Pedersen. Plus, they may not want to pick up the phone and burden others. When Pedersen lost her mom, friends showed up and figured out what was needed in the moment. Some people may feel that’s invasive, but Pedersen assures that visits and support with everyday chores are appreciated. “Clean the house, take the kids to school and go grocery shopping,” advises Pederson. Checking in on a person, and just sitting with them for a while, can go a long way, too, she says. Welshons adds that when his sister lost a child, she said the most helpful experience was having two friends come over every day and cry with her. It’s work for you to think of how to help, but it’s work worth doing.

  I'm sure you did all you could. Although you may feel you should acknowledge the heroic efforts of those who nursed loved ones through illness, refrain from saying this because you don’t know the full details of the relationship. What if the mourner resented the care- giving role, had a strained relationship with the deceased or feels guilty for not always being loving with the sick person? “I’ve only said it in cases where I was intimately familiar with how someone cared for a dying parent or spouse,” says Welshons. A better way to express this: “I’ve never seen anyone care for a loved one more completely than you have.”

  He’s in a better place now. After a long illness, it’s natural for us to feel relieved that the person isn’t suffering anymore. But the friend who lost a loved one may not be thinking along those same lines. Plus, they may not share your beliefs on what happens after death. “When a mourner hears that, they think, ‘a better place for my loved one is here, so why should I agree he should be elsewhere?’” Welshons suggests allowing them to share how the experience feels for them. “This is something most people won’t give a grieving person a chance to do, yet it’s one of the best things you can do to help.” 

Laurie Sue Brockway is author of Your Interfaith Wedding and Pet Prayers and Blessings. Read more: How to Comfort Someone - How to Help a Grieving Friend - Woman's Day