MY FIRST MEMORY OF DEATH

It was mid May in 2003. I wish I remembered more details about the day but I don’t because it was just another day in my regular ass life. I don’t think it rained though but I’m not exactly sure it was sunny. I was in my class, on the ground floor, Primary 1 ( I cannot remember which one exactly but I’m guessing it was pry 1C ) doing what primary 1 pupils do when I was told someone came to pick me to take me home. It wasn’t time to go home but I dont think I fought it either, after all it’s my house. I often wonder if my class teacher ( and other teachers) knew the real reason I was going home early.

I didn’t go home, from what I remember, I went to a place. I don’t know if I was still wearing my white and blue uniform or if I had changed to ‘house clothes’ but I was there and so were a lot of people. It was in front of an uncompleted building ( which I later found out was the house my parents were building, that’s a whole new story I’m probably not going to talk about) and I was far at the back, my small 6 year old self couldn’t see what was going on in front. I remember being very curious but no one around me seemed in the mood, they were all sad so I kept mum and just continued observing.

I remember seeing my mum, it was actually easy because of all the family and friends that made up the crowd she was the hysterical one. I have no pictures but I can vividly remember that scene ( isn’t the brain amazing? ). She was being held by some of her closest friends ( these are the ones I call mummy now, preceded or followed by a number eg mummy 3, 2nd mummy etc. I’ve actually lost count of how many mummies I have ) they were coming from the front and when she saw me, she tried to look strong and pretended to stop crying. She was muttering words I couldn’t hear but I think I caught the ‘don’t worry you hear’ part.

I was naturally starting to get sad although I don’t remember crying yet ( but who knows, maybe I did ) just because everybody around me was sad. Sadness can be infectious even if you don’t think you have anything to be genuinely sad about. I still didn’t know what was happening but I also still didn’t ask anybody anything. I think it was Uncle D that saw me and told someone to take me to the front right away perhaps because he felt I deserved to witness what was going on. The someone ( I have no memory whatsoever of who this person was ) was taking me there and just before we could get there, Mummy I aka Aunty K shouted and asked why I was being brought to the front. She immediately demanded I was taken back. I don’t think Uncle D argued with her because she’s older than him I suppose( now that I think about it maybe it was Aunty K that took me to the front and Uncle D sent us back, my memory is fuzzy but you get the gist ).

I remember being at home with A LOT of people. I was a child that didn’t like people in my space ( I still don’t ). My mum has told me stories about how I’d crawl into the room when I was a baby whenever she had visitors, sit there and cry till they left, I was that child so imagine how bothered I felt. I don’t remember how on earth I realised what was going on but I think I started acting out and crying and talking about how I won’t eat because I wanted to see my daddy. They managed to calm me down and I ate the food.

In the following weeks, we had more visitors and Alfas come over. I shuffled between my house and my cousins house ( if you see me talking about my sisters , I’m referring to them ) and life continued. Just without him. I would ask of him sometimes and one of my uncles would tell me to be a good girl for my mum else he wouldnt come back home. I think I it worked lol.

I was 6, I didn’t know the gravity death so I don’t think I had a hard time dealing with it or maybe my mum has just done a fantastic job in being my superwoman ( even now, I’m not entirely sure I do because most of the life I know is that without him ). The visitors stopped coming eventually and my mum said one day, I told her ‘Life must continue’ and she held on to every letter. I think I might have heard people say it a lot because I don’t know how I knew to say that phrase.

15 years today ❤️

For him, KMO.

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A 22 year old young adult. Struggling baby blogger and overall struggling human.