 |  |
In the grand scheme of things, my death was a happy ending to my last 32 progressive years in Rwanda. Although it felt bittersweet that I never got to watch my great-grandchildren grow up, I guess that is a minor objection, as one can always find a reason to linger a bit longer among the living.
Throughout the years, Naomi and I had been running a charity foundation that was based around looking after orphans and giving Rwandan children a safe upbringing and a good education. It was an issue that Naomi and I were passionate about since we were both orphans ourselves.
Naomi didn’t face the same problems I did, and she married a wonderful husband and mothered a few children. I rejoiced at knowing that even though these children didn’t bear my bloodline, they still carried on my spirit, and they would bring a brighter future to my country. In the year that I died, one of my grandchildren, Junima, gave birth to a daughter. While I was sad that I wouldn’t see this child grow up, it brought me solace knowing that life would go on after my passing.
Although I rejoiced at Naomi’s happy family life, it also made me feel bittersweet. I was sad that I couldn’t find someone to share my life with, but I had given up on romance after my marriage out of convenience to Jakob failed. Fate had destined me to live alone, and I was better off focusing on how to make the world a better place for those around me, rather than obsessing about my deep loneliness.
The last year of my life, I was getting weary and I had relinquished the control of my foundation to Naomi and her children. I never examined my symptoms, but I believe that I had a rare form of leukemia. I had kept quiet about my condition and I abstained from seeking treatment. There were still lots of young and needy people in Rwanda that needed our help, and I didn’t want to bereave them this help so I could live a few years longer.
The day I died, I had been working in my garden, nursing my beautiful plants. My body was weary, but I didn’t believe in staying in bed all day. Our bodies were made for movement, so if we bereaved them that movement, we bereaved them the essence of life. Life and living aren’t about the number of years, it is about the quality of it. Sacrificing the quality of life to maximise the quantity is a foolish idea based on the unfounded fear of dying.
After a short stint of gardening, I got weary, and I leaned back into a sunchair to enjoy the beauty of my flower arrangements. It saddened me, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to see them for much longer, but I longed for coming to the paradise where I would see beautiful flowers yet again and reunite with my first family.
As I watched the sunset behind the vast and majestic African mountains, a bright white light flashed in front of my eyes. Jesus stood in front of me, accompanied by my parents and my brother. I reached for them, they smiled at me, and I became one with the universe.
The End.