The Language of Tears

 Tis often said, "You don't know what you have until it's gone," meaning we usually take for granted the very things that deserve our gratitude the most. As I sit here, alone, listening to songs that remind me of you, sad you're gone, but glad we departed from the norm a countless number of times, showing gratitude for the roles we've played in each other's lives over the years. Never shy to say, "Thank You for being my friend." And those were the last words shared between us, a few hours before I was told you'd been admitted with food poisoning being the prime suspect.

A huge part of me is still stuck in that time, refusing to catch up with events that have been since then. Struggling to process how someone can move from writing, with that cheeky smile I imagined, "Uyahlanya mfana wami" - when I threatened to find me a new friend because you'd left the country without letting me know - to that state I saw you in on that hospital bed in such a short time?! Perhaps, the answer is LIFE IS FRAGILE.

TemGcie with some members of Lend A Hand

Eternally grateful I will be to have had you contribute to my life in the most positive of ways. Glad to have been on the same team as you, trying to improve lives through #LendAHand. Knowing you'd be there each time I needed someone to be. Because of you, I know what true friendship is. I know the joy and comfort of knowing you have someone you can call late at night for them to go pick your brother from school and drop him home because you're still out having fun courtesy of your youth. 

There's no getting used to this part of life, with each death awaking in our hearts the longing for permanence. In Paul's letter to the Philippines he wrote, "I am hard-pressed between the two; my desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account." Fight, you did to remain in the flesh on our account. You knew there's still a lot of lives in need of your gentle caring hand even though the strain your body had taken dictated departing would be far better. You wished to serve, and you did. Selfishly, we wish you were still alive. But we do know you’re in a far better space than what life had confined you in the last couple of months. I find solace in that.

This is probably the most incoherent thing I've ever written, and you'd probably tell me that much too. Too soon to make sense of anything, and I'm in no rush to forget about you so I'll definitely make it right at some point.

I'm a mess right now. Truth is, you've been gone for months, but reports of improvements in your condition gave us hope we'd soon ask, almost rhetorically, "Awusuye yini?" after you'd asked what was always meant to be a rhetorical question as well; "Yini ngatsi nicabanga kutsi ngingugogo wenu?" Tears fill my eyes, but they refuse to fall. Probably because you'd laugh at me if you saw them. Then say you're not laughing at me, you're laughing at the tears, trying to dodge a slap to the back of your head. So I'll let them hang there until they're brave enough to fall. Would really love to talk to God this one time, but words fail me. I find comfort, however, in knowing He understands the language of tears. You taught me that much.

Phumula Mntolo. Mphotholozi. Me, I'll just sit here and listen to songs that remind me of you and your infectious smile.

*Originally posted on my facebook page on Saturday, 16 May 2015