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Delta Ndou Milayo Social Media Editor
YOU have united us in grief, Mernat. And you have silenced us, the veritable wordsmiths who string words together for a living. We are at a loss for words. And whatever words we can command cannot fully convey or capture the depth of our collective grief. We congregate on social networks to commiserate with one another trying to make sense of the horrible tragedy that has robbed us of you.

I didn’t cry when I learned of your death, tears would have meant that I believed that you were gone. Instead, I chose to cling onto the sense of denial and take refuge in the sense of shock that insulates one from feeling the full impact of such dreadful news.
Not until I read a tweet from Vincent Kahiya did it finally sink in.

Wrote Kahiya, two days ago: “A great personality is gone. ‘Is this how we end a story Cde?’ He would say.
“How his story has ended.”
I cried then. I cried because it seemed so cruel that one whose personality embodied goodness, warmth and generosity of spirit should meet with such a horrific end.
Is this really how your story ends?

I thought, surely, your story deserved a better ending than this.
And over the past two days, I have come to discover that your story doesn’t end with the horrible accident that claimed your life — your story ends with us who remember you and who refuse to let tragedy snatch the narrative from us. Over the past two days, your story has been told through the voices of the people whose lives you touched, impacted, inspired, uplifted and challenged.

They speak of your quiet strength and strong resolve; they speak of your commitment to your young family and your determination to finish the house you started; they speak of your integrity as a journalist and your commitment to doing an excellent job.

They speak of your drive and ambition; of your confidence and the confidence you inspired in others; and they speak of the jovial smile that was a permanent feature on your face.

They speak of how you helped them, of how you cared, of how you were a true professional and always of how devoted you were to your family and children. Our hearts go out to them and we share in their inexplicable grief. Go well, Mernat.

Looking at the profile picture on Facebook, I was reminded of the day I bullied you into taking it at the ZITF in Bulawayo. “Stand there, Cde”, I said, “Strike a pose. I need a picture of you in front of our Zimpapers stand”.

“You were clearly in a hurry, rushing to catch a speech elsewhere but being the accommodating person that you were; you took a few seconds and allowed yourself to be subjected to an impromptu photo shoot session.

That was typical of you and typical of the industrious work ethic that manifested in the willingness to extend yourself beyond what was strictly required of you.
It was this willingness that saw you commit to sharing Chronicle content everyday on Twitter and affording me a chance to have regular conversations with you about the stories.

This morning I woke up to the realisation that I will never re-tweet you again or send you a Direct Message so we can finish in private, a dialogue started in public to avoid causing undue offence. It will be these small and seemingly inconsequential memories that trip us up as we try to reconcile with your passing on.

I am at pains to get this right, Mernat. To get the words right because I want to do your memory the justice it deserves but that is an assignment too onerous for just one person to undertake.

So I hope that as we grieve for you, we can give your story an ending more befitting of you, of what you stood for, of what you taught us and of what you accomplished in the short space of time you were among us.
Go well, dear friend.

Your story ends on the lips of those who loved, admired and had the great fortune to know you because Cde, that is how the story of a person as exceptional as you deserves to end.