I think the first time death became a reality to me was when Aunty Shola died. I had heard of people dying, I had known people that died but none ever gave me goosebumps, even till now. It’s something I will forever carry with me.
Recently, I’ve been more sad each time I remember. Memories are beginning to fade, I hate that. I can not remember her voice, her face is not so clear anymore, her famous laughter. I want this memories but mostly, I still want my aunty back. I really do.
I want to be able to hold her, laugh some more and fight more. I want to help her clean the dandruffs off her hair, share my wardrobe with her, escort her to the junction, this time without her begging. I want to be able to shout “Aunty sholly” once again but this time, with a response.
I want her to see me now. “I’m almost like you now”. I’m on a path to be like you. I want to have those banters again. I want to be in awe of how Intelligent someone aside my father is. This time, I’d call. I promise, without mummy begging me. I want to steal your almost empty perfume bottles and have more sleep overs.
I fear I may never come to the realization that my shawl wrapping aunty is gone for ever. It’s been what? 7 years? I still stare at your chair in the living room, maybe you’d come out of the kitchen saying “Damops”. No one has called my eyes 360 watt bulb since you left. No one has cooked your indomie that I really hated since you left. No one has given me so much sweets that my mum starts complaining.
I can’t say “My aunty works at National Assembly” again or “My aunty speaks so many languages and she’s a lawyer”. I hate that I use ‘was’ to talk about you now. I hate that every bottle of fantasy reminds me of you. I hate that I never got to be a big aunty to your kids or be spoilt by your husband.
I HATE THAT DEATH TOOK SO MUCH FROM ME and now it’s after our memories too. I Wish I called you when I was asked to. They keep saying it gets better but it never does. We learn to live with that hole in our hearts. We learn acceptance.
Somedays, I still look at the sky wondering how a loving God leaves us with this much hurt till we die. Death is not final, yes but it is. I get some feelings when I see this “never die gang” hashtag because they died. They are dead. I get where it comes from and what they mean but when it comes to death, I pick reality and logic. Death is not easy and even life is hard.
Death has me in shackles. They say as a believer, I should not fear death but I do. It is sneaky, too quiet and sometimes, too sudden. How else do I understand that someone I saw yesterday, is 6 feet’s below today. I do not shy away from talking about death though because it may be me next. No, don’t think I’m suicidal. Again, I’m just realistic. Death was, is and is yet to come. It’s not a variable. It’s a constant and a catalyst. It changes our lives but remains the same afterwards.
Why do we bother? Why do we try so hard? To live maybe. Is it worth it? My Favourite sweatpants would not even be there in the end or my loved ones. It all ends, 6 feet’s deeps with the creatures I hate so much, worms. Death keeps stealing. First the person, then everything after the person. Many times, I have held my chest, no words, just tears because that’s what death does to you.
I hope oxygen wants to be with us a bit longer. I hope we get to hold the people we love for some more time. I hope we are able to get “I just called to check up on you” calls more often. I hope we learn to say “I love you”, “I miss you” and “I care” more often. Mostly, I hope death spares us a bit longer and mostly, goes easy on us.
I hope every time you pray for long life, you realize death will come when it needs to because God doesn’t hate those that died. They say he has a reason so let’s keep hoping he has a reason to keep us longer. Or do we bribe him?? Can we?? Psalm 91:16 perhaps? I just want to see you longer.
My life is on loan, like money borrowed from a bank. God is the lender, and He retains the right to call in the loan any time. — James Dillehay
