I Lost The Love Of My Life
By: Hill Onyechekwa
Tags: Sad, Loss Of A Parent, Love, Loss, Death

Photo by Veit Hammer on Unsplash

It’s a random day in the first week of December 2020. The day is random because I’ve lost count of the days anyway. I’m awake again to the same life. I’ve woken up to everyone holding in their emotions and working themselves to not admit there is a sword hanging on the ceiling that will soon fall on our heads. We’ve made…no I’ve made new plans with a family member to get her to a better hospital to go get checked. I’ve gotten my father prepared and I’ve spoken to the doctor about her.

I go into her room. She looks quite frail now. She’s a silhouette of the brave, intensely charismatic warrior I knew. I look into her eyes and she stares back at mine. She may look like this but somewhere in there is still the queen of the castle, the matriarch of this dynasty I know I have a lot of responsibility towards. I take a look again at her, not at her eyes this time. She looks really frail. Whose fault again is this? I ask myself. I clear the questions out of my head and carry out my daily ritual that’s been my ritual for about a year and a half. I’m 25 and life has hit this hard. Some would say it’s fair enough. Any self-respecting 25 years old should have had life come at them but then again I think, whose fault is this? as I carry the woman who has carried me both physically and otherwise for most of my life in my arms to get her cleaned up. She’s quite frail the voice in my head repeats. My whole body aches and I feel quite tired even though I got some sleep last night but my mind knows better, the tiredness has seeped past my body and gotten to my soul.

I push her on the wheelchair out the door to the car that’ll get her to their destination this morning. As I do I ask again, whose fault is this? as she’s driven out the gates.

It’s the 3rd week in January and she’s off to the hospital again. It’s probably for the final result. She’ll get the news…we’ll get the news about what we knew all along. The Doctor says she’s far gone. Too far gone. She comes home. She looks frail. I’m too tired to think but I think still. I ask again whose fault is this? this time another question follows, mine? I don’t have an answer so I move along. I carry out the normal evening routine that I have carried out for the last year and a half. I go to her room. I look into her eyes. She stares back into mine, then I look at her but not at her eyes. Who did this? my tiny voice asks but I ignore it and move on.

It’s the third day of the third week in January, I wake up tired but more tired than usual. I call one of my best friends and tell him, I’m tired. I go to her room and carry the woman who has carried me for most of my life. She seems different, she acts different, she can’t speak, the drugs are too strong for her to speak. She’s a different person. I try my best to shut my mind out and get things done. Cook, clean, run errands. I’m tired I need to take a break from this I think but I don’t. I got to her room. She’s sleeping, I think, she needs to eat it’s been quite difficult to get her to eat today. I touch her. Mama, get up and eat. She doesn’t reply. Mama never ignores me. Never, but she does this time. She’s cold, she’s stiff. She’s not here. My mind goes shut. closed. black. blank.

The sword fell, but not on everyone’s head but mine first. The pointed edge right on my head and then the shards on everyone else’s.

Rivers flow every time I think of you. I lost the love of my life. I lost the shield that has protected me on this battlefield.

I miss you every day, Mama.