Posts Tagged ‘loss’

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True, we fear the unknown but are confident with the perceptible, even what others bear witness to. Has it ever crossed your mind that the human race is the only living organism that holds the knowledge of death whiles living; yet we fear this knowledge.

Yeah, death… not something you would want to talk about, is it? I bet the trees don’t know about death until they die, neither does that lake nor the ant freely transporting those bread crumbs, but you do, because you aren’t dead… not yet.

It hurts to lose someone
It hurts to come to terms with the fact that they don’t exist anymore
No more calls
No more pings on Facebook notifications
No more smiles and complements
Simply, dead
Just like that… dead

All we’re left with are memories that stir up our emotions and the longing to see them one more time.
God please, one more time… just this once.

Death is wicked, I don’t like him. He makes me feel everything I don’t want to feel.

Edward, I just heard you passed on. I’m glad you’re relieved of the pain your body suffered but I miss you, okay?

The last time we spoke, I happened to mention how I’d started writing professionally and was earning incomes. I asked you not to tell, and you said “deal! That’s our little known secret”. Then you went on to tell me how you’d wanted us to write together. The plan? You said “let us write about how the year has treated us. Your perspective, then mine”.

Well, here is mine:

Amazing year, rough lessons, tough love, change; that’s how this year’s treated me, particularly change. This year, my imperfections perfected my being, surprisingly they revealed a part of me I consciously hid from myself. Little did I know that those imperfections were that which will eventually cause me to grow and be wise. I’ve laughed a lot, cried too many, even lost myself. It will be alright in the end, I say, yeah, I know… we all know that if it’s not alright, it’s not the end. But in all this, I’ve lived; I’ve stepped out of bed every morning with both bare feet kissing this cold ground. For this, I am grateful, to an intangible Supremacy I honour everyday. My name is Miz Akwele and I’ve had an amazing year with rough lessons, tough love, and change.

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This is your cue, Edward.
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Edward? Tell us, how has this year been for you… Edward, c’mon don’t be silent.
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Edward

Edward

Edward, say something.
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I’ll miss you, Edward Oteng Maafo. We’ll meet again, this time, without your glasses and I promise not to mention how small and Asian your eyes look without them.

Rest, my friend, rest.

The heart, as fragile as it is literally and figuratively, is what keeps us alive, sanely or insanely, we still are alive.

But it’s deceiving, more than once, it is deceiving. Often times takes the same path, signals our minds to see light at the end of the tunnel; we get there and realize it was only daylight, in the season of longer nights.

If the organ that keeps us alive is a fragile one, is it not fair to say that we are naturally fragile. It is okay to be fragile, but you will be happier if you are stronger. Your cry isn’t a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you’re still alive; the dead cannot cry.

But don’t stay there, please don’t stay there. Dry those tears and live. Crying is not the only sign of living.

How do I explain this?

It’s not just like someone you love died, it’s like everything you ever felt, all the things you perceived and believed in died, and you’ll have to do things differently. You have no other option than to do things differently. Because whether that person chose to die, or was taken away naturally by the hands of time, perhaps a supernatural hand, he’s dead anyway.

This death I’m talking about isn’t the kind of natural departure in a man’s life cycle, it is that kind of death you witness taking over the life of the one you love, still living. If I had my way, I’d pretend as if nothing happened; I’ll let go, but this is hard for me.

We see it coming sometimes, other times, it just hits you so hard in the chest, surprisingly; it isn’t any experience you can get over overnight. It’s the kind of hurt that changes things… changes you.

This is my loss. This is how I feel, right about now, seated in the corner of my bedroom floor.