It had been a long time since I last visited home. Thankfully, both my late parents were from the same state and region, though from different communities. This made it easier for me to visit both sides of my family whenever I returned.
This time, however, my visit was not for celebration. The woman who raised me—my maternal aunt—had passed away. She was more than an aunt; she was a pillar in my life. I went home to give her the final respect she deserved.
When I arrived at my maternal home, I was welcomed warmly. My cousins and uncles received me with love and care. Despite the sadness in the air, the atmosphere was peaceful. The burial was befitting. Everything was well organized, and she was honored properly. It brought comfort to my heart knowing she was laid to rest with dignity.
After the burial, my uncle Solomon informed me that his own mother’s burial—my great-aunt—would take place the following week. Since I had not been home for a long time, I decided to stay back and attend that burial as well. I felt it was important to show up for family, especially during moments like this.
Little did I know that the second burial would teach me a completely different lesson.
