Sadness

In my 30 years of life, I’ve considered myself lucky to have only lost one grandparent. My Grandpa Shorty died when I was 5 and although I don’t remember everything surrounding his death and the funeral, I was old enough to retain a few memories. For instance, I remember that because of the funeral I missed my first ever (and only) ballet recital in which I was supposed to wear a Minnie Mouse-like costume. I also remember being so upset at the thought of never seeing my beloved grandfather again that my dad had to escort me out of his own father’s funeral and ask me to calm down because I was upsetting the other people. He asked me to help my grandmother and I did so by bringing her and my distant relatives Dixie cups of water to help with their grief. I only knew my Grandpa Shorty for 5 years but he had made a lasting impression and his death was my first experience of losing a loved one.

Twenty-five years later, I sadly received the news that my Grandma Mary, Shorty’s wife had died. The week before, I had been sad that I was missing a family reunion but happy that my grandmother was able to be with all of her children for the first time in years. My parents made sure to Skype me while visiting my grandmother so that we could see each other. Grandma Mary was not a fan of technology and her computer-less house meant that I mostly stayed in touch with her via phone calls and hand-written letters and cards. A week later after the missed reunion, I received an email with the sad news that she had passed away in her sleep.

I’ve always been close to my family, making my decision to travel and live abroad somewhat difficult. Not only do I miss big events like weddings, birthdays, and the birth of new family members, it has also been difficult to miss the casual Sunday night dinners, weekday game nights, BBQs, and impromptu Saturday meet-ups. Missing the death and the celebration of the life of my grandmother has made my life choices even more difficult. When I got the news, I was floored and couldn’t believe it to be true. I also felt frustrated and angry that at that moment there was nothing I could do. My phone here isn’t equipped for me to literally pick it up and call the States. The older computer I’m using doesn’t have Skype capabilities and access to electricity and internet are on a set timetable. With the time difference, even if I had Skype, I couldn’t make a call without the risk of waking someone up.

I happened to read the sad email while in Sister Mary’s office. She was having a meeting and I quietly put my hands in my face and tried to contain my grief. After the meeting she came up to me and apologized for the craziness of the morning. My red face and puffy leaking eyes told her something more than annoying teachers was wrong. I’m very grateful that she was there when I found out. She gave me a hug, brought me down to the chapel for a prayer, and gave me tea and biscuits (the English kind). Then Sister Mary made sure to tell everyone we encountered that my grandmother had died. This was a little awkward for me. I’m no stranger to crying in public (I’ve been known to throw public fits when my vegetarian food comes sprinkled with chicken or the movie I want to see is sold out) but when it’s something more serious and personal, I attempt to keep it to myself and then cry hysterically in the comforts of home with loved ones. However, Gearoid is my only loved one here and he can only soak up so many tears. The other nuns and the teachers I worked with gave me sad smiles and offered their sympathy with a common phrase used here, “Osh-ya.” Her sharing of my sad news did make me feel less alone. There happened to be a special mass at the school that day and they incorporated my personal sadness into the sermon. Afterwards, students sweetly came up to me and shared their sympathies in sign.

I think my expression of grief was very strange for the Saloneans. Having witnessed firsthand expressions of grief here, I understand the confusion. There is generally an immediate wailing from the women that despite its heartbreaking nature sounds like a beautiful song. I know for a fact that the wailing isn’t a song because when I asked someone what a woman was singing, I was told that she was crying because her child died. This intense and expressive wailing strikes you to the core and whenever I hear it, whether at the hospital or walking down the street, tears spring to my eyes. After the appropriate amount of wailing, people seem to get on with their lives. If you offer your sympathies, you get a matter-of-fact thank you. They go back to work, follow their daily routines, and make friendly conversation with friends and colleagues. My walking around like a zombie with red occasionally leaking eyes for a week was strange and prolonged to them and for one person I apparently didn’t accept his sympathies in the appropriate way so he extended them two more times until I got it right.

Coincidentally, the president of Sierra Leone’s own mother died and this past weekend was the funeral. I didn’t witness any wailing because presumably that occurred right after the news of her death. Instead, a party-like atmosphere developed in Makeni, which happens to be the president’s home town. Shops and restaurants were closed and around 2PM on Saturday an enormous and loud convey of vehicles escorted Mama Koroma’s body back to Makeni. Dealing with my own grief, I generally stayed inside with distracting books and funny movies but when I left the compound I couldn’t help but notice the increased police presence and the crowded excited atmosphere. There were no black clothes and somber attitudes, just a happy respect for the life lost and the desire to show the important people in the country that they were properly mourning the president’s mother.

Needless to say, the last week has been difficult. My family was very supportive and very understanding that I couldn’t make it home for the funeral. Via e-mail, broken Skype calls, and Facebook, I was able to keep abreast of what was going on. I’m happy that everyone was able to be there together but it is bittersweet to see the pictures and note my absence from them.

The literal ocean between us during the last 2 years unfortunately prevented me from staying in touch with my grandmother as much as I usually did. I will miss her and I grieve her death but feel slightly appeased knowing that she was able to spend her last days with all of her children, she went peacefully in her sleep, and that she’s finally reunited with my grandfather in whatever happens after death.