It was early in the evening.
A short while after the sun had set,
And darkness had lingered.
It was that evening,
The one I never saw coming,
But had to come anyway because it had to.
I don't remember seeing the early star,
But at least it should have made its way up.
The moon wasn't there either,
Just dark clouds, clouds that
Stood out in the darkness of the night.
But it didn't smell of rain.
I remember mama coming inside,
She just got off the phone.
She didn't look sad, or maybe..
She just didn't want to show.
But knowing her,
I saw hopelessness.
For the first time,
I saw my mother's shoulders slunk,
She didn't look tired,
Rather, she looked defeated.
Like she just lost a fight someone else was fighting for her.
My mother, she just stood there,
I threw her a gaze, turned back, and stared at her again.
Something was wrong.
But I didn't expect her to tell me.
"GwaApete," she called out my granny's name.
And for a moment, my heart skipped.
I knew what she wanted to say.
And a strong urge in me wanted to stop her.
But it had to be said,
And she said it anyway.
"GwaApete okwa mana...,"
That's what she said.
And I chuckled,
Let out a little laughter, a quite laughter.
A giggle that didn't mean to giggle,
But it giggled anyway,
Because feeling what she just told me,
Was an option I was definitely omitting.
I didn't want to believe.
But there's always that voice,
In the back of our minds that keeps insisting.
Relatable... Huh?
I know right... But
Looking at my brothers mourn didn't move me.
And I kept pushing that little voice back,
To the back of my mind, because
That's were it belongs.
Realisation came in days later,
Guess who showed up?
My cousins, they came to get me..
Because apparently,
It was a service to remember her,
Our grandmother.
And I never understood because,
That was not the only day, she would be remembered, because,
Had that been the case,
Then this long, sad poem wouldn't have been written,
Taking me back and making feel the same feelings again and again.
The feeling of loss.
A burial to attend,
Because yet again sickness took another.
But this time, it was my grandmother,
Kuku gwandje,
My father's mother...
Johanna gwatatekulu.
An old woman, but not so old, because
Her waist wasn't bent
And she didn't need a walking stick.
But death called her away.
My grandmother.
Her box, was a white casket,
That carried her lifeless body.
Resembling white bed sheets that,
she never got to sleep in while she breathed.
Her box, a white coffin,
That made room for her corpse, because
That's the only bed that would rest her bones, because
Her soul is long gone,
And her carcass would soon decompose,
For apparently flesh is just dust.
Her box, as white as snow,
For apparently white is angelic,
White is holy, but yet again
My grandma's white box,
Slowly made it into the soil,
A rectangular shaped into the ground,
That looked just like a small swimming pool yet to be completed, but
This was my grandmother's grave,
A home to rest her cadaver for a while,
Because soon, it will only shelter her skeleton.
This is sad,
A sad memory that I can't lock away, because
That would be selfish of me.
So I remember throwing rose petals,
To my grandmother's box,
As it rests on the ground,
The ground of her grave...,
And for a moment it looked beautiful,
Until they started pouring sand to it.
'Ashes to ashes,'
A line the Priest say every now and then,but
Never seen to be tired of it.
A line that reminded me that,..... That's it.
That was my loss,
Reminding me that time is not on anyone's side.
And that those were our final goodbyes,
The last time seeing her,
But that also got me excited, because
I would never have to see her in that box again.
But that was only in my eyes, because
I still see my grandmother's box in my mind.
The sadest image, I had ever held for so long.
Grandma, Kuku,
We still holding on hope,
Taking care of the old guy she left behind for us, her soulmate.
And wishing that maybe someday,
Heaven would have visiting hours,
For me to see her one more time,
And get better last memories,
To not see her that box everytime, because
Everytime I think about her,
I see my grandmother's box.
©me.just.me
M