TWO: February 22nd 2010 at 6:11pm
Mourning Routine

Someone helped me back onto my feet. I am not sure who, but someone.
I sat on the edge of my bed, holding the baby, weeping. All my mum’s boss could do was look at me. She offered comfort through a hug. No thank you. I don’t know about you but when you are bitterly hurt, nothing can soothe the hurt. Nothing can really ease the pain.
In the distance, I heard a cheerful and happy voice drawing closer to the bedroom I was in.
Alexis. Alexis. Where is mummy? I have a project I want to show her.
It was my sister Jay. I assume she had a school project that she wanted mum’s input on.
“Jaycy tumeua mummy. Tumeua mummy”
That’s all I remember. That's how I broke the news to my sisters. I can’t believe I did that.
I felt… I feel so responsible for her death.
I also regret how I shared the news with my sisters. The boys were relatively young. But my sisters, I still wish I was composed enough to break the news to them in an appropriate manner. Those were the only words I had at the time.
“Tumeua mummy”
I don’t know how my sisters reacted physically but all I could hear from the other room were screams that pierced through the air. They were sharp, riddled with sadness and filled with sorrow. I have never heard those cries from my sisters before.
I felt my heart break again. Then my tears stopped. After I saw the state my sisters were in, my tears sort of came to an abrupt halt.
“Alexis, you’ve gotta be a big girl now. You have to be strong for them.”
I left the bedroom and joined my siblings in the living room. Now, 5 children alone in a foreign country. We immediately became the property of the Canadian government. A worker from child protective services called me aside. In my state of confusion, she explained to me that we the children would have to be seperated and taken to different foster homes. The boys would go to one home and us girls would be taken to another home.
I don’t remember what I specifically said but I told them they would have to kill all 5 of us before they separated any of us. Put simply, the only way they would separate us is over my dead body.
I still can’t remember what happened after that conversation. There were several phones calls between us; my father, my mother’s sisters, my father’s sisters. There were many calls. Many tears. There were very many tears.
As luck would have it, my aunt on my dad’s side of the family had a very best friend who lived in Toronto. I’m correctly assuming that my aunt and her spoke because within 2 hours, she was at our apartment. Finally, a familiar face. When she walked through the door of the apartment, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t have to be the adult anymore. I didn’t have to hide my tears or sorrow or sadness. I didn’t have to act brave anymore.

Again, child protective services stepped in. Legally, she was not our guardian, so she could not claim responsibility of us. They explained to her that we would need to be seperated. Boys in one home. Girls in another.
“There is no fucking way you are separating these already traumatized children. I am here. You have seen the reception they have given me. They know me. I am family. You are not splitting these children up.”
I still don’t remember much after that. I try hard to, but I don’t remember. I don’t remember if I ate that night. I don’t remember if I slept that night. I just don’t remember. I hate that I don’t remember. I didn’t even know what time it was. Time had stopped for me at 6:11pm.
All He wanted to do was help

In terms of traumatic experiences for us, anyone for that matter, that was absolutely high ranking. Nothing has topped that in terms of inflicting emotional damage. Yes, I’m crying while writing this part.
Through all that sadness that we felt, I want to tell you about a moment that is etched in my memory.
My siblings and I were all sitting in the living room. Eyes bloodshot, tears still streaming down our faces. The baby walked over to a box of tissues and grabbed a tissue. He crumpled it in his little baby hands. I was trying to figure out what he was doing, but he’s intentions with that crumpled piece of tissue would soon be known. I think he walked up to Jay first who was sitting right opposite me. I saw his little baby hand move towards Jay, then he slowly wiped Jay’s tears. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing? Did he know what was going on? Could he understand why we were crying?
Sam was sitting close to Jay. The baby moved over and did the same. Baby moved on to me and did the same. Have you ever cried and laughed/smiled at the same time? That’s what I did. I was so overcome by emotions that I could only smile. I’m smiling now just thinking about it. In some strange way, I feel like that was mum wiping our tears away. I mean, this was a baby who was just a year and a half old, what could he have known? What motivated him to do what he did? (Mungu halali kweli) I don’t know but he saw the sadness in our eyes. Who knows, he might have felt the pain we were in. All he wanted to do was help. My memory doesn’t serve me well, but that is one scene I can’t erase from my memory. I smiled. Amidst my tears, I smiled when he did that.
Death is hardest on the living.

It’s true. It’s hardest on the living because we take on what is left. I always wonder, do the dead know they are dead? That is a question about existence that I hope to tackle in other posts. But we take on what is left. Emotions, debts, clothes and personal items.
I didn’t get a chance to grieve and mourn with my family. I came back to Canada 2 weeks after we lay mum to rest and that was it. Even when I left Kenya, my sister Sam didn’t know. She was in boarding school and came back home to find no Alexis around. In hindsight, that was double the trauma. I feel like we lost a lot as a family by me not being around. It was almost like a secondary loss. But what to do, life had to go on.
Almost a decade later, I still grieve her passing. I still mourn her loss. I don’t think that will ever change. Even though some memories I have of her are filled with bitterness, I am glad I got 14 years to be with her. I have 14 years worth of memories that I get to share with you.
R.I.P Mummy. It is well with my soul.

