I died earlier today. As my breath was transitioning from being contained in a body to becoming one with the vast expanse, my bravado was vapourising, leaving behind a sediment of unadulterated fear and anxiety for the body that is soon to be trapped six feet under. I was a pious woman, loyal to my husband giving him seven children and living the life of a devout Catholic woman – if you discounted my naïve stubbornness. I had grandchildren who were into the teens and all my children lived respectable lives.

I had lived what you can comfortably describe as a virtuous life – why not, when my protective husband provided for all my needs, fed my children and gave me a roof to live under? I had no lofty pursuits nor requirements beyond his affordability – financial, social and otherwise. That does not mean I had a wealthy husband. It means that I was comfortable with an ordinary life, being addressed as ‘Mrs Husband’, ‘virtuous’, ‘devout’ and all the adjectives becoming of a good wife and mother.

It was almost certain that my husband would outlive me. I did not know then how this was to be, but I just knew. My fevers appeared out of nowhere when I was one foot into the 60s. They became a weekly affair. The nerve-wracking headaches combined with pain tantamount to joints crushed in a grinder, I knew I had something more than just an infection. This lasted for about a month before I could be convinced to visit a doctor. The doctor, after a battery of tests, read out my verdict – six months of life, with utmost care and sophisticated medication. I lived on for a decade with minimal treatment intervention and a lot of pain, before the delayed verdict was actioned this morning.

There was no reason for me to fear inevitable death, as my doctrine prepared me for the transient nature of life. At least, so I thought…

I lived believing that I was a model woman of the home. My husband and I were emphatic about the need for our children to live in morality; even if it meant their wings were clipped, disallowing them from flying high. We believed that exposure beyond the necessary meant trouble and means beyond need brought in vices. We were a team. We complemented each other – my husband’s diplomacy with my short fuse; his thrift with my generosity; his calculated moves with my reactive outbursts and sulking; and the list can go on.

I do not remember much about my youth. My teens were a blur of child-like obedience and piety before I entered marital life in my teens. My husband and I believed in a life of rules – country, Church, family, society and all other kinds. Anything in our neighbourhood sticking outside of the precincts of the rule-book were discussed in great length as examples of behaviour and things to avoid in the family.

When my children married and a few of their respective spouses did not quite fit the rule-book, I flew into a rage while my husband resorted to diplomatic channels of action. The new-formed families did not attach much to these reactions and went on to live life their way. We particularly isolated ourselves from one such family, which aspired for higher things in life especially their children.

I found myself in the home and arms of that same child’s family on my deathbed. They were their caring best, knowing well that there was no gain but sheer hard work and pain, without even the consolation of my recovery. They did not shun me in my weakest moments, as the families of those children we saw as abiding by our rule-book did. They cleansed my wounds without a smirk, they tended to my need without a grunt, they provided for my old husband without a word, they sat beside me as I was transitioning into a new world with words of comfort and love.

I grew up then. Rule-books are to keep people joyously bonded together in love. Mine dissuaded me from relating or discerning, embarrassingly landing myself in my weakest moment in the arms of those I spurned, with them showering unadulterated love. I blessed them in my heart before it stopped beating.

It was too late to share my growing up moment with my husband. I could barely speak. He was there to witness it unfold, as you hear it from me.

Was this a reason for my fear of death when I was standing at its doors? I don’t know…