A friend of mine lost her sister, and mehn, the toil it’s taken on her is unwavering. I swung by their home yesterday after my daily hustle and hugged a trembling human, her hands shaky and sweaty. Grief visited their home in an instant.
The pain of losing a young sibling, especially the lastborn in the family, is not one to explain over a cup of tea. Akello had saved money for a whole year, coin by coin, to send her little sister to do a Master’s programme. We were optimistic. I had thrown in my share of pocket money. Then she dropped dead, a hit-and-run accident.
Their mother has not moved out of the house since the news of her daughter’s death. God knows, the old woman has run out of tears. All her visitors see her from her room. A painful sight. And even more painful to understand.
The late Atim was the flower and sunshine of the house. She gave it immaterial life, she gave the parents purpose, she was the glue of the house, the prayer warrior, the deejay, above all, she was the reason people came to the table to break bread.
Akello and her sister had planned a road trip, but they had postponed it twice already. They hoped it would happen somewhere at the end of April. Why did we wait? She asks herself while clinging to my shirt. I keep quiet, the answers don’t come – shit happens, I tell myself. It is a terrible answer. It is also the only honest one.
I have long avoided grieving homes. I do not know how to comfort people. Save for people extremely close to me, I would rather send my condolences and pay a visit long after the deathloom has left. It is easier that way, to look into history with half a smile and a longer memory.
Atim will be laid to rest this weekend; her father has never left her side. From the mortuary to the vigil home, he has been there, seated by the casket, head down, hands resting on his knees – it’s painful, and he wishes it were otherwise, maybe him instead. On Thursday, he will join a mini convoy to take his little girl home to a place of permanent rest.
And so, I ask, like many other people, what are we here for? Then I remember, death comes unannounced, in the middle of very important programs, a day before a wedding or a day after you sign a life-changing contract – without announcing, it picks the next companion, and in its place, joy replaces sorrow.
I have argued that outside of death, nothing exists; no one has really laid a tangible claim. It is far more daring to live an adventurous life than to wait in anticipation within the very conformity that takes away every little joy in an impoverished life.
Live. Love and laugh, Atim always said. Wherever she is headed, I hope she finds all three.
