The Sunday Mail
Paidamoyo Jekanyika
I never understood what it means to be an orphan until it actually happened.
My mother died on January 29 after a short battle with a brain tumour and stroke.
My mother was in her 70s and very active.
She loved gardening and she did everything on her own.
When she got sick, it was gradual and painful. She could no longer walk, her speech was impaired and she had toilet incontinence. I had to take care of her and it was hard for me.
With school work and taking care of her, life was not easy, but my consolation was that we were together and that is all that mattered.
When she died, I had seen her the day before and she was doing okay.
What had gone wrong?
I was numb, I do not remember her funeral much or anything else.
This is a woman I had lived with since the day she gave birth to me and she was gone, never to come back.
It was a nightmare one can never wake up from.
After she was buried, I wanted to be alone.
I wanted to think of her and cry as much as I wanted.
Grief is nothing new and we all grieve in different ways. Some want to drown it in alcohol and some seek solace in God.
I just wanted to look at her pictures and remember her.
My one problem was that everyone had their own ideas of what “proper” grieving should be.
Stay with relatives. Be around people and not to cry. I wanted to cry rivers and be alone.
A relative shouted at me one day and told me I was not the first person to lose a parent, she even went on to ask me what was so special about my mother that I had to cry like a mad person every day.
This was a time when I needed to be consoled.
I vowed there and then to grieve in my own way.
As soon as the time was right, I asked to go back home.
I was bullied, threatened and pulled in all directions until I rebelled and put my foot down.
I stood my ground and a lot of hurtful things were said and eventually everyone gave up and told me I was on my own.
The first few days were really difficult.
Coming home to an empty house and remembering all the things we did in that house was hard.
It has been two months without her. I had my first birthday without her this year and it was the worst day of my life.
I locked myself in the house and looked at pictures, laughed and cried and did my best not to grieve about it too much.
It is not getting any easier, but I am at peace knowing she is no longer in pain and is in a better place.
I do gardening when I can and sometimes I cry when I do.
I look at her pictures and laugh and cry.
I am learning to stay away from people who tell me I’m lucky to have lost my mother when I was older. They tell me to imagine losing her when I was younger. As if being an orphan at any age is easy.
My mother was well in her 70s but she cried every time she thought of her parents who died many years ago.
I am now an orphan and life is different.
My pillar of strength is gone and I have to learn to be on my own and it is not easy, but each day is a new day to start afresh.
I am not allowing anyone to tell me how to grieve and how to remember my mother.
No one is going to tell me how to feel.
I am doing it in my own way. My own time. At my own pace.
I have chosen my own path. My older siblings think I am being disobedient.
Curve balls have been thrown my way but instead of hiding in a cocoon, I am living for now because life has to go on.
I am in university and I have to make sure I stand on my own and get back on my feet.
I am grateful for the support I have been given by my family, but above all, I am grateful for the time I shared with a wonderful and amazing woman who was my mother.
To anyone who has gone through the same experience, do not lose faith.
It will not be easy and dark times are plenty but there is always hope and light at the end of the tunnel.
I cannot waste time dwelling on things I cannot change.
I can only live as best as I can and do right.
Paidamoyo Jekanyika is an undergraduate at the University of Zimbabwe. She is currently studying for a Bachelor of Applied Arts degree.
