GRIEF ☹

It’s been one month today since I lost my dad. Daddy, as I always called him. The one person I know I loved and admired dearly. Losing my dad this year was not on my bingo card—I mean, not with him recovering well after the first surgery last year.

A month later, I still don’t fully understand what it means that he’s gone. I know he is, but the weight of it hasn’t fully landed. There’s a disconnect in my head that I’m not sure will ever be bridged.

I think anyone who’s relocated can relate to this thought: that quiet, lingering hope of seeing your parents alive and well when you visit years later. That you’ll come home to their hugs, smiles, maybe older but still there. But after multiple surgeries earlier this year, my fears started creeping in. I found myself wondering, “How much more can his body take?” Still, I didn’t think it would happen so soon.

When I heard he had slipped into a coma, I started mentally preparing myself. But even then, I told myself people stay in comas for months, even years. Maybe we had some time, even if the one thing I had always dreaded was becoming real. Hearing from my brother-in-law that he was gone within a week of being in a coma felt unreal, and it still feels so.

Yes, I know death is inevitable, but somehow, I naively believed it wouldn’t happen to my family—not yet. I’ve been there for friends who lost parents over the years, offering comfort, sending messages, and calling. But I never imagined it would be my turn this soon. The bubble I was living in has burst—and now I’m standing in this strange new reality I am finding it difficult to come to terms with.

I remember a discussion with Valentine about how I had noticed in the past two years that a lot of my secondary school classmates had lost a parent, as announced in our class WhatsApp group. I was telling him I didn’t want it to be my turn yet—it seems this is a phase of adulthood no one warns us about: from mid-thirties when parents start dying in numbers. The same day I was consoling a friend on the demise of his father was the same day my dad died. Ejiro called last month to console me; today, I’m consoling him.

I guess when we get to our late 70s, we will realize that’s the age our peers start dying—and our kids will feel the same weight we do now. As Ejiro rightly said, it’s the circle of life.

• 

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***

It’s been one month of living through waves—from sleepless nights to waking with heavy palpitations and a deep sense that my world is falling apart. I started sleeping well after some days, but dreaded waking up because I knew it was going to be war. Then I started consciously trying to catch and calm myself when I woke up, which led to me waking up for a couple of days and not being able to recognize where I was for a few seconds. These days I sleep much better, but I mostly wake up knowing I dreamt of my dad—but I can’t remember what the dream was about. I hate that I had to leave my photo album in Nigeria when relocating in 2022. Now I don’t have access to the pictures I have with my dad.

Though I sleep better now, my nights and days are still layered with clouds of sadness. I have not cried—unlike the first time he had surgery last year when I was a mess for a couple of hours. I still find it unreal that my dad is dead. I have gone through the motions of questioning, anger, wondering why God didn’t just heal him, acceptance—and now, finding peace with all of this.

As the varied emotions show up each day, I’ve pushed most of them aside, refusing to process or wallow. Several times I’ve caught myself staring at my dad’s picture, lost in thought, trying to understand what it means—that I’ll never see my father again or hear him talk. Sometimes I catch myself too late, and my soul starts feeling weary from the heaviness in my heart. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to repeat to myself that this is not the time to break. For one, I am handling critical aspects of the funeral arrangements, which has worn me out in so many ways, both mentally and physically.

It’s been a real struggle writing my tribute to my dad for the funeral brochure. Whenever I open my laptop to type words, I suddenly become tired and worn out. It’s been vague—staring at my dad’s pictures, trying to find meaning or understanding of what all this means—but nothing seems to make sense. I guess being far away from home makes it harder to come to terms with, while in its own way serving as a protection for me, because I would have unravelled in so many ways by now if I had been present at home.

It is necessary for me to postpone my grief for now, because this is not the time to break. I have been on autopilot since I got the news, not even taking one day off work. I just want to keep going for now and do all I need to do—be who I need to be for my family, my mum, and siblings. This is not the time to break. For now, I’m pushing all emotions away, as I cannot afford to have my life disrupted. Efe told me the other day that if I were on the opposite end, I would have advised that one feels all their feelings. He was right, but I guess giving advice is easier than following our own advice.

I need to keep myself sane and whole, and deal with my feelings in tiny doses—even if it will take years to process completely. For now, I can’t allow myself to feel it all at once. I haven’t taken a day off work to keep my sanity through distraction. I’m not sure how this grief is showing up in my life yet. I feel stable, but not whole. The other day, I got distracted by a movie on the television at work—there was a scene about someone passing, and it got to me without me realizing it. I started opening up to a colleague about my dad’s passing. Midway, I caught myself and told him I hadn’t exactly informed anyone else that my dad died. I looked at the TV and said that movie got me in my feelings and had me open up to him randomly. Sigh… this is something I am carrying with me everywhere. I guess it will keep showing up in random places—but hopefully, in small doses.

I have asked my friends who have lost a parent, and the consensus is that this is going to be an eternal grief I will carry for the rest of my life. I don’t even think I have started grieving yet. I’m just trying to survive each day until maybe after the burial is successfully completed, and I can return to my quiet life.

What I really mean when I tell people “I am taking it one day at a time” when they check in on me and ask how I am holding up is that I do not want to break.

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While I find comfort and am very grateful for friends reaching out and taking the time to have long calls to keep me company, keeping up with the calls and messages has been quite overwhelming. I see messages on WhatsApp and leave them until maybe the next day when I feel settled enough to respond. Lots of Instagram messages have been left untouched as I haven’t been on Instagram much lately because I feel like that place is not real—and life is truly happening off social media. Taste has left my mouth, and I wonder if I will find joy in sharing online again. All of it just feels meaningless at this point in my life. What are we even living for? Will I feel this way forever?

***

I wonder if every Sunday will carry a sense of heaviness—reminiscent of Sunday, March 23, when my dad exited this world. Each Sunday I am reminded of the day he left, counting the time lapse: one week, two weeks, three weeks, one month…

I haven’t been able to attend church lately—mostly because I do not want to break down in public. I’m unsure how I will react when the lyrics “Jesus for my family” comes on, as my church loves singing the song “I Speak Jesus.” Will I be reminded that we are no longer complete? Will I be able to bear it? Or are there underlying emotions I have refused to allow to surface? One thing is for sure: I do not feel angry at God or betrayed by faith, but I just can’t find myself going to church for now, because this is not the time to break.

I do not know how December will feel, the month I always look forward to. My month of rest, my birth month and major month of gifting with my family having a centre place. I don’t know how I will navigate not getting a birthday message from my dad or not being able to send him his Christmas gift. This already paints a picture of a solemn December without my dad—the void will be loud. Taking him off my monthly budget for April pierced my soul, but I had no regrets. At that moment, I was grateful for everything I did—every offer letter, every promotion, every bonus shared with him—it was my way of telling him thank you for investing in my education and supporting my career. I wanted him to witness my career progress as evidence that his efforts yielded fruit, and I knew my wins were his joys and pride. I am grateful he saw all of it and enjoyed the monetary rewards while alive, and that I never held back.

It could be easier to allow my mind to snap into the territory of saying my dad has run his race, and it should be easy doing without his physical presence going forward, being that I was not exactly dependent on him in most ways anymore. But that’s not why I needed him still here with me. Though he was already enjoying the fruit of his labour, he deserved to enjoy even more. I had plans to appreciate him more in the near future, my siblings had too…but alas, we just have to let go of all those plans and make peace with the fact that he is in a better place, far away from the world’s trouble.

Back then in Nigeria, I used to have serious anxiety about losing my dad, especially during the era when he was a huge anchor through the storms my younger one was going through. I would be driving to work and having these distraught images of doom happening if we lost him, and how we would not be able to cope. Just like every damn lie anxiety tells us—when those greatest fears come true and we find ourselves living in them, we realise God will always make a way, and we get by just fine enough.

Like I was telling Dr. Ewaen, some things won’t make sense, but we accept reality and make peace with it, then later, we find meaning and things to be grateful for. I miss my dad, but I’m grateful he didn’t suffer severe damage, especially after three brain surgeries, such that he would have lost critical abilities and needed to depend on others for daily personal care, that’s not the quality of life I know he would have wanted. I’m also grateful he saw me graduate from the master’s program. I can’t imagine how I would have coped if this had happened while still schooling. I know I have been privileged to have had him in my life from childhood till adulthood, a privilege many others never got to enjoy, which can disrupt and alter one’s life trajectory.

***

How have I been dealing and coping? I told myself I would do this in a healthy way. No disappearing into isolation. No leaning on alcohol. No losing myself in someone else. I have been using work to distract myself, practising gratitude for the good life my dad lived, and going back to old music for comfort—songs and albums that have evoked warm memories of my younger growing self, reminding me of different moments with my dad at home.  However, as they say, there is no right way to handle grief. I am choosing to allow myself grace and space, as my housemate said while encouraging me to have the two cans of Jack Daniel’s Whiskey & Cola the other night, he said I deserve a break from all the weight I am carrying. Today, I did some online shopping, which made me feel great. It’s one of my coping mechanisms when I am low in spirit, though it always comes with a dent on my account, but money is made to make us feel better.

After weeks of calls to multiple people, making sure funeral arrangements are going on well, I feel drained and exhausted both physically and mentally. I needed relief, to feel excited and do something for myself; about $2,000 of clothes and shoes bought me that. I permitted myself this while also cautioning myself not to spiral like in 2021 when I ordered 15 pairs of shoes on a whim. I want to be able to cope with my grief gently, but not leave a trail of mess from recklessness. That’s also why I do not want to take days off work, because why stay home and wallow? I would rather be at work making money and dealing with my feelings in small doses than stay home and drown in lowly feelings that might result in bad habits. Besides, today’s version of adulthood needs you to show up, to carry the pain and juggle it with responsibilities, to compartmentalise and deal with your shit while keeping it moving.

Managing the funeral arrangements has taken a huge toll on me; sometimes I forget I am mourning. My stress level got so high that I had to start taking days off in between, avoiding calls from the event planner or family members. I am really trying to take it one day at a time, so I do not collapse. After all this, I hope to return to my quiet life and a journey back to self—definitely not my old self, a new me shaped by the demise of my dear daddy. I have no idea what that version of me will be like, but I hope he is guided by the gentleness my dad was known for and filled with so much more compassion and kindness.

I take solace in the fact that my dad lived a good life. Watching him from an early age succeed in his career and rise to the top of the ladder in the Edo State civil service—even though he was not a politician, but had his good name and integrity speak for him—was a lesson. His compassion and kindness, hearing these from those who worked with him even while he was still alive, always made me proud to be his son. I am thankful for the life he lived, grateful even that I was always showing him my appreciation, even when he would tell me I did not need to, I would go even harder. I am grateful he watched me graduate from my MSc, a journey he was fully invested in and even asked that I send him my program offer letter so he could read it. That was how dedicated he was in all his children’s affairs even till adulthood. In many ways, my dad was a wonder and the calmest person with a lot of patience, something I still aspire to be. Thank you Daddy, for the immense love you showed me, and even my colleagues could tell how much you loved me. In my grief, I find gratitude. This still doesn’t feel real, but I must learn to live with it. All I have now are the beautiful memories of moments with my dad and his legacy of integrity and compassion. I’ll carry him in my heart and thoughts forever with the principles he lived by directing me, and his deeply rooted love will never leave me.

I don’t need to have it all figured out now. I’ll keep showing up for myself and family, giving myself grace when I fall short, and allow grief and gratitude to teach me how to live again, with a little more compassion, a little more depth, and a heart that knows both pain and love intimately.

This is not the time to break—but one day, I will breathe deeply, not out of survival, but out of peace. One day, I’ll tell his story with more smiles than sorrow. One day, I’ll know that I’ve made it through—not because the grief left, but because I learned to carry it with strength, softness, and love that never dies.