My afternoon was spent at the late Njoki's funeral service. It was being held in the capital at a century old synagogue better known as All Saints Cathedral. This would me my first time behind a gate that I have always passed on my way to the office.
I was late on purpose to avoid contact with her loved ones. I felt a little overwhelmed by my inability to digest her sudden death and cowardly opted not to see the sadness in their eyes.
I sat at the back as family and friends talked about a woman who touched everyone she met positively. Their words floated in the sad air and drawing streams from my eyes as her memories swamped my mind. I also noticed how everyone spoke of her in past tense and that won't register or sink in my astonished brain.
It bothered me.
The fragility of life and the unpredictability of death lurk in the breath you take. We assume we have all the time in the world yet we don't. That is something her death keeps reminding me.
The last time I saw Philomena, we were busy celebrating my surviving that June house fire. She thanked the heavens for my life after I narrated my scary ordeal. Saying how much there's so much for me to do for my children.
That alone made my heart sink every time I heard her now 14 days old son crying probably wondering what happened to the person who was breastfeeding him. Death is too goddamn complex!
I am traveling tomorrow night to her rural home in the coast and it will be also my first time heading south. I hate travels as I get car sick but in friendship, the price can never be too high to pay. Eight hours straight!
She will be buried Saturday morning. May she rest in peace.
