When I shared the news of my grandmother's passing yesterday, many of you responded with kindness and thoughtfulness, for which I am truly grateful.
Grandma Sarah was bold, courageous, and kind, seemingly unafraid of anything. This made me a little uneasy as a kid because I was so afraid of everything. She did not play. If she had a problem with you, she made sure you were aware of it and never pretended otherwise. If you disrespected her or her family, she ensured you never did it again.
She was fearless.
I looked at her in awe—her courage seemed so foreign to me, even though her daughter, my mother, is the same way. As a kid, I found her directness scary and uncomfortable, but as I've grown older and become more comfortable with the woman I am becoming, all I can do is admire her and hope to be more like her as I gain more wisdom and experience.
She was also extremely loving and caring.
Grandma cooked for everyone—and I mean everyone. I can say that she's probably fed almost every Sierra Leonean in New Jersey, especially those in South Jersey and maybe even Philly. At her funeral, I witnessed her kindness even more profoundly when almost everyone who attended spoke of how she had saved them financially, paid for countless school fees, covered doctor visits, and supported christenings, baby showers, and baby clothes, among many other things.
I saw how her children spoke of their individual relationships with her and how special each one was. I listened to grandchildren in Sierra Leone, who tried to be brave and hold back tears, speak of her and how much she meant to them. I connected with their suffering as I tried and failed to keep it together.
I miss Gradnma Sarah dearly, and seeing her lay in her coffin broke my heart into pieces. I felt foreign emotions since this was my first real connection to death. During the civil war, I saw a lot of deaths—babies, the elderly, the young, etc.—but those deaths were outside of me. Although I felt extreme empathy for those lives, I was distant from the grief. My grandmother's passing was internal and personal, so I am still processing these emotions. I have so much I want to say, and maybe writing can help me process the grief that often washes over me at the most unexpected times.
I am privileged to have felt her love while she was alive. I am grateful that she was my grandmother.
I am grateful to carry (part of) her name with me. I know she would have been so proud of me—I know it.