This is My Loss...

"It's okay, baby girl."

Her sister's voice felt like a stab right in her chest. How could she say everything was okay? Nothing was okay, and she hated that people always felt the need to undercut the sting of death with false reassurance.

What was okay? The fact that her father, the one person whose love she had known, was dead? Was that what was okay? That the man who made it his mission to see his children for who they are, not as a whole, was dead? How could it be okay if she felt the most alone she had ever felt in her life?

All her life, she never entirely belonged anywhere. At home, her siblings were way older than her, and they had lives to focus on. Her mother was keen on making money and using whatever she made to save the world in whichever way she could. Her father had been the only one who took the time to see her, to hear her. Now he was gone.

How was it that her sister would think of saying that everything was okay?

This was one of the reasons why she walked away when the white car carrying her father's dead body came into the compound. They had been sitting in the lounge at the mortuary grounds, waiting for her brothers and mother to bring her father's body.

The three of them had left home early in the morning, as it had become routine, to take her father to the hospital because he was experiencing complications. It had been almost a year of waking up in the dark, carrying him from the bed, and placing him on the wheelchair.

Most of the time, one person would wheel him out of the bedroom and onto the living room area. Someone would carry his legs, and another would hold him by the underarms and place him on the sofa.

Some days were better than others, but the last two weeks had been terrible. So, when they left the house in the morning, everyone was hopeful. The only thing they wanted, from whoever restored health, was that they got to bring him back home, but that didn't happen. The journey to the hospital had led them to the funeral home.

While the three of them were driving to the mortuary, the rest of the family found their way there. Maybe it was because each hoped that being around other people experiencing the same hurt would ease the burden.

When the car drove into the compound, she had realized that this loss was more personal than shared. Yes, he was their father, a husband, a brother, uncle, a son, a friend, and in-law and many other things, but this was her father, hers'.

He was her everything. He was the man who took the time to greet her every morning with kindness and gentleness. He would then ask about her night and listen so intently you'd think there was a test on it. Her father wanted the best life for her, and he kept repeating it. He was the man who encouraged her education, and now she was in her third year of the degree program.

She knew, with everything in her, that if it had not been for him, she would not have made it that far. Most of the time, when school became hard, she did it for him. She loved the way he smiled when she brought good grades. He would pride himself, saying how much he knew that she was smart and could do anything she wanted. He said it so often she was starting to believe it.

Her mind wandered through their memories, how he would share the mid-section of the newspaper with her on Sunday afternoons. He would sit in a corner and her in another. They would read in silence, and when one was done with their reading, they would get up, quietly, and leave the other.

Maybe it was the silence they shared that got her so addicted to solitude. When that car drove in, the vehicle that was carrying the lifeless body of this man who had been the greatest gift in her life, she had to run out. She went to the back of the cafeteria, removed her shoes, and crossed her legs while sitting on the grass. She took in the fresh breath from the huge flowerless Jacaranda tree that gave her shade.

This was really happening, her father was gone, and she was now alone. She put her earphones on and played the saddest songs she could find. She loved country music, and with her feet kissing the ground, she had to listen to some worship.

Her life was calm for the following five minutes as she closed her eyes, soaking in the sound in her ears that shielded her from the outside world, the world where her father was dead. With music in her ears, she could imagine how she had seen him the previous day in the evening.

She had been at home with him but needed to get back to school for an assignment. So, she had stayed until she couldn't anymore. Her school was three hours away from home, and she needed to get there before the dark. Her father hated it when she traveled at night. Even on his death bed, he had been adamant; people travel in the day, the night belongs to hyenas; African parents and their sayings!

When it was time to leave, she had knelt before him and cleared her throat. The last few times she had spoken to him, she welled up. She didn't want to cry, not in front of him. She knew he was in pain, and seeing her crying would only break his heart more.

"Dad, I'm leaving for school," she said in a whisper while leaning into his ear.

It was like she wanted this to be their little secret. Something that only the both of them knew in a room filled with people. He tilted his head, which was as much as he could move, and then nodded, weakly. She held his hand for a minute or two and then got up. If she could ease his pain, she would have done it.

This was the memory of her father that stayed in her head. She knew that they had interacted best when it was just them, without the noise of his other five children and wife, or sister. That was when he had paid the most attention to her while at the same time giving her space.

When that car drove into the compound at the funeral home, she knew that she needed to go back to the last words they had spoken. Maybe that was her attempt to preserve them; she wanted to see the image in her head as many times as possible to cement it; it would be one of the last things she would have of him.

Now, with her sister saying that everything was okay, she cursed that she left the comfort of her Jacaranda tree. Under that shade, there was an acceptance of the loss and an acknowledgment of how horrible the loss was. There, she could feel every ache and wallow without hearing that everything was okay.

The minute her sister had said those words, her heart had skipped. She had held her tears in because she needed to mourn alone. Her sister's words broke her; she felt a lump form in her throat. Then, slowly, she felt tears forming in her eyes, and before she remembered that she didn't want to cry in public because she wasn't ready to face reality, they started falling. The first one made its way down her cheek, and she could feel its warmth caress her skin.

She wasn't ready, and she needed to be alone to be ready. So, ignoring her sister, who was reaching out for a hug, her brothers, who were walking out of the reception with the documentation after confirming everything was in order, and the rest of her family seated under a shade, she walked towards the car.

There, she would try to take in as much of his essence that was still left in the world; she would wear her sun-glasses, listen to her music, and daydream of a time when she wasn't so alone in the world.