I Love You 🤍

 To be honest, I’m not really sorry for the long hiatus. I needed a break from writing and honestly, this doesn’t mean that I’m back. I’ve just been in my feelings lately and wanted to put this out here. So if you get this, know that I am fine and I definitely do not want to talk. 

Six years ago, on this day, I saw you fighting for your life—fighting to breathe, fighting to wake up, fighting to live. I prayed, wishing and hoping you would recover, praying my biggest nightmare wouldn't come true. But the next day, after so many prayers and crying myself to sleep, I woke up to the news of your death.

I knew I did my best, playing my part as the perfect daughter to keep you happy and ease the stress of being a single parent. That was my way of loving you. In the typical Nigerian family setting, we hardly ever told each other we loved each other, but I felt your love every day. That’s why I wanted to be your perfect little girl the best way I knew how. When I heard the news and cried, I didn’t feel like I was grieving enough. I had questions. Why did it have to happen now? We had plans. I was to go to school, study law, and come home every weekend to keep you company. You even said you’d enroll in a master's program, and we might end up being roommates. We laughed at that, but I looked forward to it because I felt your support and dedication to my dreams. You always listened to me, even when I rambled on. I was a tiresome child, wasn’t I?

But when most people wouldn’t take me seriously, you would. Because your daughter was talking, and that meant it was important. We used to dance together, and I’d listen to you sing. Your voice was mesmerizing, and even the sound of your laughter was like music to my ears. That’s why, when I was asked to pen my goodbye note for the burial program, I bolted and locked myself in the bathroom, shrieking and crying because I couldn’t bear to think it was really happening. That my mummy was leaving me.

I thought to myself, was that why you called the week before and gave me that silver ring you loved so much? Your gaze felt so intense while giving it to me. It felt like you had made up your mind to leave something for me to remember you by, a piece of you to look back on and guard close to my heart because you knew you’d be leaving soon.

I wondered why you couldn’t stay to see all our plans materialize and then maybe sit side by side like we always did and make new ones. I thought to myself, maybe that’s why making plans and scheduling things became my go-to fun things to do.

I watched your body lying lifeless, with flies perching on your dried-up skin, beckoning you to wave them off, but you couldn’t. We had an open coffin, and everyone, both frenemies and family, surrounded you, crying and wailing. 

I couldn’t shed a tear because, of course, we shouldn’t be seen crying on such a day; our so-called enemies might see that as an opportunity to put a spell on us or work their juju. 

I watched them cover your coffin. It was done. You were six feet under. We got home and met a feast. I asked myself, what is there to celebrate? Why are we having people over? None of you were at the burial ground when I buried my mother. Why do I have to serve you with a smile on my face? 

Weeks after, it still didn’t sink in.

Then one day, it finally dawned on me that I’d lost the greatest gift I had. The one person who loved me unconditionally, the one person who understood me, my original best friend, and I won’t get her back. 

Even now, six years after, it’s so saddening that whenever I have big news or sad news, I can’t call you or run to you. Because my mama is gone… And I have to live with that hurt, whilst trying to see you in every single thing.

XX,

Dee