Recovery is not a moment. It’s a long walk. And sometimes, a wheelchair, taken together.
The Day Guka Came Home
There are moments in life when humour collides with heartbreak. The result is a story worth telling. Dad’s discharge from hospital was one such moment.
On his discharged (Dec 19), healing didn’t arrive quietly. It came leaning on three sons. Dressed in fresh home clothes.
Beard overgrown. Eyes distant. Body unfamiliar, even to himself.
We helped him up the stairs (of courage). One of his grandchildren, Joy (4), paused. Looked hard. Then, asked her father in disbelief:
“Kwani umetuletea Guka mwingine?” (Have you brought us another grandpa?)
She wasn’t being cheeky. She was being honest. Her innocent question sliced through the silence.
The Guka she knew joked, laughed, played with them, and remembered names. This one was frail, silent, and disheveled. He didn’t reach out to touch or ask how school holidays were.
Children see truth faster than adults.
From Hospital Corridors to Home Floors
Hospital beds are strange teachers. They teach you patience. Helplessness. Humility.
After weeks of fluorescent lights and IV lines, dad came home. Not healed, but held.
Supported up the stairs by his children. Settled into a familiar space that now had to learn new rhythms:
Medication, caregiving, special diets, silence. 🤫
Healing, we’ve learned, is not always dramatic. Sometimes it just looks like being home.
When Grandchildren Grieve a Living Loss
Our sister’s daughters, Hope (17) and Talia (15) had been away, in Nakuru, when Guka came home. When they returned, they froze.
Their Guka was being fed gently by a caregiver. Like a child being coaxed:
“Just one more bite… the last one. Please…”
Unsure, they whispered to each other, “Will he even recognize us?“
A few years back, they had lost their paternal grandfather. This felt like déjà vu. Except this time, the loss (and grief) was slow, confusing, and unfinished.
Explaining Hard Truths to Young Hearts
Our brother’s son, Mbúrú (16) had just returned from Makueni. Where he’d watched his maternal grandfather decline, die, and be buried.
Now he faced another shift. Coming home to find his mother partially relocated, to care for her father-in-law.
He asked, quietly but firmly:
“Why is my mum not staying with us, but with Guka?”
Our eldest sister, patiently broke down adult decisions into teenage-sized truth, for him to digest. Caregiving isn’t just physical. It’s emotional education, for everyone.
Thank God for a nine-child family. We are learning to tag-team life.
Learning Respect for Caregivers Everywhere
This season has humbled us. We now understand, deeply.
Hats off, to families who nurse and are walking with loved ones. Enduring chronic illness or special needs children, for months or years. 🙆♂️
Stroke survivors. Incessant diabetic wounds. Cancer warriors going through chemotherapy and radiotherapy schedules. ♋️
The aging wife, constantly calling her adult daughter or son, because their dad’s sugars dropped… or pressure spiked… again.
🥁 We’ve just begun our own rhythm: Dialysis, twice a week. SHA covers the sessions (thank God), but not:
- Transport | Wheelchairs
- Ripple mattresses
- Caregivers | Special diets
- Lab tests and consultations
Care adds up. Emotionally, physically, and financially.
The Question No One Answers Aloud
At one family gathering, one of my elder brothers rubbed the back of his head.
He asked what everyone was thinking:
“Will this dialysis go on for a lifetime?”
Silence answered first. Then reality.
We’re preparing for more (sessions), not less. About 8 hours a week (and countless resources), around dialysis.
Estimating, Ksh.100,000 monthly in caregiving, food, and cleaning costs. 💗
Will this go for Two weeks? Six months? Eighteen years? Only God knows.
Grateful, Still
Yet amid the uncertainty, we are grateful:
- That dad is alive
- That there are nine of us
- That most of us live in Nairobi
- That we can share the weight
- That healing, however slow, is happening at home
The end isn’t in sight. But God is on site.
And sometimes, that’s enough to take the next step.
Further Reading
If this story resonates with you, these pieces trace our family’s journey with Dad. From sudden hospitalization, to endurance, to reflection and meaning:
- 👉 Walking the Hospital Corridors: A Family, a Father, and the Faith That’s Holding Us Together. The beginning of it all. The shock of admission, early diagnoses, and learning to trust God while everything feels uncertain.
- 👉 Thirty Days in the Corridors. What prolonged illness does to time, faith, family, and finances. A raw account of a month lived between wards, prayers, and waiting.
- 👉 Eighty-Two Years of Light: A Poem for Our Father, Our Legacy, Our Living Story. Stepping back from the corridors. Honouring the man, the life, and the legacy that continues to shine through weakness and age.
Closing Reflection
To everyone caring for a frail parent, spouse, child or loved one. Seen or unseen. We salute you. 🫡
This road is long. But love walks it anyway.
#FromHospitalToHome #CaregivingJourney #StillStanding #FamilyThatCarries #HealingTogether
I write because people’s stories matter. If yours is ready to be shared. Triumph, tragedy, or something in between, my inbox is open. 📩 j.mungai@hotmail.co.uk
Curious to go deeper? Visit the Home Page, explore Growth Communities, or see our Clients & Impact stories.
This is one of the most tender and honest portraits of family love I’ve read in a long time. The way you describe carrying your father together, physically, emotionally, and spiritually, captures both the weight and the quiet holiness of caregiving.
Your words remind us that healing is rarely a straight line. Sometimes it looks like strength shared across nine siblings. Sometimes it looks like grandchildren trying to understand a “living loss.” And sometimes it looks like patience, spoon by spoon, offered with dignity.
I was especially moved by the line, “Not healed, but held.” That is a truth many families know but rarely articulate. You’ve given language to what so many walk through in silence.
Thank you for honoring caregivers, for naming the cost, and for showing that even in uncertainty, God is “on site.” Your family’s unity is a testimony in itself.
Praying strength, grace, and unexpected moments of joy for all of you as you continue this long walk of love.