Five windmills turn slowly, rocking me where I stand before an open hole, that waits to embrace one that I love. I hear her laughter, as the warmth drives away the mist and the coldness that usually engulfs this place. There are many standing around me, each lost perhaps in their own grief. For me, the windmills, slowly turning, comfort me. Its as though she whispers to me from above that grave, encouraging me to look upwards, above the Hills, to The One Whose Grace, blows away my sorrow. I feel her smile. I feel her joy. I feel her freedom. But know that its not yet time for me to join her. I look around again, I look down at the descending beautiful white coffin, seems like it goes down forever, and then suddenly stops. Her son stands right in front of me, and I cannot cry, because my eyes need to be clear, so I can watch him. He passes his water bottle towards me, and lifts his head up, sometimes to wipe away the tears, turns to ask me something…and the five windmills turn slowly behind him, above him.
Five happy memories. Happy memories that all have to do with your laughter, your embrace, your counsel, and your stubborn love. Happy memories that have to do with you being alive, sometimes sad, laughing through your tears, sometimes upset, sometimes quiet…sometimes heckling away defying the silence. Sometimes singing, sometimes worshiping, Sometimes rushing through the house to some room or other, or your office, doing your thing…the silence in the mornings as you tried to hold on to a few more minutes of your sleep before you hit your hectic office life.Happy memories of you talking to me about tea, about your children, about your God, about your brother, about your Mami, about your sister in law, about the numerous nieces you have mostly Nonkuta and Joannah, about Baraka…about tea, ‘Maasai tea’ that was mostly milk with a little bit of water and tea leaves, about the ministry we would one day start, a church with aisles that slide slowly to the altar, whose name was so powerful that bondage was broken and breakthrough wrought. The chats, the forwards, the encouraging messages when you read my blog. The five windmills turn slowly in my mind.
My mind is expecting your call today. You always seemed to sense it when I was low. I remember going through rape, because you stood by me. Gave me a room in your house, for whenever I needed to be away so I could cry. Encouraged me to use your bathtub, the one you used, because I needed to sit on water, to rid myself of the filth I felt inside of me. I remember getting lost in my mind, and straying off, and you would call, and find me and take me home with you. I remember your gentle urging that I do something that would cause my pain to bring comfort to another experiencing the same pain…you encouraged my ministry. I remember your support during the planning and after wedding of Terry and Harry; and that Leroy and I were in your house the morning I got a two worded message “Harry Died”. I remember that I cried out in your house, I remember that you listened to me, and that you took me where I needed to be…even though you could not stand it when I cried, when anyone cried, I remember you being there for me. I remember the day ‘they’ wanted to rob me of my parenthood, that it was you who sorted out my children, understood my frailty and provided for me so that ‘no one would tarnish my reputation as a warrior for child rights’. I don’t even know how you knew I was in pain, but you called and sorted me out. I wait for you call this morning, as the five windmills turn slowly above your resting place.
I remember you standing by me when church sometimes became a battle-field. I remember our conversations that exalted God. I remember the things you said when you talked about those in your life, even when it was stressful, you always found something nice to say. I remember that your house used to be noisy, that it was a place people loved to be, to cook, to hang out. I remember learning to make yorghut, liquid soap and shampoo in that house, when you turned it temporarily into a training center. I remember the silent hard look you gave me when I was being obnoxious or judgmental. I remember your eyes…when you laughed, until they teared. I remember you look at me from your hospital bed, and for the first time, I wondered what you were thinking. There was just a peacefulness around you. I remember your hand holding mine, especially that last time. It was as though you, though in great agony, were again reaching out to comfort me. The feel of your hands in mine, gave me strength to walk towards your coffin that morning…because I felt them holding mine. I remember our drinking tea…in all sorts of places. The last time, in your hospital room…where you drank the milk and I drank the tea. The five windmills turn slowly above your resting place, on top of a cold hill, where warm sunlight reaches out to comfort the hearts broken by your leaving.
You shared your family, shared your friends, shared you work, shared your rest, shared your leisure, shared your dreams, shared your hopes, shared your heartache, shared your books – reminding me often to return those I borrowed quickly, shared your life…there was a time you shared half your boubous…i got all the skirts and you retained the tops. Your work…the girls…the women…your love for them. I look far beyond the light into the darkness, not just in my life, and i find you there, smiling and urging us to find The Light. You were attracted to seemingly hopeless causes, myself included, and proved everything and everyone wrong, by believing in The God Who stood for us. I remember how ‘Whatsup gal?” could start conversations that lasted forever…and never ended. I remember being hugged by you. I remember you closing your eyes, that last time in hospital, and nodding when I asked “Do you need to sleep?” Those last two times, when I walked out of your hospital room, and then from the mound of flowers that stood on top of a hill, where five windmills turn slowly, were the most difficult steps I have ever had to take. But in doing so, I knew, and know, that there was nothing left unsaid or undone. That God had blessed us, to complete our friendship together. I thank God, that He gave. I thank God that He gave His best. I thank God that He is teaching me to accept His taking you back. Just a little every day. Meanwhile, there are five windmills that turn slowly, relentlessly, rocking me, rocking you, reminding me, that Everlasting Arms embrace you now…and that finally…you are gooooodddd.