I knew an old man who greatly puzzled those of us who were close to him as we stood anxiously around his hospital bed, wondering why he wasn’t ‘saying anything’, although it appeared that his condition was worsening, not getting better, by the day.
On his part the old man was totally at peace: speaking very little; in pain but not complaining.
When my wife and I visited him one day, and, as is customary, wanted to leave behind some money for him ‘to buy what he might desire to eat’, the old man shook his head slowly, telling us softly, “No, don’t… I am done with matters concerning the things of this world. Let’s just pray.” Which we did, and left even more puzzled.
That night we received a call and learned that the old man had died, peacefully, in his sleep.
We convened at the old man’s home the following day, to mourn and plan his funeral. As we sat in his spacious sitting room, the eldest brother, Geoffrey, came out of the old man’s bedroom, carrying some books. Geoffrey opened the books, leafed through the pages and told us that Mzee had left, conveniently where the books would be found, an orderly record of his assets and accounts. Had also left his Bible at the head of his bed, as if he knew he would not need it any more. We understood immediately why Mzee Joel was not speaking in the hospital.
Mzee was my father-in law.
I thought then, with huge admiration, what a way to die!
I have reflected about Mzee Joel’s last days many times over the years since that fateful day. Each time, two lessons come up, consolidating their hold on me as time goes by: that it is possible for one to prepare for their death, to be ready to face one’s maker and also to lessen, for those that will be left behind, the burden of cleaning up after the departed.
Haron Wachira 