Two days after my father transitioned, in what felt like a moment of half sleepiness and half-consciousness, I could swear that I heard my father say ‘Unu afutawo’, ‘have you come out’. His usual morning greeting to us at home, whenever we first saw every morning, as he walked around the house switching off lightbulbs, one of his early morning rituals. When I nudged myself awake, reality still stared me stark in the face. I will never hear him ask me if I had woken up again, for the rest of my life. The finality and irreversibility of death.
The days that followed were a blur. Numerous phone calls, repeating what the other had said, except in different words. The confusion caused by COVID-19 did not help travel arrangements. I sunk myself in the worship of God, especially through music. I drowned myself in Dunsin Oyekan’s, Hillsong Worship, Elevation Worship, Bethel Music, to mention a few. The thought that there exists a hereafter, seemed to make the pain bearable. But beyond that, fresh grief renders you so inconsolable that nothing can help except the idea of something larger than life, something that gives meaning to the pointlessness of human existence, God.
I would call out my father’s name out loud, willing him to respond to me. Silence, forever. ‘A voice we once loved is still’, a quote from one of the tributes I read out at the Funeral. I remember discussing the process of grieving with a dear friend and as I tried to articulate my feelings, I had so many unanswered questions: what was ‘the spirit’ up to, where did it go? does it get hungry? did it need warm water to bathe? Guilt accompanies loss. I felt guilty that my loved one was taken away on my watch. As if there was anything I could do. Maybe if I had prayed enough, been more watchful, pulled out diagnoses when he complained of a headache, maybe he will still be here. I felt guilty that I was sleeping on a warm bed, and my father was in the cold soil. The warm hands that once held me, the palms that patted my back, the lips that encouraged and scolded me, the feet that drove us to church amidst threatening to drive off if we don’t get ready early enough. Gone. Does the spirit really “rest in peace” as people say? How does anyone even know that?
Pain demands to be felt.
This quote came from John Greene’s novel in the movie “The Fault in Our Stars”. Pain demands to be felt, and truly, it does. The pain of grief engulfs you, packs lumps in your throat, tightens your stomach, snatches your appetite, wipes away all the sunny colours of the rainbow, and leaves you with the stormy shades of the cloud. It is indescribable. Nothing feels quite like the first moments you hear of the death of a loved one, a sister, a brother, a mother, in my case, a father. I was getting ready for work, oblivious of what had happened in the early hours of that Thursday morning. Looking back now, receiving that news marked a clear ‘before’ and ‘after’ in my life. It is one of those moments of life that creeps up on you like the proverbial thief in the night and changes you forever. Imagine having your heart cruelly ripped out of your chest, handed back to you, and you are asked to heal it.
Healing from grief is a gradual journey. Slow and painful. Some days are high, some days low, some days, in between. It is a range of colours, the many colours of grief. Some days are bright and shimmery as you think of the gift your loved one was to you. Their laughter, their love, their care, their being, their life. Other times it is a dull and fading grey, as you imagine all the years you thought you still had together, all the dreams that were still in progress. You struggle to see the point of the very life you are living. On some days, the lows sink you into dark places, that takes weeks to pull out of. You think, If I would be gone one day, then why do I even have to work so hard. All the greats of the world are no longer here anyway. What would it mean for the world if they miss just one more not so great person? You struggle with these thoughts amidst still having to carry on with your daily existence. The world goes on. All is as it were, but you are changed forever. I struggled to meet the basics. The Website I sent weekly articles to for publication has not heard from me since then. They didn’t reach out to inquire why the incomings stopped. Fair enough. Sometimes grief strips you of strength to fight, to hope, to aspire, to chase, this lost strength is seldom physical. Mostly mental.
On the bright and shimmery days, you are in full realization that you would be gone one day, so you approach life with a sense of urgency. You do everything you can. You plan to die empty, emptying yourself of all your abilities so that you can truly say that you gave it all out. It is said that the graveyard is the wealthiest depository in all existence, for there lies innumerable unused gems.
Going through grief myself has not turned me into a better sympathiser. Maybe because I wish, for the newly bereaved that their loss did not happen. Wishing for them that denying its occurrence will make it a lie and bring their beloved back. I do not have better words to say myself, than all that I was told. I would often say ‘’God knows why’’, but what plausible reason could He possibly have for plunging anyone into this bloody pain.
I think that collectively sharing grief dulls the pain, makes it bearable to an extent. Brothers and sisters in grief.
Many months later, the colours of grey will give way to brighter ones, hopes for a better tomorrow, renewed strength and urgency. The courage to dream and hope again, and to pick up from where your loved one left off. Sometimes, picking up their vision from where they stopped, in hopes of finishing off the race for them, and keeping their names aflame.
Sometimes I wonder about the point of it all. What are we here for anyway? At the end of the day, we pass on and new life is birthed. All our cares and obsessions vanish with us. The cycle continues. We become memories in the minds of those who love us. For the rest of the world, not a difference will happen. Life goes on as if we were never here, the seasons will never stop. The sun will rise in the east and set in the west.
I last saw my father on 3rd January 2020, as I travelled back to resume work. I last spoke to him on Sunday, 14th June 2020. He was seated on his favourite seat, eating Sunday lunch. I and my sister inquired about him and he said I am very fine, Trust me. I am grateful that I have no memory of him in death, I never saw him again since after January 3rd 2020. To me, he lives still, in another realm.
There is no conclusion here. No moral to the story. One thing remains though, the pain will become dull, the lumps will disappear and you will breathe lighter again. The colours of grief will give way one day, for the brighter colours of the rainbow, of life.
‘Grief is the celebration of Love, those who can feel real grief were lucky to have loved’ — CNA.
