Facebook link Published on January 12, 2020
Every detail for the Christmas party had been planned out and swiftly executed to the teeth. Christmas lights, goats for slaughter, food, tent and chairs were all in motion for the annual cousins gathering.
Sarah was entertaining a few guests from upcountry when the dreaded call came through. Being an early riser, she was just finishing up her laundry and mentally preparing to relax through the day, which never happened. This was two days to Christmas Day. After hanging her laundry on the clothe-line, she got back into the house, served breakfast and waited for her husband to join her at the dining table.
Lo and behold, her husband Mike had left the house twenty minutes earlier. He was awakened by their recently married son-in-law, Timothy who was crying on phone as he was rushing his wife (their daughter), Milly to hospital. She was unconscious. It was the unconscious statement that roused him from slumber. Without hesitation, he rushed to the gate and jumped onto a boda boda not too far from his house, with instructions ‘twende hospitali, kama umeme‘.
That neighborhood had only one hospital, a private hospital as the county government was yet to complete a white elephant hospital block project, left by the previous administration. With lightning speed, Mike arrived to a screeching halt at the hospital’s Emergency and Accidents car park section. His heart pounding faster than his mind and hand could coordinate to pull out the Ksh.100 he was being charged for the bike ride.
His first sight was a doctor in a white lab coat leaning inside the backseat of Timothy’s newly bought SUV car.
He needed no explanation as to what was happening. His high IQ quickly pieced together the puzzle. His his mind flashed back, seeing Milly’s beautiful smile at her wedding day, a few months earlier. Timothy was pacing back and forth behind the bulky doctor who was examining and resuscitating his wife. His hands held high on his head, as he fought back raging emotions of distress, guilt and extreme vulnerability.
Mike hugged Timothy tightly as he mumbled, ‘it is well‘; to which Timothy replied with teary eyes, ‘it is not well! In that moment, the doctor turned to them and said, ‘we tried our best but can’t find any signs of life in the patient.‘
It was an awkward moment for the doctor.
He was the one to break the sad news of death, a training that was never given in medical school. Was he to say, ‘she is dead‘ or ‘passed away‘. It was an equally stressful experience for him.
The car park area was not the perfect place for informing family about death of a loved one. A comfortably furnished space would be most ideal for such discussion. A Senior Clinician was needed to break such news and facilitate the onset of grief reaction.
All odds were against this trio (Mike, Timothy and the doctor). But such is life, it never prepares anyone 100% for fate. Both Mike and Timothy were anxious as to what the doctor meant by not finding signs of life in Milly, but neither was bold enough to ask if she was gone.
Either way, truth needed to be told gently to this family. The doctor’s mind and heart weren’t coordinating on a strategy. He braved the moment and asked who Mike was. On confirming he was the father of Milly, he held both their hands tightly, looked in Mike’s eyes with deep intent and said, ‘I’m sorry sir, your daughter is no more!‘ Timothy was first to react. He was in utter shock and his youthful age did not let him hold back a loud shriek, followed by an emotional outburst.
Timothy’s world was completely shattered.
On the contrary, Mike wailed in silence and looked away with a blank stare. His phone rang at that point, his wife Sarah was calling. By this time, a small crowd had gathered around the trio, trying to figure out had caused the outburst. Mike picked Sarah’s call, requested to call her back. Before he hang up, Sarah asked where he was as breakfast was getting cold? She heard his quiet sobs on the other end of her phone, to which she asked if he had a cold and whether he had a handkerchief in his pockets. Men don’t cry, they sob.
Noise and commotion on the background caught Sarah’s attention and she asked all manner of questions to try and figure out what was happening.
Mike and Sarah had been married for more than two decades and he was sure his wife could take bits of the sad news over the phone. Telling her he was at the hospital attending to their ailing daughter didn’t let him off the hook, not yet. Her barrage of questions, Is Milly responding well? can I talk to her? were such a bombardment against Mike’s initial shock reaction. Inside, he was fighting against vulnerability and breaking down.
As the phone conversation was becoming a monologue of unanswered questions, she dared ask if her daughter was alive. Mike went mute, as he was still in denial. The doctor was still holding his hand throughout this phone conversation. He asked Mike if he could speak to whoever was on the phone, to which Mike gladly handed the phone to him. The doctor introduced himself and asked Sarah who she was to the patient. He asked Sarah if she could come to the hospital as her daughter’s condition was very critical.
Simply put, it was a chaotic morning two days to Christmas. Phone calls started flying across relatives, friends, neighborhood, church members and work colleagues. This wasn’t Christmas cheer and banter, but the sad news of Milly’s death. Questions multiplied with each phone call, as to how untimely and unfair her death was.
Milly was at her prime in life.
She had just been married to a doting husband at a colorful church wedding. She left behind a distraught man and a suckling infant. Poor little one, she’s much worse than baby Jesus, who’s only misfortune was being born in a manger, with no crib for a bed and sleeping on hay.
If Milly had been sick or sickly for sometime, the shock would have been less intense. But sudden death whether by road accident, suicide, acts of terrorism or natural disasters don’t sufficiently prepare bereaved families for such loss. Life is fleeting and Milly got her share of slightly over two and a half decades with mere mortals. She now rests with the angels, as they say but a gaping hole is left in her immediate family.
At her funeral, tears freely flowed among the mourners, from the mortuary as her lifeless body was viewed to the burial site where the wreath is still fresh, beaming with morning dew. Her vibrant memories filled the tributes given. Everyone was full of praise for the sweet soul she was. Milly was full of life and there was never a dull moment in her world. Her bereaved husband now rendered a widower and their infant, left without a mother.
Milly’s father and father-in-law, were in utter somberness. Parents shouldn’t bury their children, it should be the other way round. Her mother had been overtaken by emotions since the phone conversation with the doctor. Her mind remains stuck on her beautiful daughter who she nurtured into a glowing wife and mother. Her brothers and sisters were overcome with intense sorrow. They cried out their lungs the week of mourning and at the funeral.
During this Christmas, her bereaved family faced the daunting task of filling a God-shaped hole left by Milly. Just how could they celebrate in a house of mourning? They were unrestrained. They expressed grief and continue to cry.
On Christmas we celebrate life and family, but not when death strikes.
Perchance, the author of the Christmas song Away in a manger’, wasn’t celebrating but grieving when he penned the lyrics; Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask Thee to stay; Close by me forever; And love me, I pray; Bless all the dear children; In Thy tender care; And take us to Heaven; To live with Thee there…
The story is my own reconstruction of the sudden death of a cousin. RIP Mercy. God took you from us, because you are His best. You are in a better place. Where you have gone, death has no sting and the grave has lost its victory? Till we meet again, at Jesus’s feet. Safiri salama
Joseph Ngaara is inspired by people’s life experiences. Do you have a intriguing life story and need a ghost writer? Email: j.mungai@hotmail.co.uk