I have experienced some great losses in my life. With each one came the anguish of loss. The helplessness that came with the loss and the deep raw sorrow which loomed over my shoulder.
I lost my 28 years old brother when I was about 21, his death was sudden and came as a surprise to everyone. He died the year he was to get married. I took his illness for a joke. He was always okay and that was the norm for him, but, things took a different turn after 2 days, he died the third day.
The pain I felt was something I could not express. My cousin broke the news to me as I finished my prayers that Monday morning. She was overtaken by a huge emotion.
I lost my dear father a year and five months after the death of my brother, he died of undectcted coronary-related illness after a very bad headache. He died the same day. I remember making fun of my mum as we waited at the hospital where he was being treated. My mum was worried, but, I took it for a joke.
I can still remember the gurgling sound he made on his death bed while the doctor passed pipes through his nose down to his throat in the attempt to revive him. My dad was the life of every room, he created a presence wherever he was, but, he succumbed easily to the cold grip of death.
Losing my mother four years after my father was a blow. It was the most traumatic experience of my life and my siblings. I was a mess for many weeks, putting all together was tough for me personally.
The Emotional Trauma
Carrying my pitiness around, I broke down in an umpteen time, I felt naked and unprotected. Despair, I crawled back into my shell, vulnerable and lost.
I bore the same emotion when I lost my uncles, my grandmother, my greatuncle, my cousin and a few of my childhood friends. The sudden gust of fear and the review of the lives that departed was the same.
I became withdrawn with each death, trying to relive the moments we spent together, what was discussed and the bond we shared. I saved their voices to the hard disk of my memory.
In the distance of my mind
Sometimes, I wonder what life would have been if my parents were to be alive. I wonder what my brother would look like now with his lankiness then. I wonder if my dad would still be fearless and bold. Sometimes, I wondered and I kept wondering.
Life is not meant to be lived forever I know, but, I shudder with fear thinking about this, thinking of the day someone would say this about me. Sometimes, I feel a hint of shame within my soul for briefly forgetting about these people. Sometimes, I feel I let them down in a funny way I can’t explain.
I feel sorry for their departed souls. I feel sorry for carrying on with mine. What becomes of their bodies under the earth where they were covered up, their distinguished features, their talents and their beauties? All melted into the earth? What become of their souls? The question is above my intelligence.
I, however, kept the memories of these people in the attic of my mind, covered in a golden robe. I visit this attic more often than necessary. In this attic, I retrieve recipes, manners and solutions. I collect stories. I retrace and recollect. Some of these cherished memories are vivid, while most are fading up.
Life is to be lived until fate that befell these people befall us too. Before then, it is best to keep living and to make good use of now.
In the distance of my mind, I have the attic painted in gold filled with beautiful memories of the departed souls I once shared my life with.
Sherryfah Adekoye is a Wife, Mother and an Entrepreneur; a lover of beauty and a Nature Enthusiast who enjoys writing her reflections.