Veiled Grief: A Silent Symphony of Strength in the Shadows of Loss
8 years ago, I literally stopped knowing how to breathe well after hearing the news that my father was gone. Inhale, Exhale. Did you enjoy that relief of deep breath? I feel sorry that I can’t do it anymore, it just stops somewhere in between. So, when I say I miss my father, it is not only him — I also miss myself. I miss how to live well, like a normal human who thoroughly enjoys the breath of fresh air. Will I ever experience it again?
As if that is not enough, I also feel this constant pain in my chest. It feels hollow, radiating towards my back. Is this heartbreak? I don’t know. But this was severe enough for me to go through several medical procedures, I thought I was genuinely sick. For years, I would think I had a medical condition. Chest pain, shortness of breath, light-headedness. I will tell my doctors I think my heart wants to pull out from my chest. Even after a series of tests, year in and year out, no clinical diagnosis suggests anything wrong. So, is this what heartbreak feels like?
I lost my father as a teenager, and ever since my life has never remained the same. I feel pain. I hate to admit it. But it is the truth. There is no day that goes by without having to reflect on this moment. It has shrouded my existence. But what can I do?
In this struggle, I thrive. At inception, I almost lost myself. I cried. I lost tears. My goals, dreams, and ambitions were all shattered. My childhood innocence was gone. I faced cruelty and discrimination. I experienced real fear. My grandfather’s demise was less than a month after my father’s. The news was horrific. The rumours sounded real. The family was apprehensive. My father was the only son of his polygamous dad. The tussle, the buzzle. I need not say words about the typical Nigerian polygamous household, you already understand. I thought I would be next, oh no! I went unseen. Quit social media. At a point, I realised my life might be over even though I may be alive. But I told myself, “If this life is truly over, let me see how it ends.” Who knows what will happen?
For the past 8 years, I have drawn inspiration from this negative emotion. Lived my whole life chasing dreams. I do not want to be a victim of my circumstances. This is a painful way to live. I feel I am proving a point as if I was destined to fail. First, I realised I needed to do what was left of what I considered the only thing I inherited from my dad — my education. I remembered our last physical conversation. I was told to come home, he was sick. Recovering, but he looked frail. I wanted to make him feel better. And I had just completed the first semester of my freshman year. So, I told him, “Dad, I had a 3.67 GPA this semester, I know it is not the best, but it seems I have everything figured out. I have started reading second-semester courses, and I have checked the syllabus for the rest of my undergraduate studies. I can excel in these courses, and if I don’t have a first-class, perhaps I will have a strong 2:1.” I remember this smile on his face. My father always acknowledges me and never criticises or censures me. He knew I would achieve a lot, he prayed for me. And took me out on a journey that day. He didn’t tell me where we were going but when we arrived at our destination, I was surprised. I won’t forget the lessons from that day — He finally told me, “If I am gone, no one will be available to help you.” But I said in my naivety, “We won’t need anyone’s help, you’re more than capable of providing for us all.” But where is my father now?
My father died a few weeks before my second-semester exam. He might be gone but his dreams remain. He was the reason why I continued to press “play” even though I felt my tape was done. I kept rewinding the cassette and pushing the time. I had to be strong for my mother and brother. So, I cried but studied hard. At a night class, a fellow student saw me. My eyes were red, and I looked tired. “Are you okay,” she asked. I told her, “I am not okay, I feel completely lost and I am trying to keep strong. I feel it is over for me. I can’t even express how I feel. But I can’t give up. My dad is gone, but what if he sees me? If I feel this unimaginable pain, how crazy must it be for him, how helpless would it feel, knowing he has sacrificed a lot for his son and that his demise will ruin all those efforts? I am not fine, but I must not fail.” I feel that was the point of realisation for me. I had a 4.99 GPA that semester. And the joy and hope that glimmered in my mom’s face says it all. And how do I progress?
I strived! I worked! I sold! I hustled! I have written in the past about how my pre-career experiences shaped me. In 2018, I graduated with First Class Honours, the top-2 student in the department that produced over 200 graduates that set. I was still worried. But I was proud. This was not the end, but the beginning. What next? I asked myself. I couldn’t savour the moment of victory or recognise my growth. I had a 5-year plan and a 10-year forecast. I planned for failure too. I had a Plan A, B, C and Z (should in case nothing works out). I missed out on trying if I could finally catch a long breath. Little did I know it would worsen. The next day after my convocation, on my way to NYSC camp, I was involved in a ghastly accident. The bus lost balance, a loud noise scream — the back tyre flew out, so it skidded off the road, (agony cries — e wo ikunle abiyamo o!), and the bus rolled 5 times and stopped just a few miles before a bridge, laying at its side. We might have drowned. I mean, we almost died. Blood, tears and pain. I came out unscathed! But my whole life just flashed before my eyes. And I asked myself, “Is this where the tape ends?”
My story doesn’t end here. What can I say, if not Alhamdulillah?
