On 23 December 2010, my family and I lost our angel, our mother, a wife, friend, nurse, counsellor (and much more to so many) to cancer. My mum had suffered a 7 year battle with cancer: from her first breast cancer diagnosis in 2003, followed by a journey of chemotherapy, a second diagnosis and more chemotherapy. Fast forward to 2010 - the diagnosis that it had spread to most of her major organs.
My grief, or what felt like it, started with that first diagnosis in 2003. It was not grief in the typical sense of the word. It was a feeling of fear, of anger at this disease that ravages our body’s cells without mercy...and guilt. Why guilt? Because I learnt that Mum had cancer on the phone – both of us trying to be so strong, yet knowing that as soon as we said ‘bye’, we would break down. What do you do? When you are millions of miles away, perhaps with no family nearby, when you put down the phone after hearing such devastating news and knowing that you cannot hold your nearest and dearest when they need you the most? Millions of people in the Diaspora suffer grief almost everyday and in many communities abroad, we gather together to comfort them. But what does it really feel like?
I went home to see my family after Mum’s first diagnosis when she was still fit. However, when the cancer spread and I was in Zimbabwe for a month from November 2010 looking after her and seeing first hand only a portion of what she went through, my heart cried out, not only for my family, but for fellow Zimbabweans, for fellow Africans, for anyone of any nationality, who has to deal with illnesses, with death, from abroad.
The economic and political situations in the home countries that we leave behind force us to seek ‘a better living’ for ourselves and for our families. But at what cost? Whilst I was in Harare, to deal with my ever-changing emotions, I was blessed to have the support of my family and friends, of the doctors and nurses at the Island Hospice and those at the Cancer Centre.
Even though many of us bravely leave to make a better life for us and our families, we have to deal with adjusting to a new country and many other social and economic barriers that may arise. Amongst other things, it is known that immigrants are often prone to severe and long-lasting psychological and behavioural problems, including depression, anxiety and a high risk for suicide.
One solution is to approach one of the many counselling centres available abroad from the Yellow Pages if you are having difficulty dealing with your grief. I am also setting up the Elizabeth Chanakira Cancer Trust, which will provide funds to disadvantaged cancer patients in Zimbabwe and is currently in the process of registration. The ECCT will drive a media campaign to raise awareness of cancer in Zimbabwe. The official website will, amongst other things, provide links to counsellors in Zimbabwe and for those Zimbabweans (or other nationalities) who need help with their grief whilst abroad, there will be links available where you can seek further help.
*More info on the Elizabeth Chanakira Cancer Trust will be available at the completion of registration and on launch of the official website. Please contact Teurai on her website at www.teurai.com for more info.
My grief, or what felt like it, started with that first diagnosis in 2003. It was not grief in the typical sense of the word. It was a feeling of fear, of anger at this disease that ravages our body’s cells without mercy...and guilt. Why guilt? Because I learnt that Mum had cancer on the phone – both of us trying to be so strong, yet knowing that as soon as we said ‘bye’, we would break down. What do you do? When you are millions of miles away, perhaps with no family nearby, when you put down the phone after hearing such devastating news and knowing that you cannot hold your nearest and dearest when they need you the most? Millions of people in the Diaspora suffer grief almost everyday and in many communities abroad, we gather together to comfort them. But what does it really feel like?
I went home to see my family after Mum’s first diagnosis when she was still fit. However, when the cancer spread and I was in Zimbabwe for a month from November 2010 looking after her and seeing first hand only a portion of what she went through, my heart cried out, not only for my family, but for fellow Zimbabweans, for fellow Africans, for anyone of any nationality, who has to deal with illnesses, with death, from abroad.
The economic and political situations in the home countries that we leave behind force us to seek ‘a better living’ for ourselves and for our families. But at what cost? Whilst I was in Harare, to deal with my ever-changing emotions, I was blessed to have the support of my family and friends, of the doctors and nurses at the Island Hospice and those at the Cancer Centre.
Even though many of us bravely leave to make a better life for us and our families, we have to deal with adjusting to a new country and many other social and economic barriers that may arise. Amongst other things, it is known that immigrants are often prone to severe and long-lasting psychological and behavioural problems, including depression, anxiety and a high risk for suicide.
One solution is to approach one of the many counselling centres available abroad from the Yellow Pages if you are having difficulty dealing with your grief. I am also setting up the Elizabeth Chanakira Cancer Trust, which will provide funds to disadvantaged cancer patients in Zimbabwe and is currently in the process of registration. The ECCT will drive a media campaign to raise awareness of cancer in Zimbabwe. The official website will, amongst other things, provide links to counsellors in Zimbabwe and for those Zimbabweans (or other nationalities) who need help with their grief whilst abroad, there will be links available where you can seek further help.
*More info on the Elizabeth Chanakira Cancer Trust will be available at the completion of registration and on launch of the official website. Please contact Teurai on her website at www.teurai.com for more info.
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