It all started when I was in Class 8 when
Dad and Mum broke the news that Mum was suffering from breast cancer. I couldn’t
believe it at first and kept on thinking about it. I got sick and was admitted
for two weeks. I just had to live with it. When I was doing my Kenya Certificate
of Primary Education (K.C.P.E), Mum was admitted at the Nairobi Women’s Hospital
for an operation. Her breasts had to be cut off.
After some days, her hair started falling
off and so, she had to shave it all. She couldn’t bear it, she really loved her
hair but there was no option. She was a very prayerful woman and never lost
hope. What hurt her most was that she had to young children. One in Pre-unit
and the other in class one. One day, during the Visiting Day at my school, I remember
her coming with my grandmother, my Dad and my siblings. She couldn’t even walk
upright. She kept on staggering and saying that her head was aching. We didn’t
even have fun though she really tried to keep on smiling.
When they went home, I couldn’t concentrate
and I failed terribly in the final exams of that term. On the closing day, both
my parents came to pick me up. On reaching the car, I went straight to the
front seat to greet my Mom. Her eyes were red, she looked pale, she couldn’t
walk though she still managed to wear a smile and ask me about school. My Dad
looked different too. He was stressed and my results made him really upset.
First, we had to take Mum for Chemotherapy while pushing her on the wheel
chair. As Dad went to speak to the receptionist, we were left talking with Mom.
She told us things that we couldn’t understand. “The work of God is in seven days and soon, it will come to be known. You
know I looked like you when I was young. When you grow up, tell your children
about me. Know that I love each and every one of you equally…” She said.
My brother was already at home from school
by the time we arrived. We took Mom to her bedroom and prayed earnestly for
her. After a week with her, she started losing her mind and say strange things.
She could even occasionally forget who I was to her and tell me that she didn’t
know me. She was immediately admitted to hospital. She stayed there for a week
and then insisted on going home. It was on a Thursday when she arrived home at
around 10:30Pm. Along with her was a gas full of oxygen, a wheelchair, medicine
and diapers for adults. I freaked out and couldn’t bear any more. She then
called us her children to the living room and told us, “You know there will come a time when I won’t be here anymore and when
you come home and find that I am not here, just know that I am in another
country preaching the word of God” we were all puzzled and when we asked
for an explanation, Dad told us not to insist.
A Mass was arranged at home for her and it
was going on well when she got another attack. She would talk strangely and
call the Priest names. The following Tuesday, my Mom insisted that my elder
brother and I go to my grandmother’s place. We received a lot of encouragement
and comfort from our cousins there. On the
following Thursday, my Aunt came from visiting Mom and we gave her and grandma
a bit of privacy by moving out. We could hear them crying and praying. On the Friday
morning that followed, our grandfather took us home with a pastor. My Aunt
picked us and after we reached home, she parked the car behind the house.
First, they prayed and I could tell that something
was not right. They finally broke the news. Mom had passed on the previous
night at around 10:30PM. We cried hysterically. I had never seen my brother cry
that much. On going into the house, I met Dad and though he tried to be strong for us,
in the end, he broke down too. But we had to be strong for the younger ones. That was also
the time that I really came to know and experience God. A friend of mine walked with me
throughout the way until my faith increased. Now we are growing in strength
after a whole year of missing Mom.
It hurts me that we had so many plans for
the future and that people talk happily to me about their Moms where as I have
nothing to say other than memories.
