The Sorrows of Death — May 29th

May 29th 2023 remains the surrealist today to me. Sometimes I just sit and wonder maybe it's all a dream but the problem is I can remember it. Just like it was yesterday maybe because it remains in my brain like a festering wound that just refuses to close up and heal We were in the living room that day because it was a public holiday due to the election though Daddy had left for work and the rest of us were in the house. We were gathered around Mummy. She was playing Candy Crush and we having fun telling her what to do and begging her to let us play and then she got the call. She was asked come to the hospital because Daddy had been in an accident. she quickly took her bath and went out. My siblings and I were left in the house and had to wait until someone came to get us. However sometime later mummy came back , she hasn't yet seen him but she told us to pack because an uncle was coming to get us and from there we would go to see him. I can remember praying in the car that he should be alive and that no matter what happens to him he should just be alive. We got to the uncle's house and I went to the kitchen to stay with my cousin whilst my mother stayed with my uncle and his wife and sitting room . Even now when I recall this particular part of the story I seethe with anger . The uncle had made my mother wait until he finished eating ,drank water and washed his hands before he deemed it fit to tell her the news. The first thing I registered was the scream then the crying follow suit. I had already figured out what was going on but I didn't to be told what happened so I didn't want to hear it either so I made to go to the bedroom, but my auntie stopped me. I can still remember her exact words to me. She said to me, 'where are you going? Can't you see your mother crying ?' —and then she said the words I didn't want to hear —'your father is dead'. I hated her at that moment. I didn't want to know ,I didn't ,why did she have to say it? Just why?I could register my mother crying, asking to no one, why he would die . That they still had plans. Why would he leave? My sister had started to cry somewhere I couldn't decipher where or when she started. I couldn't cry though .I tried. I really wanted to cry but nothing came out. So I screamed . I screamed and shouted until my voice turn hoarse and then I became silent. Funny because whenever anybody asked why I screamed , I'd reply that I didn't want to be mistaken for an ogbanje just because I didn't cry. I think now I don't actually know why I couldn't cry and because I couldn't cry I screamed. The person I felt for the most was my younger brother. He didn't understand what was going on why his mother and his sisters were crying. He did try to comfort his mother though and my heart breaks whenever I remember that . The thing that makes me the most angry was that daddy never made it to the hospital before he died and the uncle just kept quiet until that moment. I understand now that he as trying to find a way to give us the news smoothly and calmly but then all I felt was anger. That night I couldn't sleep and mummy wasn't helping. She was crying and I was annoyed because I was trying to sleep but the crying didn't let up. I knew she was grieving but her crying was irritating to me, I still don't know why. Maybe it was just the way I was processing the grief I guess I did finally fall asleep though. I had heard stories of people who died appearing to loved ones in their sleep and I guess I wanted to happen to me too, but it didn't. I didn't dream that night The next morning was just bizarre. We weren't really disturbed by anyone because we were grieving I guess but my sister and I weren't crying or anything. We laughed, joked and even watched a movie, everything was normal to us. However, it became serious and the reality came crashing back down when we would be called to come out and see people that came to give their condolences, that was when the tears threatened to fall. Whenever someone said sorry or tried to be sympathetic I would have to bitw back the tears and reply and each time they will always say be strong, that That I was the first daughter and I should be strong for myself, my siblings and for my mother and despite everything I was feeling I'd always bite back the tears and reply them that I understood. It was really getting me angry and annoyed. So when my father's younger brother came, I convinced my mother to let us return to our house with him so that we could escape all the I'm sorrys we were being subjected to. We left our brother with our mother though. Thankfully the news hadn't reached our neighbour yet so we had a peaceful evening without any intrusion The next day we decided to go to school . At the gate, gate keeper seemed surprised to see us. I didn't even understand why he surprised until Mr Olayekan my physics teacher sighted us and drew attention to us. He came to us and began sympathising loudly. Great I had thought then the school knows . When we entered the assembly hall, you could hear a pin drop. Everyone was staring as my sister and I took our seats.I think the only good thing about that day was that nobody say asking or behaving weird around us or trying to be pathetic among our classmates. The only people that kept telling us sorry and being sympathetic were the adults.I think one thing that made the ordeal bearable was that we were used to not living with my father during the time he was abroad so I can made myself that this was the exact case. He was not in Nigeria and we just living our lives as usual .At some point my brother fell sick and the only time he'd show signs of improvement was when he was wrapped in his father's clothes . After the illness, if you asked him what happened to his daddy, he would tell you he died and was in heaven . Nobody had mentioned a word to him. No three years should have that kind of discernment so I knew his death hit him really hard. I could go on to talk about his service of songs or even the funeral but I think I do that another time .On his first death anniversary, I was in school. I had woken up that day feeling moody and particularly angry and really everyone in the house was moody. I went to school because I was having waec tutorials so I couldn't skip school. I have made it through half the day before I broke down crying in an unused classroom. It was the first time I shed tears for my dad's death. I was a bit glad that I could cry for him finally. My classmate —and friend Bolu— came in, saw me crying and stayed with me till I stopped crying. It was surreal thinking about daddy's death that day. Even now 3 years after .I think I'm writing this so I could release some pent up emotions. The death makes me angry ,sad, frustrated and annoyed. God knows I've snapped more times that I can count this week alone. I miss my daddy. I miss the love ,the smiles the cooking he does his barbecues. He knew our favourite everything. Favourite food, favourite color, favourite cartoon . I miss the special sandwiches he made. The birthday surprises he threw for mummy even though his church didn't allow it.The last time we spoke , he had snapped at me. I really wished that wasn't our last conversation. I wished we had hugged or at least smiled at each other. Mummy had gotten a final kiss and King a hug. I wished I and my sister got something. I miss him everyday and sure there were bad days but sometimes I wish that maybe, just maybe , I could have another day with him. It would mean everything. I just hope he knows that we love him and that he's watching us from wherever he is.

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