On Grief
An ode to Kooky; the woman who was my mother twice over, the one I'm proud to carry in my blood, my bone, and my womb.
I expected grief to slam into me all at once, right after Baba's call at 6:37 PM or maybe when I visited the following morning to say goodbye to an empty vessel, her body wrapped in a white cotton sheet, her 'daughters' all crammed in a bedroom saturated with the heavy weight of our collective secrets, chests heaving and bodies trembling, tears carving despair into sullen cheeks.
I waited for my throat to close up as I watched Baba and Aki and Ahmed and 'Amo Osama carry her body down five flights of stairs in a coffin far too big and not big enough.
I'd never seen her so still.
And yet, it didn't come.
Two weeks later, Thoraya and I got into Baba's car on a chilly Friday morning and drove out to our maqaber in hushed silence, words lingering on freezing lips, prayers lodged in our hearts.
I held my breath as a stood on the mastaba in front of her grave, waiting for the world to fall apart, for the skies to roil and the clouds to weep and the earth to tremble...
And nothing happened.
I walked out with a final 'bahebek', feeling cleansed.
It's been a month since that visit, and there have been no restless nights, no bite marks or mascara stains on my pillows, no blood in the bathtub from nails scratching tender wrists...
there was no catharsis.
I've always imagined grief to come as a tempestuous storm of rage-hate-loss, all-encompassing, but now I think that grief is more abyss than tidal wave, and I'm terrified of staring into it, lest it stare back and let catatonia's rabid hunger swallow me once more.
Instead, grieving Kooky has been coming in bursts of soft sadness, a lingering touch on a fraying silk scarf, a trembling hand stitching back buttons on Aki’s (originally, Gedo’s) shirts, a blank gaze locked on her sebartaya's open flame, a grounding prick over glittering diamond on my right ring finger (A’mma’s), an iron grip on Baba's hand every Friday walking into her (my) home...
My wardrobe is full of her clothes, safe overflowing with her jewels, and Gedo's wedding band (her name etched beautifully on the inside) resting in the hollow of my throat.
I've been grieving Kooky in muted cries...
I love
I love
I love