Why we are never ready for death

 

In January, I wrote about the emotional strain my family was going through while coping with the pain cancer had caused my wife and I. Sadly, Shamsa passed away on Thursday. If you recall, the doctors had ruled that no more treatment would change her situation; that we had come to the end of the road. Our worlds, I said then, had crashed.

Nothing really prepares you for that moment when a loved one takes the last breath. I always thought I could control my emotions but at that moment I did not have any control over my tears and was left sobbing for a while until I composed myself.

At such moments, one searches for divine help. It was then when I remembered the Quranic verse; “to God we belong and unto Him we shall return”. Shakespeare in Macbeth wrote; “All the world is a stage and all the men and women in it merely players, and they have their exits”.

The curtain was finally drawn for my wife 42 years after she was born and just under 23 years since we got married. As I went to register her death certificate at the Town Hall in London’s Greenwich Borough, something attracted my attention.

The death certificate is issued by the same people who register birth and marriages. Surely, I told myself, these three moments have symbolic cultural and religious meaning. They symbolise entry into this world, reproductive stage and finally the end of the cycle, the ‘exit’. The last is probably the most painful moment.

The three most important moments in man’s life are handled by the same registrar but yet the last phase causes so much pain and agony.

The registrar’s day is like a pendulum swinging from joy to sadness.

I think of him talking to a young excited couple who cannot hide their joy of a new-born baby then having to comfort wailing clients.

Looking at her date of birth, I realised just how soon she had departed. She died while I held her hands meditating and praying for her at the same time. I felt hollowness in my heart as I reflected and remembered the good and sad moments we went through together.

Years back before cancer struck, like any couple, we had dreams: “When we grow old, both of us stooping and using walking aides...” she would tell me.

We have had real great moments together. “Why have you never lamented about anything?” she once asked me. “I have nothing to lament about you, you are so perfect,” I responded.

It is true, Shamsha never said or did anything that caused me distress. I guess that is down to her to her upbringing and deep Islamic faith. Her life, especially after cancer was discovered, has been buoyed by her unceasing faith in God.

At her hospital bed, I would ask her how she felt, “alhamdulilah” thanks to God, “ it can be worse than this,” she always said, with a warm smile. When the end finally came, it was in a distant foreign land. In line with the Islamic traditions, she had to be buried within the same day or if not possible, the following day. Considering the logistics involved, we decided to lay her to rest at a cemetery in London. The outpouring of love and support even from people we didn’t know gave me the clearest indications that God’s hand is at play.

Her burial at a North London cemetery was attended by many friends mainly people from Kenya.

As I write this column, many things play up in my mind. Mostly, my times with Shamsa. I am still thinking maybe this is just a bad dream; she is going to turn up and give me those comforting words.

I am hoping this is true. But I also know for sure this is my way of coping with the painful reality. Caroline Webb in her book “How to Have a Good Day” wrote that to have a positive attitude, our brain needs to be rewarded with positive thoughts.

Sometimes, this positive thought can be initiated by an individual, but at times the subconscious mind triggers this feeling in form of a trance.

I repeatedly went into a state of trance to replay the positive thoughts in my head.

Fare thee well Shamsa.

Mr Guleid is the Deputy Governor, Isiolo County [email protected]