Grieving Mothers: In Memory of My Grandmother’s Nurturing Love

On the last day of August, I woke up feeling weak and anxious, with a loss of appetite and tummy pain. I had been feeling this way since Thursday. I was set to attend summer school, but on the morning of my trip, I could not manage it. So, I cancelled the flight, wrote an email to the concerned professor saying I was unwell, and booked an appointment with the doctor. But I was not in physical pain. Really? I could not quite grasp it. Since God had impressed on me to take time to pray and eat less that week, I remember praying that He would show me the reason why I had to cancel the trip, which I had been looking forward to since May. At the same time, I remember asking the Lord, “I can’t hear or understand You clearly this week.”

On Sunday, when I woke up, I told my girls that I would not attend church with them because I was not feeling well, but I couldn’t understand why. I prepared them and packed fruits, vegetables, and bread, which I rarely do, as there is usually enough in church. After they left, my younger daughter forgot her sweater, which I took to her.

Coming back to the house, I found three missed calls from my follower sister. As I was trying to return the call, my other sister rang. All I could hear were people wailing, crying, and screaming, so I knew something was terribly wrong. I kept asking, what is it? What is it? Then I heard the words, “Shushu wa Meru amekufa”; my maternal grandmother from Meru had died. Energy left me. I don’t know what I did next, but I found myself lying on the floor, holding my tummy, screaming. I was alone in the house, moving from the sitting room to the bedroom. Oh, my grandmother has died.

She was not just my grandmother but the woman who raised me when my mom was in college. I spent much of my childhood with her. All my early childhood memories are tied to her. Since I went to high school in a town close to her home, she would visit me, and I would go to her during midterm breaks. My first job was near her home, so I spent many weekends with her. My grandmother, my grandmother. How could this have happened? We just talked last Sunday, and you were so full of joy.

I had just felt led to buy her a smartphone so we could talk two weeks ago. I remember my mom, whom I sent, saying maybe we could buy it another time since the shops were almost closing, but I insisted she go back just before they closed. That same Tuesday, I felt led to pay for her caretaker. It was the first time I had ever offered, since her children had always done it. Because the caretaker had a school-going child, I paid two months upfront. I told my mom I was covering September and October, but September never came.

I am mourning a key mother figure; she is the one whose love I truly identify with, and her home has always felt like home. Three months ago, I even told friends, my parents, and siblings that when God calls me home, I want to be laid to rest at my maternal grandmother's home since it's my true home. Three days before our last conversation, I felt led to include stories of grandparents in my blog, and I even drafted one. I also wanted to hear her motherhood stories, since she lost an infant who followed my mother.

But one sad thing I remember is that three months ago, I asked a close friend to record a documentary with my maternal and paternal grandparents, and they were to start with Meru but life got busy before that was dine. The friends who mourned with me that day supported me by staying with the kids and bringing them back when they were ready for bed, fed, showered, brushed, and played out. They also told me not to give up I can now have pass her legacy. When they came, I even apologized for calling them while wailing and wanting to be alone, but they reassured me I had nothing to apologize for.

Of course, during grief, I am realizing one lesson is to accept what you thought you could do. I wish I had been there to spend more time and not just say goodbye when she was absent in body. I mourn, but I do so with hope, since my grandmother loved the Lord, and that gives me my ecumenical connection with Presbyterians.

This week I want to honor grandmothers who mother us and have a significant impact on how we do motherhood. Interestingly, it feels like I had already begun the night before she died; my elder daughter asked me about her childhood. I told her about all the people who visited when she was born. For the first time, I also told her about my grandmother’s visit from Meru. She spent two days traveling by public means. I even told her that her baby cot was bought with much of the money my grandmother gifted me when she was eight months old. She came loaded with farm produce, shopping, and ucuru wa mukio (traditional porridge, which she always made sure I received whenever anyone left her home). I had also told two of my colleagues about her, since she called while I was with them the previous Sunday. That was her last Sunday and the last time I talked to her.

Today’s blog focuses on grieving mothers, as this deeply affects our ability to mother. I also have a story from a mother, my age mate, who lost her mom. And on Sunday, even before I knew of my grandmother’s passing, she said she wanted to share how much she longed to learn from her mother, a retired nurse and mother who died when her second baby was just two months old.