Last night as I nodded off I got a reminder from one of those bereaved newsletters I subscribed to, reminding me that July is Bereaved Parents Month. I was touched as I read the different articles that parents have sent in explaining their journey thus far. I wondered who came up with this. I am one of those people wants to know the origin…the root. I feel there’s always a better story at the root. I found out that a couple called Peter & Deb Kulkkula started this project to honor families trying to cope after the loss of a baby/child. Like I said in my book, this is an abnormal paradigm; parents shouldn’t bury their kids whatever the age. It’s just not right!
Last week I visited a couple who were very close friends with my late mom. Aunty J hadn’t been well, her children had been on facebook asking us to pray for her, sending videos to encourage us in prayer (imagine that, your mom isn’t well but you are sending out inspirational videos) When she made it out safely, I was determined to go visit her because I hadn’t seen her since my mom passed away in 2014. I whatsapped (is that a word?) one of her sons who gave me directions to their home. I hopped on a Boda and off I went to visit. To be honest I didn’t know what to expect. I prayed en route and asked the Holy Spirit to take over the whole visit. I reached the gate (the directions were not so clear but I figured no family whichever lived in Makerere would have a house without a compound and trees) so I confidently banged on the gate. A young man runs towards the gate before he could open I asked whether this was Aunty J’ place; he smiled and said: “of course!” Hahahaha. As I walked in, something had changed. This particular couple used to leave their front door open; it was such a welcoming gesture. Not this time. Times had changed. When the young man opened the door, Aunty J was seated right at the door; she said “Edrida!” I was said, “no Aunty, Kekimuri.” She said, “ Oh! You resemble your mum.”She couldn’t get up, I leaned in to hug her and she immediately started affirming me, “ you are so beautiful, you kept your figure, you have nice hair…” Who was I to say noo. I basked in it. This is the stuff we grew up hearing in Makerere, our esteem was blown out of portion. It did a lot for us as individuals. Uncle G was seated across with a guest Prof. K who didn’t hesitate to tell me that he had attended the same university as my dad in Sheffield. I like hanging with old people, their stories seem like an old black and white movie. This was going to be an epic watch…or listen.
As the visit went along, you get the usual 21 questions. How is so and so? Oh, they got married, how many children? Oh, they must be handsome/beautiful. Now Aunty J and Uncle G are godparents to our second born, so they pour continuous questions and finally… aha, Kekimuri what are you up to? I dive into how I wrote a book and it’s kinda taken on its own wings to fly ahead of me. Of course, they want to see this book. Prof. K is in awe like you wrote a book. How old are you? (Please note I had taken this book for one of their children…I don’t know how I forgot to carry a copy for them) As they are asking the next 21 questions, I realize that I had not come to see them when they lost their son. This conversation takes a turn I hadn’t foreseen. We begin to discuss the pain of losing a child. By this time Prof. K had left, not without speaking some very powerful words, I am still chewing on them. “You will be a great woman when you do things that are attuned with God. You will be a mother of many nations” what does one say after that? Nothing.
As we dig into the maze that is the power of grief and transformation of the loved ones left behind. Aunty J and Uncle G, do share that they have both written books. Aunty J wrote a similar book to mine. She wrote about loss of her son( who they nicknamed Okuja after a man who loved them so much, he was an administrator in Mbarara he lacked two lower front teeth, and their son’s two lower teeth took long to grow out) while Uncle G wrote a book about his time as the Dean of Makerere University in Idi Amin’s times. He told me a gruesome story of how they shoot an army man friend of theirs in their compound. These stories for me, I feel should be what is taught in school because we can easily go back to those times but anyway I digress. Aunty J told me she can count the number of times she has seen her husband crying, the day their son passed away she said that cry she had never heard before. They have been married for 58 years and counting. He told me something that spoke to my heart,
“everyone is looking to you for strength, but you have also lost. Who would hold me? who would be my strength. God drew me nearer and still does.”
At this point, I am holding back tears because this was like re-living my story. I watched my husband struggle to make sense out of it yet he had to be the decision maker, the strong one, no crying. I thank God my dad pulled him aside and had a talk with him because I could see him shutting down. Uncle G, told me that in my organization I need to set up space for men to just come and cry because they are not allowed to, society is harder on them(why is this? I hope that we can demystify this in one of our sessions) Aunty J added that the women who come seeking help should come with their husbands/ partners. This she said, “is a joint effort or else you are alone on the seesaw and you know how that feels, dragging air.”
I learned I couple of things that I want to share with y’all about how to help a bereaved parent/s;
- Don’t avoid the parents; I know it’s uncomfortable not knowing what to say but who said you must say something? Cook a meal and visit them. Let them guide the visit. I have realized that bereaved parents will know who to open up to and who to sit quietly with and who to just cry with. They are also in uncharted territory.
- Acknowledge their child/children; if they start talking about their child, do mention their name in the conversation ebya “the Late” please don’t. They might cry but those are tears of love. Some will say that this is a trigger. What is a trigger? An unhealed wound.
- Open up your homes to them immediately after the loss: Why? Because everything at their home still lives of the beloved. I thank God for my Dora and her husband who opened up their home to us for 3 months before we had to go back into reality. It did ease the healing process.
- Attend support group sessions with them: either drive them there or attend with them. Make appointments to see therapists. This shows a need for care for your family member/ friend. Visit vessel is me if you need help with this.
- Help them develop healthy coping strategies: My husband used to take me for walks every morning & evening, during these walks I worked through my anger, my hurt, my resentment. Then I started journaling because I realized he didn’t have all the answers and that’s all I needed then answers. This led to the book So, What Next? That’s not to say I didn’t have unhealthy coping strategies; but you can heal without feeling, numbing the pain leads to a champagne effect( just a little shake and full blow out!)
As we go through this month, may we remember those parents who have lost their beloved babies/children and show kindness towards them. In the end that’s all that matter, who you helped get up.
