The Gye Nyame

So there I was, in the cemetery office, with my shirt half off....

21st March will mark 7 years since my mother died. My sister has said that she is losing sleep (she responded to an email from me at 2:30 am the other day). I’m listening to Alison Krauss, whose music (for some inexplicable reason - my mother had no idea who Alison Krauss was) always reminds me of my mother.

For the first time since my mother died, I plan on going to work on the anniversary of her death (I’ve taken the day off any time it’s fallen on a weekday) and will try to make it as normal a day as I can, even though I know it won’t be. It happens to fall on the day our kid turns 4 years and 7 months so, partly as a distraction, I’m going to try and teach our kid on that day, to say that if she’s asked how old she is, she should say ‘four and seven twelfths’. I'm even considering making 7/12 of a cake to keep my mind off things.

My mother didn’t want to die (very few do, right?). Even though she was very sick, she didn’t want to accept her oncoming death to herself. I felt like many who knew her were not ready to admit it themselves either. No real plans had been made about what to do with her body after she died. I feel like I knew what my mother would have wanted, but the circumstances didn’t allow for that, partly because my mother didn’t want to accept that she was dying. 

It led to some degree of family strain after her death that I won’t get into here; it’s really not worth bringing up in any more detail. All I have to say on the topic is, if you have some around you that you love - anyone - tell them. Write it down and let them know what you want with your body after you die. It’s not a fun thing to discuss, I know, but it makes things easier for everyone when that day comes. 

In the end, a decision was made to bury her in Baltimore.

Why did I start the blog with the sentence I did? Death sucks and me with my shirt half off is what I think of when I think back to the time my mother died, and try to find moments of humour in that time of my life, of which there were very few.

We had this idea that on my mother’s grave placard, we might be able to place a Gye Nyame. We brought this up to the cemetery manager (I’d hate that job, by the way). She was open to trying, but had no idea what a Gye Nyame was. My dad tried describing it to her then I it hit me that I literally had one on my body; on my left shoulder blade to be specific. I had had a Gye Nyame tattoo for over 8 years at that point so the obvious thing to do was to lift my shirt up.

So there I was, in the cemetery office, with my shirt half off, showing my tattoo to the cemetery manager, who I had only just met. We all thought it was kind of a funny scene. It was a welcome break to what we had been going through over the past few days.

In the end, the cemetery manager couldn’t get the Gye Nyame on the placard, which was fine, really. To be honest, I don’t know how much my mother would have wanted a Gye Nyame.

Whenever I think about mother’s death, I think about watching basketball in the hospice in the few hours before she died; I remember my sister waking me up from a jet-lagged sleep to tell me it was time; I remember that last gasp of air my mother took; I remember calling Lauren in the very early hours of the morning. I remember a lot of things that make me feel very sad. 

Then I remember showing that woman my tattoo and I chuckle. My mom would have laughed too. I miss my mother every day.