Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Making: Time. I am constantly struggling with time for all the things, people and tasks that I need to give attention to. Due to grief, my prioritization skills are seriously lacking right now. I suspect the end of last year brought on another bout of undiagnosed burnout. I have learnt that grief generally disorganizes me for two years at most. I think we need to discuss grief with all the spectrum of emotions that it comes with, it is not just deep sorrow or drowning sadness. It can include a cold numbness, raging anger, forgetfulness, depression, anxiety and hopeful denial. My gut tells me it must vary from person to person depending on what type of relationship the deceased left them with. Overwhelmed, is the one experience 2020 came heavy with, and followed me right into 2021. My leave has allowed my mind to start clearing A LOT of mental clutter. I can now safely and successfully work on time management, renewing boundaries and getting my priorities straight in all areas of life.
Drinking: Water. One litre of water every morning after breakfast.
Reading: Honestly, I have gone off reading right now. I have several new good books around me but I am not interested. For the next taking stock I might be back to my bookworm ways but for now we are on hiatus...
Playing: The Royal Family Dance Crew and Paris Goebel fascinates me. At such a young age she was choreographing dance moves for Justin Bieber, Ciara, Jennifer Lopez, Rihanna and Janet Jackson. It got me thinking about all our favorite music videos and live performances...Do we know and appreciate the people who put in the work to create the fun and entertaining experience we all enjoy? I don't think so.... She is a star!
Wishing: No wishes for now.
Enjoying: Lovecraft Country, The Rebel Princess, The Sword and the Brocade and Sunshine of my Life. I think I shall write about some of them on the blog... watch this space.
Writing: Blog posts , a fellowship application and about to start that journaling exercise I wanted to get to.
Loving: Fake nails by Elegant Touch. The patterns are so cool and it only takes away 15 minutes of your life.
Eating: Am I eating anything interesting? No.... just the usual... I am cooking up a storm, not quite so sure how that happened ... the pandemic has really changed things...lol....currently meal planning for the fish defrosting in the kitchen.
Needing: I just took leave for 7 days. I did nothing, except sleep, eat and watch You Tube. My brain needed to reset, I was losing my grip on things as I mentioned earlier. I feel re-energized and ready to start again. So that was the one thing I was needing.
Wearing: Sunscreen. I wear this one. It glides onto my body and leaves no white or greyish tint. I don't strictly re-apply every two hours but I have joined the protect your skin bandwagon! Apparently the ingredients of sunscreens and whether they actually do what they do is a great debate....Interested? Watch these videos by Hyram, Dr Alexis Stephens and Lab Muffin Beauty Science to learn more.
Knowing: That I need to improve my overall fitness... I am committed to five days out of the week now. I am trying out beginner abs, upper body, arms and leg workouts with Madfit and various other channels for one hour.... Update on the blog about this coming soon.
Thinking: Trying not to allow my mind to get the best of me by going off on the anxiety- inspired- thought-fueled -tangent train. Ten minute wind down yoga sessions with Adrienne are a REAL blessing! Please do try them.
Giggling Over: Hello Mr Gu. I like the style of the this drama, I have found myself laughing out loud in the middle of the night many times.
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| Jinja, Source of Nile, Uganda |
2019 you were a tough but a much needed defining year for me .
You are the building of the steady foundation for what is to come.
You have assured me that I am ready to take many adulting steps in the next few years.
2009 to 2019, you've been a monumental decade for me too!
The last ten years have taught me about people,
and the importance of all the different types of relationships in my life.
Life has really engaged and challenged me.
This decade made me realize that my parents were my first loves,
and theirs was the only approval that I ever needed.
I am extremely grateful that I was there near the end of their lives
And that I got to take care of them,
and show them how much I love and cherish them always.
My siblings will continue to be my biggest supporters and critics,
Those bonds can't be broken.
My friendships require just as much work as any relationship.
Where would I be without the ladies that make me a better woman?
Career-wise, I have worked hard, courtesy of my parent's teachings,
I remember my dad accusing me of being a workaholic once,
And I cheekily told him, " I learnt it from you".
As much I have worked,
I find joy in building my skill set.
I can't say it enough on this blog but I love creating.
This decade I have made videos, taken photos, blogged and painted!
Activities I thought would be banished to my childhood forever.
God has been persistently reminding me not to be a Debby Downer, I must thrive fantastically too.
This year I lost my beloved Dad
and the way my colleagues and friends rallied around me and my siblings,
left me speechless,
I was surprised and touched by their support.
People...
this decade was about me navigating and appreciating people and relationships
I need my people.
Even though sometimes I want to hide in a forest as a hermit,
and avoid all interactions...
I need my people.
But also...
my people need me.
So goodbye 2019
Here's to 2020!!
End of the year again.
Here we are.
This was really Dad's holiday.
Mum's death anniversary also falls in the month of December.
She was all about that well decorated Christmas tree.
He was all about the festivities.
This is the first of many without them both forever.
I wonder if we will keep their Christmas traditions alive...
I wonder if we will be able to stick together...
A sense of quiet follows me around this year.
I am solemn, reflective and numb at the same time.
Also...
I feel tired.
But we all know that's not new.
I am looking forward to simple things this month like,
driving through the empty roads & and streets of Kampala,
singing hymns at mass,
hearing the nativity of Christ again,
staying in bed longer,
watching my nieces and nephews dance around the Christmas tree,
and laughing with my siblings and their partners.
Simple things will make the season for me, and for us.
Merry Christmas, and thanks for dropping by.
What simple things are you looking forward to this season?
Some people will not understand until you crush them.
Some people will not behave until you crush them.
Some people don't understand any other language but being unmercifully crushed.
So that is what we will do Dad,
we will crush them.
They don't know that you taught us how to be cold blooded too.
We will crush them into nothingness
and scatter them into oblivion.
Dear Dad,
I was meant to write something profound,
but you know how these things go, words have failed me.
Please excuse all grammatical errors I know how much those things annoy you.
This is a blog so we don't take these things so seriously here. I write as I would speak it.
I just realized I never showed this space to you,
but I know that you knew that I was always writing.
This is not the usual way we communicate, me and you,
yet I feel like I must write this,
not so sure how to go about it though...
I never mastered the courage to write to Mum;
never knew how best to start.
Once she was gone I realized just how much I needed you both.
So now you have passed, I am prepared for the widening hole.
I didn't want you to go, but I have accepted because I want you to go peacefully.
Go peacefully with all our love, prayers and support.
Your loving daughter,
Maria.
photo credit: unsplash
Pinks roses, baby's
breath and yellow carnations in a cute little bow peep basket,
hand delivered by
Jjuuko's Flower shop on Monday morning.
There's a tiny note
attached from ever persistant Charles
'Mama' Helen the
elderly receptionist smiles at Martha.
"Beauuuuuuuutiful!"
she chuckles as she hands the basket over.
You don't seem
excited?" she prys;
Twenty five year
old Martha dashes up the polished marble stairs of the accounting firm,
balancing herself as
best as she can in her purple pumps and a sleek black dress.
She is pleading with
the universe to allow her safe passage to her desk unnoticed.
But the universe duly denies
her request.
She bumps into Agnes
on the second floor.
"Have you seen
Kirabo, I need her input for these PSA messages? Oooooo... those look lovely,
Bambi enjoy it,"
She romantically sighs, "once you are married
those things stop
happening."
At her desk, Martha quickly glances at the
note, before hiding the flowers
in the cabinet.
Charles must have
copied a line from brainyquote.com
He calls at lunch
time.
On their first date he
told her,
“When I see something
I want, I just have to get it!”
He never beats around the bush.
"Did you get the
flowers? You're not replying my whatsapp messages."
"Oh sorry, been
busy all morning, not had time to check my phone" she lies.
There is a long pause
She can feel his stifled
disappointment through the phone.
"Thank you!"
She says, trying to sound upbeat.
Her eyes quickly run
through his fifteen unread messages on her phone.
The skin around her
nails is pink and distressed from her picking them throughout the morning
A teeny bubble of
dried blood has formed at the base of her middle finger nail.
"Listen...I'll
call you in the evening. Thank you so much once again," she hangs up.
"Shouldn't I feel
something for Charles?" She wonders.
But she feels nothing
There is nothing in
the pit of her stomach.
If she marries Charles
their lives are set.
Jobs, money, houses,
their off spring in the right schools etc...
Her Ssenga introduced him to her in January at a kwanjula.
The son of her wealthy
connected best friend.
"A match made in
heaven for you Martha,
He may not be
handsome,
but he's responsible and reliable and that is what counts in marriage these days.
Don't be like me Child...
For the fifth night in
a row your father isn't home,
I am alone,
scrambling for school fees for your brother in this God-forsaken economy. "
scrambling for school fees for your brother in this God-forsaken economy. "
Her mother reminds her
on her return home in the evening.
“Martha, are you going
to have tea? The flask is on the table.”
“No…Let me go shower.”
Martha leaves the
flowers on the kitchen table.
On Tuesday she asks
Ben to give her a lift home.
She is too
exhausted to struggle with public transport this evening
He cheerfully waits in
the parking lot in a turquoise Hipsum
As she enters the car
from the passenger side,
He grabs his tattered
dairy and a stack of old newspapers from the seat,
then stuffs them in the
back.
“Wait!” he panics
while dusting off some crumbs from yesterday’s meat pie
“Okay…..now sit.”
“But Ben, why is it so
hard for you clean your car?” Martha teases.
A friend since her
university days, she trusts him with her whole self.
He is book smart, with
a heart of gold, a very rare combination for an african male, according Martha’s youthful opinion
Last Sunday morning after church service he
surprised her by making it clear that he wants more.
As they drive, he sings
along and taps his hands on the steering wheel in time to the music,
After one hour
of crawling through Kampala traffic, bumper to bumper,
He gives her a mars
bar from a Shoprite shopping bag.
Ben’s sweet tooth
never lets him move anywhere without a treat nearby.
"What are you
doing on Saturday? Come with us to Entebbe.
A friend of mind is
opening a new restaurant."
"Maybe...I'll let
you know." She says while scanning through her messages.
Another hour passes before
they finally reach her home.
She is saddened
by her relief to see the gate.
The lighthearted
friendly banter between them
forever changed by that Sunday morning
conversation.
"I'll text
you." he says
"okay...thanks
for the lift, safe journey home" she replies.
But there is nothing
there for him too.
Nothing in the
pit of her stomach.
Her Mother is peering
from the window
"You'll have to
choose soon, you can't keep stringing them along."
Her mother secretly
likes Ben, but Ssenga persuaded her Charles is best.
"Sure"
Martha's says as she scampers up the stairs to avoid another lecture.
“You’re not having tea
today as well? You children think I just buy milk and sugar like decorations
for the house.”
"I have finally
seen more land I want to buy." Moses proudly announces.
Sharing a double
Chocolate Fudge Obsession desert with Martha at Java's Cafe Kampala Road
It's Friday evening. Every
young person of age is looking for the ultimate party plot.
Moses knows and has
access to all of them.
His mobile
phones are neatly laid out on the table as they eat.
Every now and then one
buzzes and he interrupts himself to pick up and close a deal.
They interned in the
same law firm two years ago.
Both assigned to
record keeping,
They would laugh &
joke their way through the long hours of strenuous paperwork.
Martha is wearing ruby woo mac lipstick which complements her
complexion,
Because Moses has
always liked shinny things.
An inside joke
between them.
She stuffs her mouth
with dessert so he won't expect much talk from her.
But he never has, a
peacock in a flashy suit that loves the sound of his own voice.
"I have a brother
coming from the States, would you like anything?
How about a new phone?
An iphone would be good for you."
She starts to reply,
but the sticky fudge has caught her tongue
and all the words she
had, are jumbled up stuck at the ceiling of her mouth
Last month he casually
informed her that it made logically sense for them to date.
"You're not fussy
and needy like other women, I need someone level headed like you,
it can work out
well for us. Just think about it."
The fudge loosens it's grip on her tongue.
But the words have all
gone.
She feels nothing
for him.
Nothing in the pit of
her stomach
He drops her home in
his silver Benz at midnight.
She doesn't want to go
to the new Snap vodka launch at Club Rouge.
As usual, her Mother
is waiting for her in the sitting room.
"Where did he get
the money to buy that swanky car?" she asks.
"I don't
know." Martha replies the smell of sweet fudge tangled in her breath.
"Those are the
dangerous ones, the Police will come in the night
and snatch him away as
you breastfeed your newborn.
Is that the life you
want for yourself?"
At 1.00 am Martha is
seated on the edge of her bed
The house is quiet,
everyone has gone to sleep
She welcomes the silence
She knows where her
heart is.
It's six feet
under concrete, buried with the body of Alan.
Her eyes glazed she
remembers,
the first time they
met at Malcolm's .
It is where all the
students went on Fridays after lectures.
His hair was freshly
cut
His beard was neatly
shaven
Tanya her university
room mate introduced them.
Their eyes locked
She was whooped, and
pleasantly annoyed by the cliche of love at first sight
"Oh my God, it's
true!" she thought.
The intensity of his
stare made her shy, as if naked
and deep down in the
pit of her stomach
a spark ignited,
sending warmth all over her body.
Afterwards on their
many dates & shallow lovers' tiffs,
delirious and isolated
in the magic bubble of infatuation
They planned their
lives together
What careers they'd
create..
The home they would
build together...
The number of kids
they'd bear...
"Five!" He'd
tease her "Maybe even seven!"
"We cannot afford
that much school fees!" she'd huff and fold her arms,
pretending she didn't
want to be touched.
But her body would
always betray her.
A year and half later
from the day they met, his sister Anne called at 1.00 am.
Rubbing sleep from her
eyes " Hi Lover", she joyfully answered,
thinking it was Alan
calling to wish her goodnight.
If he didn't have
credit on his phone, he used his sibling's .
Expecting his smooth
tenor voice, she was startled into sitting upright in bed by squealing.
Was he still at the
club?
Had Anne pocket dialed
her by mistake?
Then she recognized
the animal like squeals were cries of shock, grief and denial
All mixed in one.
And the bubble was
burst.
Stark reality came
flooding through...
In between Anne's
uncontrolled sobs, Martha heard words her heart refused to swallow
"He's
dead....He's gone....
knocked....knocked
off a boda boda
Why did he take one
Martha?
We told him not too...
We told him NOT TOO.
His body is cold
Martha,
Love is a REALLY powerful.
But is it's strength really that useful?
I don’t know. Romeo and Juliet killed each other. Didn’t
they send a whole army of ships after Helen of Troy? I hope she was worth it…..
I feel so defeated
saying this, but I must confess. I have let people get to me.
I have let the worst
possible people get to me. I have let them ruin a fundamental part of who I am.
The part that believes in love. I am at that
point in my life movie where I want to chuck the bottle into the sea and never
look back. Literally. Please God don’t send that troublesome two-timing lying
bottle flowing back……
What if it’s just too
overwhelming for me? Maybe I’m like a child who gets given chocolate/sugar for
the first time. I’m that child who got that sugar rush and run around the house
for a full hour afterwards. It was just too much for me! I can’t anymore… I don’t know how to be
patient, and hope I figure it out.
Either all my cards are on the table or they’re not… I don’t
know how to bluff!
“ But you are always too intenseFrightening in the way you want himUnashamed and sacrificial.” ~ Warsan Shire
I am not a poetry expert or that much of a fan but I feel poetry
should speak to your soul. That quote speaks to MY SOUL. It makes me sing gospel like Aretha
Franklin in my head … so I had to place it somewhere. Please bare with me as I chop,
dissect, mold, pound and cook the ingredients
of this story into a lovely meal of a blog post
for you. Forgive me for the sad aftertaste, I have yet to discover the right kind of seasoning to
disguise it.
When people ask me about grief, I often tell them about the
strangeness of losing my mother.
One odd moment still stands out.
I remember us. When I say us I mean my siblings, their wives
(soon to be), their children, and family friends who I consider siblings all
hurdled up in the masters bedroom upstairs, looking through family albums.
Theses albums were created by my mother. She always had a
camera. ALWAYS. Do you remember those
cameras in the 90’s? The one which required you to carefully roll out part of the
film. Do you remember the rewinding sound? Do remember how you had to try so hard
not to touch the film? That was my mum….. always prepared to capture that
moment; to capture those memories for the albums. It’s really a wonder she never became
a professional photographer. I mean she knew nothing about technology in that
way, but she certainly enjoyed taking photos of the people she loved.
So there we were all hurdled together, a day after her death
looking for photos to put in her funeral book. You know the one that has the
order of mass, the hymns, and a short bio of the deceased? Yes, that one. I am not sure how this odd moment occurred
but somehow it did. All I can tell you
is that grief is strange. Maybe it was
my mother’s spirit upon us , who knows?
She always loved bringing people together. She really was the
quintessential definition of ‘ home’. Anyways …two minutes into looking through
the albums, we started recalling the stories behind these captured moments ,
and before you know it we were laughing, the fresh mourning tears were still
streaming down our faces…but we were laughing. All those happy childhood
memories came flooding back, including the awkward moments where our mother
would pull out the camera and chase us down till she got her photo.
As we flipped through the pages, pulling out our favourite
photos, I had one of my famous epiphanies.
It was really special.
My heart is smiling as I write about these next few
sentences.
I figured out what my mother's legacy was.
Her legacy was LOVE
It was LOVE.
It will always be LOVE.
My mother’s legacy was her ABILITY TO LOVE. She LOVED hard
and she LOVED strong. I don’t know
anybody in my life who can LOVE like my mother did. That’s what they said at her funeral. They
said her heart was too big. They said people could wrong her and she’d still be
there. I don’t know whether they wanted to give the impression that it was her
weakness, but it stayed with me. People failed my mother. People knowingly
failed my mother multiple times. I feel like the world was always telling her
to seek power, to be vengeful, and ditch people when they misbehaved. She couldn’t.
It wasn’t her nature. She was loyal. Lord knows she should have been treated better
by those around her, and they know it too. Yet they want to make it her
mistake; they want to make it seem like she was flawed in that way.
"You can’t make a home out of human beingsSomeone should have told you that.” ~ Warsan Shire
When I look in the mirror, I see her. I see her cheeks. I
see her lips. I see my mother’s vulnerability staring back at me. I love all those things about my mother, but I wonder if they are things I need to change
in myself. I don’t know if I am as strong as her . I hate that when I break up with a boyfriend they never truly leave my essence.
I still love them despite all that they are. Which brings me back to the
question that I asked earlier……. Is the power of love really that useful? The
world keeps telling me that Love doesn’t win
Love. Doesn’t. Win.
I need to pack up my favorite fairytales and romantic
comedies, the ones that I had stashed away to share with my daughter someday.
It’s time to give them away.
I am so sad I am
coming to this realization. I have to
throw away that part of me that that was holding on to ‘love wins’. Is it a
just a concept? An idea that was constructed? One that stayed with us for
centuries until we thought it was true, like a really good myth, a story some
grandma told long ago.
There is no happy ending to this story, except maybe the
fact that I was able to write it, and now hopefully let it go.
"Grieve, so that you can be free to feel so meting else" - Nayyirah Waheed
Accept And Admit When You Are Broken, So That You Can Live Your Best Life
Thursday, 12 November 2015
So there I was on an island with a bunch of polite strangers about to read aloud my 100 word piece on “Journey To The Island”. Although I was buzzing off the excitement of how breath-takingly beautiful the island was, I felt a bunch of strange heavy grey emotions stirring inside me too. These emotions acted as though they were very familiar with my body and my mind, but for some strange reason I felt like I was witnessing their presence for the first time. In that tiny moment of reflection as I nervously put together my 100 word piece, only one persistent sentence kept making it’s way to the surface of my mind. “WOW, It’s been a rough life-altering four years. And now we’re here in this beautiful place. Are we really here or is this just a dream!?” Every other creative idea was blocked from my mind, except for these dominate emotions claiming their territory, and fighting for their release.
So I wrote. I wrote about how I felt and how I couldn’t believe that life had given me such a lucky break. Here I was in this beautiful house; this house that looked like the ones in the movies where the main character whisks themselves off to a secluded place for a much needed break from life. Everyone else in the writing group, stuck to what they saw along the boat journey to the island, but I wrote about how I felt free to feel for the first time. I allowed them to see that I was broken.
Each day of the retreat, I found myself delighted with every writing assignment I was given. It felt like a precious opportunity to hold up my broken pieces in the light, so that I could figure out how to glue them back together again. The relief that came flooding though after each session of reading aloud, gave my mind and body space to relax and have fun on the island. At night while listening to the waves, I would think of more ways to visualize and express what I was going through. I accepted that I was emotional wounded. I had been ashamed to admit it because I feared people would think I was weak and too sensitive. In the last five years, I had moved back to my home country, watched my parents relationship fully deteriorate, experienced two years of passive aggressive and aggressive bullying, and then my mother died before anything in our family was resolved. All that time I was trying to act strong when in reality I was emotional crippled. Some days I was angry, some days I was sad, but what annoyed me the most is that I lacked the motivation to do anything. For a whole year and a half, I faked it. People could tell something was not right, but I refused to allow them to acknowledge it publically. I told myself to buckle up, and that other people were going through worse, but it didn’t change the fact that I was hurting.
The best bit of the retreat is that I spent my first Monday morning not in the office, but by the beach watching the waves lap at my feet. During the four days, I ate. I ate unashamedly during breakfast, lunch and dinner because I had let go of the idea that I needed to be perfect. I accepted that I was sensitive and flawed and that is the bonus of being human. It’s was from this place of truth that I was able to write and most importantly watch other people enjoy my writing. I gave my emotions faces, I gave them their own personalities, and where possible I gave them their own life stories too. I accepted and befriended them while making them daring, adventurous and funny to my audience. It’s from my brokenness that I learnt to make lemonade.
Originally published on I Made Lemonade
I wrote this a year ago.....
What do your late night ramblings consist of? Please share by commenting below.
I’ve finally picked up the pen to write. It’s 2.41am. This nagging
inspiration is back again and it’s not going away. I’m choosing to write about life.
My life specifically.
Since I’m awake at
2.41am in the morning because of my life, let's make a list of all the things churning around in my head....
- I’m learning that my childhood heroes are flawed.
- That most people who interact with me judge me based on what they see, and not who I am inside.
- That I’m tired. Very tired.
- That I will fail to sleep some nights and the only person who understands this is my father, because coincidentally, he is also awake at the same time too!
- That I have this crazy notion in my head that I was born to write and no matter how much I ignore or discourage this thought my creativity will spew out in other areas of my life.
- That I am a creative person who just happens to be an introvert. I don't quite understand how this will work, but I shall play along with God and see what happens...
- That I must keep my mother’s legacy alive.
- That if you don’t love yourself it will play out in other areas of your life. For example, I spend my money recklessly and I dated a not-so-nice-guy #NoSwearingButIwishIcould .
- Thankfully, I forgive myself for dating him because I now understand the grieving process.
- Unfortunately, I haven’t forgiven myself for spending my own hard earned money on frivolous things.
- That there are awkward, painful and regretful moments in life and yet I’ve survived all this and woken up to sunny mornings to start the process of life all over again.
- That I love watching the bliss and wonder in the eyes of my nieces and nephews as they discover the world. I enjoy seeing how parenthood has changed my brothers and my sister for the better.
- Now that I understand loss, I take the time to appreciate small moments of God’s grace.
- I take time for quietness, prayer and meditation, because as an introvert I need that time to myself after a long day. Very few people understand this but that's okay.
- Oh and I also take time to laugh with my closest friends. And by the way, sometimes, yes… sometimes someone catches that bliss and wonder in my eyes too and it engulfs them and then they have to smile too!
What do your late night ramblings consist of? Please share by commenting below.
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