Okay, Okay, where should I begin with this? I’ll start from last Wednesday when things just got all sorts of wacky.
Wednesday morning I was in a very groggy sleep/awake state when I heard some sort of crying noise. I looked over at Aiman and he was sound asleep and so I tried going back to sleep, only the crying got stronger and louder. A minute later, I realized I wasn’t hearing things and that someone was in fact crying, and very loudly at that if I could hear it from my room with the door closed. I slowly pulled myself out of bed as to not wake Aiman up, but I started panicking because I’ve never heard anyone cry that way, so I figured something terrible must have happened.
I rushed down the steps and saw my mom sobbing on the couch.
“Mom, what’s the matter? What happened? Are you hurt?”
She was choking on her tears.
“Mom! Mom! What’s wrong??”
She just couldn’t get the words out. It started thinking about some pretty terrible scenarios that would make her sob the way she was. I waited and held her because I didn’t know what else to do until she was ready to tell me what was causing her such pain and grief, all the while getting ridiculously anxious about what kind of news it could be.
She gasped for air and said that her uncle just informed her that her mom had unexpectedly died.
I was totally shocked.
We sat on the couch as she continued to heavily sob into my chest and I just held her tightly. What the hell do you say to someone who just lost their only parent out of nowhere? Nothing would suffice or even come close. She cried, I cried and we held one another until she could at least breath through her tears.
Aiman was half way down the stairway when he saw us and stopped dead in his tracks (god, bad choice of words). He stood quietly until I signaled for him to come over, but he refused. I think he was really confused, having just woken up and then seeing us, especially Gran’ma wailing.
After taking him to the kitchen with me to make his breakfast, he stood by the doorway for a while and just listened to his grandmother cry and cry. I asked him if he was okay.
“Gran’ ma sad, Mama”
“Yes she is baby. Gran’ ma is very, very sad right now”
“Gran’ma need hug”
“Would you like to give Gran’ma a hug? I think she would love one”
He hesitated for awhile, but eventually ran to hug her and she held him until his breakfast was ready.
I immediately called my sister and Saad’s aunt (who’s basically his mom) and both were on their way, which was a huge relief because I don’t know how to handle this kind of situation. I didn’t know what to say or do and wanted keep myself really busy because it was incredibly uncomfortable to be so useless to my mom at that point. Do you give someone their space and let them mourn or do you stay by their side and hold them?
Honestly, I didn’t really know my grandmother because she and the rest of my mom’s family live in Ethiopia and on a farm at that, so communication was close to null. Our parents took us to visit once when I was 11 and that was the first, last, and only time I’ve ever seen or talked to her. I didn’t know her all of my life. My mom, on the other hand, had just visited her about a year and a half earlier and talks to her semi-regularly. Of all of her siblings, she was closest to her mom and distantly fartherest from her as well.
She was planning to go back and see her again sometime in the next year or so, especially since she sort of had to cut her last visit short (bills don’t pay themselves, you know). One thing she repeatedly cried was that she wished she got to say goodbye, that she saw her one last time and now she’s gone forever and she won’t be able to even make it to her funeral.
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Saad’s aunt and my sister got home within five minutes of each other and I made some tea to go along with the donuts my sister ran out to get for breakfast (there was nothing else in the house). Anything to keep myself busy. The three of us stayed with her and talked, even getting her to crack a smile every now and then. Around noon, my aunt (as in Saad’s aunt) had to pick up her son from school and left.
Something I should explain about Ethiopian culture is that community members lovingly swarm around someone who’s lost a loved one, constantly keeping the person company and taking over household responsibilities. The person mourning doesn’t cook, clean, work, or even pick up their kids from school because someone is taking care of all of that for them. Their job is to get the time they need and, oxymoronically, constantly be around those who care about them.
So after leaving, my aunt called a few of my mom’s close friends and they worked up a schedule of who would be here and when. It was no surprise that within an hour after my aunt left, some of my mom’s closest friends showed up to offer their condolences and keep her company. I ran out to run my mom’s errands and Sieda, my sister, stayed home and hosted the guests, who weren’t really guests as they were family, but still. By the time I got back home with Elham and Aiman, there were several people there and the house was rearranged. Why? Because as word spread, there were going to be hundreds of people coming to this house for my mom and the house needed to accommodate them all.
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In the following hours people trickled in and flooded in at times, completely drowning the house with support, love, supplies (plates, napkins, utensils, drinks, etc because again, they knew that crowds would be showing up to give their condolences), and lots and lots of food.
It was completely overwhelming. Sieda took off from her day of classes and work and the next day I went to class to take my quiz and left as soon as I turned it in while Sieda was holding down the fort on her own back home.
Family, extended family, friends, neighbors, community members, people we haven’t seen in years, and for a rare few in close to a decade filled our house from as early as 8am to as late as 11 pm for the next four days straight.
Close to 15 hours a day of enteratining guests for four straight days. But it was also close to 15 hours a day of being there for my mom from people who’ve known her for decades and love her and her children. So they came as soon as they heard.
A part of me was amazed at how much the community comes together; friend’s and family members put aside differences and show up regardless of how long they haven’t spoken to each other to show her support and offer their help with whatever she needed.
Yet another part of me was totally baffled and admittedly slightly annoyed at how early in the day this support and help started. By the second day into this marathon, someone rang the doorbell at 7:45 in the morning. SEVEN FORTY FIVE IN THE FREAKIN’ AM. We all went to bed sometime after midnight that first night, so we were all, like, you know, SLEEPING at that time. Nonetheless, Sieda and I came out of our rooms and gave each other a wide-eyed “Omg, nuh-uh” look before scrambling downstairs. I looked through the peep hole and there were a couple of guests waiting outside with baskets and containers of food.
They brought breakfast, meaning they had gotten up extra early and cooked a hot breakfast and then drove all the way over here with said breakfast and tea for us.
Don’t misunderstand me, we’re grateful for their thoughtfulness, but holy helllll, 7:45 is pretty damn early to keep some guests!
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It continued on into the weekend, this incoming and outgoing traffic of so many people. So many people.
My mom, she’s so loved.
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On Thursday night I was in the kitchen getting some beverages for the newly arrived guests when I heard knocking at the front door. My hands were full and I figured someone would get it. Besides, by the time I got the drinks and wobbled over the kitchen gate to the living room to get to the door, they’d probably leave because I’m that damn slowly paced these days. I did not anticipate the extra jiggle in my thighs (and entire body) to make each step such an accomplishment.
As the door opened, the room fell a little silent and then my mom says “Amira, there’s a delivery for you” which I thought was really weird. It’s close to 10pm and a delivery? Something’s up.
So I put down the tray I and hurled myself over than forsaken kitchen gate to pick up this “delivery” and walked into the living room. Guess what was waiting for me? JUST GUESS.
I should really say guess who was waiting.
.
.
.
I’ll put you out of your misery already and tell you that SAAD, that kooky husband of mine, had just walked in through the door.
Why was this a surprise? Because I was going to pick him up from the airport the following morning, and there he was in the living room a full 12 hours earlier than expected. And as usual? He didn’t tell anyone he was coming home early, so it was a total surprise.
I think I gurgled something to the effect of “ohshitomg” in disbelief before wobbling right back into the kitchen to hide and laugh uncontrollably to myself. Because that’s what I do when surprised-hide and laugh like a maniac in the privacy of my own mental space.
Then I just muttered “IknewitIknewitIknew” because I KNEW he would do something like this and just up and board a flight, get into town, and walk through the front door like it’s nothing. It’s very typical of Saad’s Saadness.
And I totally love him for it.
I looked at him and my whole body took a huge sigh of relief. He was finally home and automatically things were going to get better from there.
Or were they?
DUN DUN DUNNNNNN…
To be continued…
