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.
