I started feeling again.
I started writing again.
My god it feels like it has been forever.
I am not sure where or when it happened, but I stopped writing. And today… out of the blue… or maybe not… I penned something – a few words, that I knew came from the innermost parts of me.
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My mother died.
Lonnie died.
I never had words. I am still unsure I have the words. I am still new to these feelings, and get to know them day by day. I’m still placing words to these feelings.
All the 9 lives she said she had, I guess she finally lived the last of them.
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I fell in love with a man. A whirlwind romance.
I knew from the moment our eyes locked that our fates in that moment were screwed and sealed – for better, for worse.
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I moved away from my land.
I’ve been walking in lands unknown – living dreams I was not even aware were dreams a girl from a place like where I am from could dream.
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Lonnie died. Lonnie is gone. Lonnie is not coming back.
What do I know about death? A lot. Most of it, I learnt from Lonnie.
Harriet was first to go. 13. I had no idea what death meant. It was Lonnie who held me, and walked me through my first journey with grief.
Thoko was second to go. 16. Lonnie cried with me. She said it was unfair that I experience so much grief at such a young age.
Evans was third to go. 21. Lonnie sent prayers to God, and held me in love.
Martin was fourth to go. 26. Lonnie sent love again, as her child’s friend’s soul departed this word.
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When Martin left, I did not grieve. I felt I had no grief left to give. I had no anger, no sadness, no negotiation – nothing to give. I whispered in my heart that I knew the only time life would stand a chance at ripping my heart out again would be when it took one of my four. And, as if taking me up on a challenge, life took the heart of my four.
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27.
15 August, 2022. My heart was ripped out again. My first journey with grief without Lonnie, grieving Lonnie.
I turned 27 on the 14th of AUgust, 2022. I called my Lonnie, and we spent a good hour on a call – talking about everything and nothing. She was so happy, and so fulfilled. I could feel her spirit slipping away by the day, and I was never sure of what I would feel when the day came. On the 15th of August, 2022, she slipped away from us. For months after, I have not known what to feel, or let alone say.
In her demise, I still did not grieve. I focused fully on giving her the send-off I had spent nearly a decade planning with her alongside her little sister. I focused on taking care of the love of her life – my father, discovering a new world without the woman who was everything to us. I had to be a pillar so my pillar, my little sister – her second daughter, would not crumble. I had to hold strong so the apple of her eye – her only son would not feel every single void she had left behind. I had to be the matriarch for Zoe – the youngest of her clan, her life a testament of the fighter that was my mother.
Hours of labor, and water in her lungs, it was only because of my mother’s tenacity that Zoe lives. She nearly fought the doctors to save Zoe’s life at her birth. It is because of Zoe’s little and innocent soul that we all found the tenacity to keep on going. Zoe still has no idea that gogo is gone. She looks at us, and she smiles. She has no idea that it is her little smile that carries us all through. Her little laugh, that fills every crevice all our hearts. A life lost. A life gained.
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I built a business. Two businesses, or maybe 10. Oh what a blessing, to have been gifted in all these ways. I dug into the deepest parts of me, and gave everything I had to the capitalism. I built great businesses, and rose to heights little girls from the land I am from do not get to experience. I gave everything, and I lost everything.
I paid the price. I burnt out so badly. I stopped feeling. I stopped living. I stopped feeling. I stopped writing.
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I keep thinking about my last conversations with Lonnie in-person.
Shortly before I departed Malawi, I took her and her son (my brother) to an Island. It felt right that I did – to go back to the water, our favorite place.
She was the healthiest she had been in a while on that trip. She was so happy, and she expressed that did not feel any pain while being on the island. And yet everything inside me would tell me we were nearing the end. She spent the better part of our vacation drinking and laughing with her son. I was mostly working – juggling school work, businesses and a new job. I was glad to spend the time with her before I left the country. I had hopes it would not be the last time. She was happy. She was fulfilled.
At dinner, amidst conversation, she told me I could not go on living this way. I could not continue to bury my head in the capitalism, and pretend that was living. She declared, as always, that we, her children were everything to her; and that she hoped I would have my own. I told her I was not prepared to have my own, because I knew I’d have to take care of hers when she was gone. I prayed in my heart it would not be so soon.
And here I am, having lost her – living again, taking care of her babies, and still finding spaces in me with more love to give. I’m living again, and I am leaving spaces for the Universe to surprise me a little bit.
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On the 7th of November, 2022, I met a man.
He took a glance at me, and I, from the moment that our eyes locked, knew our fates were locked and sealed.
Today marks exactly 3 weeks of unending conversation with this man – more conversation than I have had with any other soul in years. He is such an incredible man – an incredibly safe space, and I am so incredibly honored to call him mine. It is within my conversations with him that I have found spaces to revive my heart, place words to these feelings, and rediscover all the realest parts of me that once made me everything.
So here I am, feeling again, writing again.
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And here I am finding spaces to be excited about life again.
I’m living a little bit again, prepared for the waves and storms ahead – and I am certain there will be waves and storms; but I am so grateful for each of them – so grateful to be able to feel and to write again.
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