#2 Rites
Or, the one about dying to save my sisters from themselves.
No longer among us but never far from our hearts. In the eyes of the world, he was just one person but to us, he was the whole world.
―Jente Posthuma, What I’d Rather Not Think About.
Our family group chat is like an open coffin we have all got used to having around. We know it holds a dead body, yet no one seems to mind. No one seems to acknowledge that dead things are not of this world anymore and should not be kept like tokens. We laugh and cry and gather around, in spite of it. We say many things in our family group chat, except what we truly mean.
My eldest sister, Lunga, created the ghost town of a group chat to encourage us to keep in touch and be a family. Despite our differences and all the resentment we harbour towards one another, I genuinely believe that this virtual space holds the power to transcend our differences. It is a lofty aspiration, I admit, but one cannot stop hoping for a miracle when it involves the restoration of familial connections.
I’m always holding out for a miracle the most where my sisters are concerned. I figured being in the same space as our brothers — who actually love and respect each other would motivate them to foster sisterhood. I have always been idealistic — there was even a time when I wondered if my death would be the kind of wake-up call they needed to get their shit together because I, too, try to get along with all of them in order keep them together as sisters.
Amidst the turbulent waters of my sisters’ nonexistent relationships, I find solace in knowing that their love, with time and dedication, can be revived. There were times when I had wondered if they would murder each other with the way the smallest of arguments birthed physical altercations. One could excuse this behaviour when we were younger, but they are adults now with children of their own, and we’re still not out of the woods yet. What examples are they setting?
I like to believe that my sisters will bathe my corpse when I’m dead.
Bathing a corpse is an obligation mothers and other female members take upon themselves to do. This has been the case for many generations in my family. It is a duty that stems from love, which seems to say We are here for you at your death as we were when you were born. I like to believe that they will pack up whatever anger they are carrying in their pockets and congregate around my dead body to perform the rites. I imagine that the gravity of this situation would hold them into place. One would look to the other smiling and let out a low scoff, having been overcome with memory, and say something like, Ugh, who knew Riley could be so quiet? And then, they will laugh, and their squabbles will not matter. What will stand will be their shared grief, being together and existing in their love and their pain, and that will be enough.
I love my sisters despite their flaws. I love all of them in different ways and intensities, but the biggest reason why I love them is because of how much each of them loves me. Having all my sisters assemble to bathe me when I’m dead will be the manifestation of something I’ve spent my life hoping they would do: to get out of their heads and set aside their problems and be present in performing love.
I’m not suicidal at this moment, but I have considered the power that death has.
I wonder if the loss of someone they hold dear would be a catalyst for my sisters to resolve their problems. I can not confirm this because, in this scenario, I would be dead.
This essay was initially published in the 10th edition of the Ake Review, under the theme ‘Blood Ties.’ My sisters still do not get along. The group chat has since been discontinued.
x always,
I love this. Not only because recently left my family’s group chat …
Wry, hopeful.