A reflection on Cousins, Family and Grief

As I travel along the Nakuru highway from Nairobi toward Nyahururu, my heart feels heavy because we are mourning the sudden loss of our nephew, Mwangi, through a tragic road accident at 25 years of age. The landscape passes by in quiet motion, and in this stillness, I’m compelled to write because writing has always been one of the truest ways I express my emotions.

Today, I’m reflecting on life, family, and loss in a way I never have before.

Seeing Death Through a New Lens

Death has always been something I understood differently, but now I’m seeing it from a new angle, especially when it touches someone as close as a cousin. When a cousin loses a child, the shock reverberates through the entire family. My cousin’s sudden loss of her firstborn son has struck us deeply, not just because he was family, but because we have shared a long, close, and meaningful relationship.

In many families, cousins are far more than relatives. They are often your first best friends, the ones who know your story before life teaches you who you are. They laugh with you, share memories with you, and walk alongside you through the seasons of childhood that become the most treasured parts of your life.

The Meaning of Cousins and Family

In our family, we don’t even call each other by our given names, we simply say “cousin.” That word carries warmth, belonging, and the stories of shared days and nights. Our maternal cousins were our first friends, and even now, as adults with families of our own, that bond continues to hold us together. Our mothers, sisters by blood and best friends by heart, modeled what family truly looks like: unbroken, rooted, and present. That legacy has stayed with us through every season of life.

So today, as first cousins, we grieve together, and it’s heavy.

Watching our own children mourn their cousin has broken my heart in ways I wasn’t prepared for. They range in age from under ten to twenty five, and each one carries pain, shock, disbelief, and confusion in their own way. Their grief is raw, honest, and deeply felt. It has reminded me of how powerful love is, and how profoundly loss can wound.

A Young Life Taken Too Soon

What has struck me even more is seeing the young adults who were friends of Mwangi mourn their friend, their peer, and their colleague. Their solidarity was visible in a way that words alone cannot capture. Branded buses, “Mathree,” were hired for the journey, each one bearing banners and images of Mwangi. The sight was astonishing, almost surreal. These were not just classmates or colleagues, they were a community of young people who had shared dreams, laughter, and the everyday rhythm of life.

As the buses moved, they chanted his name, “Alka,” the nickname they used for him. Their voices rose together, strong and unified, carrying the sound of grief, love, and remembrance. The death of a young soul stings in a way nothing else can. It is a sharp reminder that life is fragile and fleeting, and that even the brightest futures can be interrupted.

Seeing his friends stand together, honoring him with such unity, reminded me of how deeply he was loved and how much he mattered to so many. It was a powerful testimony to the impact one life can have, even in a short time.

Finding Strength in Faith

I’ve been thinking deeply about what it truly means to have a cousin, not just in name, but in spirit. A cousin is someone who walks with you through life, who understands parts of your story that others have never witnessed, and who remains connected to your heart even as time moves us forward.

As we travel through grief, through memory, and through faith, we lean on God's Grace. We pray for comfort in places where words fall short, for strength where hearts feel weak, and for peace where sorrow feels endless. We pray not just for ourselves, but for all our families, for healing, resilience, and the enduring power of love to sustain us.

This is our family. This is our story. And even as we mourn, we continue forward together, heart to heart, step by step.

Written by: Eddah Kamau

Educator, Educational Support Specialist, Author, and Mental Health Advocate.