All posts tagged: death

A Grief Lived

Published by Osemhen

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” Winnie The Pooh. This is how it happened, Okha. November 12, 2014. I am chatting with Ozoz about a dessert table for the wedding. Discussing macarons, I think. And candy buffets. Then Daddy calls. And he calls me Osemhen. Not Ose. Osemhen. In a tone that makes me feel like I am about to be scolded. You know that tone. And he asks me where I am. And I am afraid. Because he already knows I am at work. I’m at work. I force cheer into my voice. We are both prevaricating. I have some bad news. I think I asked, what? And he says Okhafo is dead. I think I heard someone sob in the background. I stand from my chair. Suddenly the air in the office building isn’t enough and I need to get outside. I tried, Okha. I almost make it. But my legs crumple at the door. I cannot stand and I cannot push the door open. Our horror stares at …

You Are Legend

Published by Osemhen

I thought I knew what loss was when I wrote “Laughter & Champagne.” But this is worse. His room still smells of him. I never noticed till he was gone. But his room has a distinct smell. It is the scent of Icy-Hot, the smell of folic acid, a hint of Dettol Cool and Vaseline Aloe-Vera. This is what his room smells like. This is how to console a bereaved person. Visit…and sit in silence, saying nothing. Or saying a lot, distracting them. Bring food in Ziplocs and plastic bowls. So that we do not have to cook. Do the dishes that keep mounting up because “guests” persist in eating the food other people have brought to console the family. Sweep. This is how not to console a bereaved person. Hold them too tightly when they cry. We don’t cry because we want hugs. We cry so that the sadness does not implode in our chests. We cry because we miss our love, because we can’t imagine the rest of our lives without hearing their …

On Being Jaded

Published by Osemhen

  I remember thinking the conversation a bit dramatic. We were in first year, Jide and I, and it was one of those idle days where all we had to do was gist, waiting for one lecturer or the other. We used to have deep conversations, we still do. In almost ten years of our friendship, I can’t remember having a frivolous discussion with Jide. (Yes, we’re boring like that.) I can’t remember what the exact topic was but I remember Jide saying something like “I pray to never get jaded or used to mediocrity. It worries me, sometimes, I see a dead body lying on the road and feel nothing. I want to always feel something.” This was 2004. Before Boko Haram and its bombings. Before Aluu. Before Bellview and Sosoliso and Dana. Before violent elections that killed NYSC members. And I remember thinking, I’ll never be jaded either. It’s a resolution I fight to keep. Because it’s too easy, right? Too easy to get used to the statistics. The bad news pours in and …