Huzuni ya Kufiwa Huja Kama Mawimbi

[Mlenge]

Kifo hakizoeleki. Kila mmoja anayo namna yake ya kuonyesha huzuni yake baada ya kufiwa; kwa mfano, wengine hulia kwa kupiga kelele, japo wengine hukaa kimya. Huzuni ni kitu kisichoonekana kwa macho, na mara nyingi huwaweka wahuzunikao kwenye hatari ya kupata sononi na madhara mengine ya kisaikolojia. Yafuatayo ni maneno ya faraja kwa mtu mwenye huzuni kubwa ya kufiwa. Mwandishi wa awali ni GSnow wa Reddit. Maandishi haya yamesambazwa sana mtandaoni, wengi wakisema yamewasaidia wao au wawapendao kukabiliana na huzuni kuu ya kufiwa. Alikuwa akimjibu mtu aliyesema, Rafiki yangu amefariki saa hii, nami sina hali. Hii hapa tafsiri ya Kiswahili:

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Haya, inaenda hivi. Umri wangu umeenda. Hiyo maana yake ni kwamba nimeweza kuishi (mpaka sasa) na watu wengi ninaowafahamu na kuwapenda hawakuweza. Nimepoteza marafiki, mabesti, ninaowafahamu kidogo, wafanyakazi wenzangu, mababu na mabibi, mama, jamaa, walimu, waelekezi, wanafunzi, majirani, na kundi kubwa la watu wengine. Sina watoto, na siwezi kueleza machungu ya kufiwa na mtoto. Lakini haya ndio mawazo yangu.

Natamani kusema unaweza kuzoea kufiwa. Sikuweza. Na sitaki. Inabomoa tundu kubwa ndani yangu wakati wowote nimpendaye anapofariki, bila kujali namna gani. Lakini sitaki iwe "sijali". Sitaki iwe ni jambo la kupita tu. Makovu yangu ni ushuhuda wa upendo na uhusiano niliokuwa nao kwa ajili ya au na mtu huyo. Na kama kovu ni kubwa, ndivyo ulivyokuwa upendo. Acha liwe. Makovu ni ushuhuda wa uhai. Makovu ni ushuhuda kwamba naweza kupenda sana na kuishi kwa kuzama ndani sana na kujeruhiwa, na hata kutobolewa, na kwamba naweza kupona na kuendelea kuishi na kuendelea kupenda. Na nyama ya kovu ni imara sana kuliko ile iliyokuwapo awali. Makovu ni ushahidi wa uhai. Makovu huchukiza wale tu wasioweza kuona.

Kuhusu huzuni, utagundua huja kama mawimbi. Wakati jahazi linapozama, unazama maji, huku ukizungukwa na vipande mbalimbali vya jahazi vinavyokuzingira. Kila kitu kinachoelea karibu nawe kinakukumbusha uzuri na ukuu wa jahazi lilivyokuwa, na sasa halipo. Na kitu pekee unachoweza kufanya ni kuelea. Unapoona kipande cha jahazi na unakishikilia kwa muda. Inaweza kuwa kitu halisi. Inaweza kuwa kumbukumbu ya siku mlipofurahi au picha. Pengine ni mtu ambaye naye pia anaelea. Kwa muda, kitu pekee unachoweza kufanya ni kuelea. Kubakia hai.

Awali, mawimbi ni makubwa urefu wa futi 100 na yanakupiga bila huruma. Yanakuja kila baada ya sekunde 10 na hayakupi muda hata wa kuvuta pumzi. Kitu pekee unaweza kufanya ni kubakia ulivyo na kuelea. Baada ya muda, pengine majuma, pengine miezi, unaweza kubaini kwamba mawimbi bado ni ya futi 100, lakini yanakuja kwa kuchelewa zaidi. Na yajapo, bado hukutandika vilivyo na kukuyumbisha. Lakini wakati hayapo, unaweza kuvuta pumzi, na kuendelea na maisha. Huwezi kujua nini kitaibua tena huzuni. Inaweza kuwa ni wimbo, picha, makutano ya mitaa, harufu ya kikombe cha kahawa. Inaweza kuwa kitu chochote... na wimbi linakutandika kisawasawa. Lakini baina ya mawimbi pana maisha.

Siku zikishaenda, na hii ni tofauti kwa kila mtu, unaweza kuanza kona mawimbi yako na urefu wa futi 80 tu. Au urefu wa futi 50. Na ingawa bado yanakuja, huchukua muda mrefu zaidi kuja. Unaweza kuyaona yakija. Siku ya kumbukumbu ya kifo, kumbukumbu ya kuzaliwa, au Krismasi, au kutua katika uwanja wa ndege fulani. Unaweza kuliona likija, na kwa sehemu kubwa, kujiandaa. Na pindi likutandikapo, unajua kwamba unalo tumaini la kutokea upande wa pili. Ukiwa umeloa, harijojo, ukishikilia kipande cha jahazi, lakini utatoka salama.

Sikiliza maneno ya mzee. Mawimbi hayasiti kamwe kuja, na kiaina hutaki yaache. Lakini unaelewa kwamba utasalimika nayo. Na mawimbi mengine yatakuja. Na hayo pia utasalimika nayo. Na ukiwa na bahati, utakuwa na makovu mengi kutoka kwa mapendo mengi. Na majahazi mengi yaliyozama.

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[Mlenge]

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.