About Bayanda Mzoneli
Bayanda Mzoneli is a public servant. He writes in his personal capacity.
Few things, if any, are as abrupt as death. Obviously this refers mostly to death by accident or some other act which is as abrupt such a murder and so on. It happens when you least expect it. Even in moments where death threats may have preceded a murder, it does not prepare us enough to expect it.
Death is rudely abrupt. It brings with it a flood of sorrow. One moment Rose is here, the next moment she is gone. No notice. No goodbye. Death brings a rude and instant exit by Rose.
All that death leaves you is a memory of Rose. Upon learning of Rose’s death, what comes first is the last interaction you had with her. Was it good? Was it bad? Should you have apologised to her?
Immediately after that the immediate plans you had with Rose come to mind. What were we going to do tomorrow? What were we going to do next week? Next month? Who am I going to do these things with now? People cannot be replaced. People really close to us carve their own space in our hearts that cannot be filled by anyone else.
Death is rude because nothing can be done about it. You can’t negotiate for 5 more minutes just so you can apologise and make peace with a person. You don’t get additional time to tell the person how much you love them or express your deep appreciation for their role in your life. Rose is dead, never to return again. You have to live with the burden of regret.
The same way, you would hope there is point to this article and perhaps it is somewhere in it’s conclusion. A reader would only expect a pointless article with no conclusion from an amateurish writer, which I am.
No amount of prosecution and sentence of murderers can bring Themba back. Themba is dead.
We each have our own reasons why people we hold dear in our hearts are special to us. Some of the time those reasons are common but often there will also be those that are unique to each of us. You discover how special Themba was when you hear from others, their unique reason of why he was special to them. It enriches your affection of him. You wonder why he never mentioned that to you or whether was he still going to tell you before his life was cut short.
The you begin to reminisce. In your head, you replay the highlights of the moments with Themba. The good times and the bad time, but mostly the good times. The special times that no one knows about except you and Themba. In your memory, Themba is immortalized. He lives on forever. (Which is mostly until you die, unless you are Christian or some other dogma about eternity.)
In fact our helplessness in an attempt to immortalise our loved ones is probably the biggest contributor to our belief in some form of deity. We hope we will probably meet them on judgement day or better yet, they are watching us every day from wherever they are. Even the greatest of atheist may catch themselves hoping their loved lives on in spirit.
The sorrow brought by death is hardly bearable. It is overwhelming. The closer the person to your heart, the greater the pain. Although it is often said that time heals, perhaps saying time makes the pain bearable is more precise.
Although death rudely reminds us often of our mortality, we never get used to it. Rarely is any of us always emotionally ready for the death of the loved one nor their own.
One moment you have so many plans to return the love and favours from the parents or friends, the next moment . . .