M My Mèt Tèt

Nan departed this world on the 12th of February at six o’clock in the evening. She lingered in this realm until my mother reached the hospice, and only then did she surrender her final breath, leaving behind a single teardrop in the corner of her eye.

The doctors assured us she felt no pain, that she remained mercifully unaware of her suffering. Medication had carried her through those last, dissolving days.

The hospice carers explained that the tumour had likely begun its rapid collapse following the attempted surgery, which was a procedure that, in the end, achieved nothing.

Without that intervention, she might have survived another few months. I might have been granted the chance to bid her farewell in person.

But the tumour and dementia devoured her whole. Otherwise, her body remained in pristine condition : heart, kidneys, liver, spleen, lungs, all functioning flawlessly.

Had it not been for the colon cancer, she might have endured another four or five years with her fading mind. What a cruel choice: to die stripped of one’s thoughts and feelings, or to be slowly consumed by a cancer one had unknowingly harboured for years.

I am proud of her nonetheless. She was not perpetually happy, but her love for us knew no bounds.

She lived her finest life within her means.

She was extravagant.

She was formidable.

She was fearless.

She was kind.

She was steadfast.

She was extraordinary.

She accomplished more than most ever dream of.

She remained a widow for thirty-five years. She missed my grandfather every single day, cradling that ache in silence, scarcely speaking of it. Words were never her forte.

Since her passing, I have found peace.

I know that all our difficulties and disagreements dissolved over the years, and for the final decade or more, we shared a deeply loving relationship.

The same cannot be said of the rest of the family, who nursed grievances against her. Arguments were frequent between them, volleys of resentment that she returned in kind.

My heart is weightless now, light as a feather.

I am grateful she graced my life, and that I was permitted to grace hers for so long.

I sense her presence still, whispering counsel into my ear, continuing to guide me gently along my path.

In Haitian Vodou tradition, there exists a spirit that guides one from birth, the Mèt Tèt.

Though Nan walked this earth beside me for the first thirty-five and a half years of my life, she had long been steering me forward.

Now she has claimed her rightful place in the spiritual realm and become my Mèt Tèt in truth.

I am certain it is she who accompanies me now, the profound ease and calm that surrounds me could belong to no one else.