Journey with Della

PART ONE: The day of

First it was the sound of his breathing as he sat and later lay there hooked to the machines in his hospital room.

Then it was the sound of the muffled voices of doctors and nurses as they tried to figure out what the next course of treatment should be

After that it was the sound of him gasping as he finally succumbed to the beckoning of his Heavenly Father towards his rest

Then it was the sounds of the cries of my mom, siblings, friends, etc. in the immediate aftermath of his passing

The sounds of the many voices in my head pushing me to take on necessary responsibilities in that moment ensued

PART TWO: The in-between

And the sound of the hustle and bustle that became the “norm” in the weeks following his passing as sympathizers streamed in from far and near

There was also the sound of singing, clapping, praising, praying etc. when Christian friends came by individually or in groups

And the intermittent sounds of weeping and (occasional) wailing as family members from far and wide gathered to mourn him

Then there was the sound of “confusion” as grandchildren tried to make sense of how it was that they could not hug and play with their grandpa

There were also the unsolicited and rather annoying sounds of the voices of those who thought that they knew enough to explain it all away

Then came the sounds of hammer and nails as carpenters worked away preparing the box that would hold “the remains”

The sounds of endless phone conversations with caterers, event planners, decor ladies, church and community leaders, hearse services, etc. as arrangements for his internment ensued

Then the sounds of hissing and sighing from people in secluded corners trying to make sense of it all

The sounds of high pitched and emphatic voices teeming with insistence on a particular course of action, disappointment or disapproval of some sort as the plans for internment progressed

The muted sounds of loud screams and yells from within yearning as it were for a reset button to bring it all to the way it used to be or for a magic wand to wave all involved into compliance

There was also the sound of “order” as things slowly fell in place in the weeks leading to the burial although it was heard only by those who listened intensely

And the sound of the comfort of those who “got it” and somehow knew just what to do to invade the chaos with a sufficient enough degree of calm to keep one going regardless

With these came the sound of reassurance from a place deep inside the emptiness that now invaded every space and yet unperturbed by the fierceness of the threats that loomed in the near and far distances as well as the in-between 

The soothing sound of words and melodies inspired for seasons of loss like this and penned by men and women who have walked down the same road by experience or association

The sound of varied expressions of surrender as different family members and sympathizers submitted to sovereignty of the Most High and tried to embrace the strength and motivation needed to take one more step and then the next

PART THREE: The morning of

There was the sound of loud chatter, laughter and coordination as community members who had been deeply impacted by his life showed up at 4am to dig the 6-feet deep hole that would hold his remains

Up above there was the sound of rain drops on tin roofs contrary to all hopes and prayers as the bustle that characterized preparation for the early morning removal of mortal remains from the mortuary

Then there was the sound of hopes and prayers rising up to heaven from different vehicles as the convoy made its way to the Bamenda regional hospital for the start of what was sure to be a very long day

And then the sound of intermittent silence as people stood by in small groups waiting for the mortuary attendants to give the signal that would set the ball rolling on the rest of that day

The sound of groans, and weeping as the family said their final goodbyes was followed by the sound of prayers rising up to heaven for this new chapter that was beginning to unfold

Then there was the sound of sirens as the hearse led the processional to the church building for the funeral service

And the sound of singing, dancing, laughter, praising, preaching, and surrender as the Body of Christ to which he belonged did their best to remember him in the way they imagine he would have wanted to be remembered 

Then more sounds of weeping, wailing, crying etc. as all mourners viewed what was left of the very full of life and ever smiling servant of all

More sirens, more talking, more singing, more coordinating but mostly just the sound of automobile engines revving as the “remains” make their way to what would become their final resting place

The sound of loved ones clinging unto each other for strength and courage as the casket is positioned to begin the slow but definite journey down into the ground

Then came the time-stopping, life-altering and heart-dissolving SOUND as the Pastor said the dreaded words dust to dust, ashes to ashes…

PART FOUR: Today

I am unable to hear beyond that sound and utterly incapable of even describing it to you. Was it a bump, a clack, a clip-clop, a clump, a clunk, a rasp, a smack, a thud? Maybe the passage of time would empower my now frail vocabulary with a better description but until then I am calling it THE SOUND.

There have been more sounds before, during, and after that but THE SOUND is where my friend (Grief) has me today as I look back on six months (6 decades in the grief calendar) of life with without Daddy. I am not even going to try to rush myself from this sound that introduced a new level of understanding about the finality of his passing and with that a shattering of the places inside me that make me me. No, I will camp here as long as my friend demands because this sound must finish its course for me to move forward in fresh ways.

What about you? Have you lost someone dear? Do you hear any sounds as you think about them? Drop me a note in the comments. I would love to hear what your grief sounds like today.