Grief

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted

My grandfather died when I was seven years old. I picked up the call that announced his passing on. I remember spitting out the half-eaten sardine sandwich in my mouth when I heard " Papa ti ku".
I never saw his body. We were not allowed to go to the funeral. My mother felt it would be too much for us to handle.

I lost my maternal grandmother early last year. I chose not to go for the lying-in-state.

I lost a first cousin about a year ago. Auntie Bunmi lived with us when we were kids. She was stylish and loved the colour yellow. Auntie Bunmi was 50, had never been married, and had just adopted an adorable but feisty baby girl called Deborah. She suffered from acute Sarcoidosis in her lungs. Her condition was  made worse by initial misdiagnosis of tuberculosis and of course, the wrong treatment. By the time she could get the right diagnosis, the damage had been done.

The day before she died, on a Saturday in September, she was at the airport, finally going to get medical treatment in London. She never got on that plane.
The crew noticed she was gasping for air and called her sisters. They in turn called my parents.

My parents did everything in their power - calling specialists, shuttling between hospitals - and finally, she was taken to Reddington Hospital. By the time she made it to the hospital, she could no longer breathe on her own. To alleviate the pain, she was placed on life support.

A day later, my siblings and I were sent away (we were forced) to have lunch. At some point, my dad came to join us. He didn't look good.
As soon as he left, we decided to go to the hospital to be with my mother. When we got there, she told us she had sent my father to us as he had reacted badly to the news. The doctors had come to tell them that one lung had collapsed and the other was filled with fluid.  While we stood there, they dealt us the final blow: Auntie Bunmi  was gone.

I remember being so angry. Not at God as I understand that in everything He has a plan. I was (and still am) angry at our healthcare system. It is barely functioning. Some days I get tired of hoping that those in power will actually do something - aside from meetings, conferences, seminars, papers etc - to fix the problem and I resolve instead to just pray constantly for good health. Let me never have cause to go to the hospital for myself or anyone I know - even my enemies.

Auntie Bunmi had been to many different hospitals and had seen all kinds of specialists. She was asked to do a number of costly scans. She was plied with medicine. She was given many different opinions and varying diagnoses. And every time they changed their minds, she believed them. What choice did she have?
One day, my mother, upon noticing how frail she had become, decided to visit her and ask her some questions. Auntie Bunmi reluctantly told her and showed her all the documents from the doctors.My mother came home shaken. She knew what she was looking at but she chose to believe that something could be done.

Auntie Bunmi could still be with us today as Sarcoidosis is a manageable condition. There is no cure but if diagnosed early, it can be managed well. By the time she was finally correctly diagnosed, Auntie Bunmi was running on borrowed time. In the words of the specialist, Dr. Johnson, " I've seen it disappear suddenly before. Pray. As a doctor, from all I can see, it's only a matter of time...".
We still don't know how she drove all the way from Igbo-Efon to the mainland the Friday night before she was to travel.

Recently, a number of people very dear to me have lost loved ones. I am almost bursting at my seams with emotion.

This is the third time this year. I remember every other time I have felt like this.

Sometimes, we are affected by the loss of people we never knew. The impact of the loss on a friend or family member's life is enough to transfer the grief. Their grief seeps into you and settles like a really heavy, bad feeling, weighing you down like a ball and chain.

To my friends, I offer this:
No matter the pain you are in, please remember the joy. Remember who they were, how they laughed, what you shared, and how you will never stop loving them. May the memories warm your heart. May God grant you peace.

And while we are still here, tell those you care about how much you love them. Do it often. Life is too short.