I am convinced my grandmum did not want me to be there for her passing and also did not want my last memory of her to be her body without her.
It seems she felt she would not be able to leave with me present, and her love for me included sparing me from any view of her without a twinkle in her eyes.
The first time I learned she was ill, I immediately traveled to Sapele, and she got better immediately. It was like a miracle. She became so active again; I prayed I would have such energy in old age.
The next time she was ill, again, I was there. This time, it seemed like a grudging recovery. She seemed unhappy to be getting better, but the twinkle in her eyes whenever we were together was unmistakable. Oh, and she had gist for days.
The third time it happened, I was not informed early, and when I was, I hesitated to travel. The last visit felt like a plea from her to allow her to go. And go she did. Peacefully, without a struggle, hand in hand with her faith.
Nothing has broken me more in my life.
My mum was my first love, but she was not always present. At the start, because she was finishing university, later because of work.
But my grandma was always there. For my first 7 years. Ever present and ever loving. That love is still the source of my confidence. Her voice cheers me on to this day.
When I learned of her passing, the only thing I could do was go on a long run. Crying and running. Running through beautiful memories, with tears rinsing my eyes to get a better view. I ran for at least an hour, and then I went to where I knew I always met her: I knelt down and prayed.
I lost my appetite for days and turned it into a fast offering.
Then the burial day was announced. It was hard to get time off, so I just took it, because my heart could not accept that I would not be present for her final farewell.
Throughout the burial ceremony, I was given one task or another that took me away from being there for the lying in state or any open casket event. It was crazy.
I could only finally grieve when her casket was one with the earth.
My only memory of her was her fully present, uncomfortable to still be here but happy to see me. Always happy to see me. And maybe she is the only one who has ever seen me.
I don’t know why I feel she orchestrated her death and burial to shield me from a view of her that did not include the twinkle in her eyes, but I know one day I will see the one who loved me before I knew me and ask her how she managed that final act.
I love you, mama.
– Osasu Oviawe