What My Aunt's Death Left Behind

This weekend we buried uNaTatji. 

She was one of those women whose presence quietly held a family together. Gentle, yet strong. Cheerful. Curious. Loving.

She felt like home.

She was an anchor.

As we gathered under the bright blue Thekwane sky and stood around her grave, it felt like more than one person was being buried. It was as though we were grieving all our parents... those who have already gone before us, and those who are still here but have reached the age we quietly fear.

Something shifts when the generation above you begins to leave.

You realise that the foundation you have always stood on will not always be there.

You realise that you are becoming the adults.

One of the hardest parts of the weekend was watching the mantle being passed. We, the children, suddenly found ourselves organising, coordinating, making decisions, carrying responsibilities that had always belonged to our parents and aunties and uncles. Thankfully, the older generation was still there, gently guiding us. It wasn't a complete handover. It was a beautiful hybrid, wisdom leading while new hands learned to carry.

That transition was almost as emotional as the funeral itself.

Then there was another grief.

Diaspora.

Five of the six children now live outside Zimbabwe.

Ironically, it was uNaTatji herself who encouraged them to leave, long before Zimbabwe's great migration. Like so many parents, she wanted her children to have opportunities she could only dream of.

She succeeded. They flourished.

But every blessing carries a cost.

This weekend reminded us that sometimes migration doesn't only stretch families across continents. It stretches the moments that matter most - hospital visits, ordinary Sundays, and sometimes even goodbyes.

We are deeply grateful for the lives they have built. And at the same time, we felt the ache of loving each other across oceans.

Then there was the love story.

Watching my aunt and uncle love each other over a lifetime was sacred.

Their love wasn't romantic fiction. It was ordinary faithfulness... day after day, season after season. Choosing each other through the joys and through the impossibly difficult days that cancer brought.

Watching him let her go was heartbreaking.

And yet he stood there and, with remarkable courage, spoke ngamafitshane. He thanked her. He called her "the jewel of my life."

There wasn't a dry eye in that dusty gathering.

Even at the very end, their love did not stand alone. It was held by the next generation. My younger cousin became the primary caregiver to both her parents as illness slowly overtook them. Watching a daughter shoulder her parents with such quiet devotion was another kind of love story. One where love was not only shared between husband and wife, but faithfully passed on to their child.

Love looked like lifting.

Love looked like waiting.

Love looked like staying.

Cancer doesn't only affect the person diagnosed.

It quietly rearranges an entire family.

What has stayed with me most isn't only her death.

It's the life she lived with cancer.

Which leaves me asking a question I can't seem to shake.

What are we doing to save ourselves from cancer?

Our family has doctors, nurses, pharmacists, public health practitioners and other healthcare professionals.

And yet cancer still came into our home.

Knowledge alone is not enough.

Action matters.

Perhaps one small way to honour uNaTatji is to become far more intentional about prevention and early detection.

So this is my gentle nudge... to myself first.

If you are over 40, know what screening is recommended for you.

If you are a woman:

• Schedule regular cervical cancer screening from age 25, or earlier if recommended.
• Discuss mammograms with your healthcare provider from around age 40, especially if you have a family history of breast cancer.
• Know your breasts. Report any new lump, skin changes, nipple discharge or persistent pain promptly.

If you are a man:

• From around age 50, or from 45 if you have a higher risk such as a family history, discuss prostate cancer screening with your doctor.
• Don't ignore urinary symptoms or unexplained weight loss.

For all of us:

• A few simple things can significantly reduce your risk of cancer and other chronic diseases:

  • If you smoke, do everything you can to stop. If you're younger, please don't start vaping. It may seem harmless, but nicotine is highly addictive, and we are still learning the full extent of the long-term damage vaping can do to the lungs.
  • Limit alcohol. Not every weekend, celebration or stressful day needs a drink. Less really is better.
  • Aim for a healthy weight. This is one of the biggest things you can do for your long-term health. If you have access to a healthcare professional who can safely prescribe and monitor medications like Ozempic or similar treatments, I support having that conversation. Obesity increases the risk of several cancers, diabetes and heart disease. Weight loss medications have risks, but for many people, the health risks of untreated obesity are greater.
  • Move your body regularly. Ideally, every day. You don't have to become a marathon runner. Walk. Dance. Garden. Swim. Find movement you can sustain for life.
  • Eat more foods that come from the ground than from a packet. Fill your plate with fruits, vegetables, beans, nuts and whole grains. Fry a little less. Grill or bake a little more. Choose brown over white when you can... brown rice, wholemeal bread and whole grains instead of refined carbohydrates.
  • Protect your skin from excessive sun exposure. Sunscreen, hats and shade are not just fashion - they're prevention.
  • Know your family's medical history. It tells an important story about your own health risks.
  • Listen to your body. A persistent lump, unexplained weight loss, bleeding, a cough that won't go away, changes in your bowel habits or anything else that feels unusual deserves attention. Most cancers are far more treatable when they are found early.

In Zimbabwe, cancer screening is available through many public hospitals, private hospitals and specialist clinics. Ask your GP where to begin. If cost is a concern, enquire at your nearest government hospital, as screening programmes are sometimes available at reduced cost.

I'm also thinking of making a proposal to our family WhatsApp group.

Between us, we have enough medical expertise to answer questions, share reminders and encourage one another to actually book those appointments we keep postponing.

Because what is the point of working in public health if I cannot first serve my own public...

...my family?

I am broken by this loss.

But perhaps brokenness can become resolve.

Perhaps grief can become prevention.

Perhaps honouring her life means taking better care of our own.

I think uNaTatji would have liked that.