It all started when I was 10 years old. My mom's mom (my grandmother) was sick. She had high blood pressure (BP). She also had a goiter which did not help her case. I though she was going to go first. She had been having problems for a while. She had, had a stroke, when my mom was still a teenager and got paralyzed, but she was a strong woman. She went through all that and was able to Walk again. In 2009 she came and visited us for the summer. As we stayed with her, her BP rose. My mom decided to take her to the hospital. When the doctor examined her he said that her goiter was making her BP rise. So she had surgery to get it out.

In the mean while my dad's mom (my other grandmother) also feel very sick. She was hospitalized. She had Alzheimer's. Some effects of this sickness is memory loss, difficulty completing familiar tasks at home, confusion with time and place, withdrawals from activities, misplacing things and,loosing the ability to retrace steps. She lost so much of her memory that she forgot every one she knew including her children and grand children except for her husband.

I remember a story my dad told me about her. My dad is the eighth out of nine children. My grand mother though she would never live long enough to see his children. But I was born before she got sick and he took me too her. I was too young to remember but she danced and sung in joy at being able to see me. It was sad to go back and visit her and have her not even remember my dad. I think it was really hard for my dad cause he was a mama's boy.

In 2010 she died. She had a big funeral. Friends and family from far away came to pay their respects. I don't remember much from the funeral except for my dad being extremely sad and being greeted by family member I had never seen or heard of before. Grandfather was devastated, which is normal.

That was just the beginning cause I had the shock of my life when my moms mom died the next year. I thought the surgery had saved her but I guess it just gave us a few more years with her. She died one day before my sisters birthday. A few days before her death, they called my mom and told her she had fallen down and was unconscious. My mom could not leave her work to go to grandmother until two days after the call. As soon as she could, my mom started traveling towards my grandmother. We lived in The Democratic Republic Of Congo. My grand mother was in Malawi. Zambia is the country between these countries. So as my mom was on the bus in Zambia, on her way to grandmother, she had another call that informed her of the passing of my grandmother. My mom was devastated that she was gone and could not see her for the last time.

Mom called dad a told him that the funeral was in two days. This was the day before my sisters birthday. So we packed up and got ready to go the next day. So at 6:00 am on the 26th of June 2011 we drove to Malawi. That was the longest ride of my life both figuratively and literally. We started the journey at 6:00 am and arrived in Malawi the next day at 6:00 am with no breaks at all. We only stopped for take out food, and gas.

When we drove into the funeral we were greeted by crying people everywhere. As we got out of our car my aunt (my moms older sister) came to us and hugged us as she kept repeating "mom is gone, your grandmother is gone, she's never coming back!". Seeing your aunt bowling her eyes out as she said those words made everything sink in and I realized that what she said was true! I could not see my grandmother again. When I would visit she would have us go get sugar cane and eat as much as we wanted and now there was no one to spoil us. Tear where flowing, people where crying and wailing in grief and sadness.

As we entered the house we saw that all the furniture was moved to the side and my grandmother's coffin was in the middle of the room. The room was filled from wall to wall with women surrounding the coffin and crying. I spotted my mom in the crowd and I sat next to her as my sister did the same.

I remember looking around me and and seeing everyone crying around me. As I looked at my mom, that was the weakest I had ever seen her. My mom has always been the strong one. The one that taught me how to stand up for myself and not get crushed by other people. She is the one who gives me good advice and teaches me how to do something. She never has no way of fixing something. And she was the same woman that I saw rocking back and forth crying and repeating "Amama!" which means Mother in ngoni (a Malawian and Zambian language).
Time passed as we all bowled our eyes out. It became time for the service before the burial. We all went and sat down on the football court behind the house. They were so many people. Half of the court was filled with friends and family. As the service went on my auntie and uncle (the youngest of the family) were wailing and crying because they knew what was next.

I know I was there for the burial but I don't remember much about what really happened then. After the burial we all went back to the house as it got dark out. While we were all inside eating our supper we heard my uncle (my moms older brother) screaming and crying for his mom. That's the last memory I have of that day.

Thinking Thant I wouldn't hear anything about funerals was wrong because the next year my grand father (my dad's dad) died. I didn't go to that funeral due to school. My parents went and left us with a church member. I felt bad because before my grandfather died, my dad had been building a house for him. My dad would tell me that as he supervised the building, grandfather would sit and watch the building everyday. He only got to live in it for six months before he died and that was before the house was fully done. The house he used to live in was made of mud. My dad in the fear of having that house collapse on his dad one day, had decided to build him a new one but he didn't get to even finish the house before he passed. 

So I had all four grandparents and lost three in a row in 3 years and now there is only one left...THE LAST ONE...McDonald Ndumo Hara.