My dad was seriously sick at the time when my marriage was falling apart piece by piece. I didn’t know who to take care of, my marriage or my dad. If everything were well at home, I would have brought my dad to live with me to receive healthcare. All was not well. My marriage was a slow poison. It would have killed my dad before his time.

My siblings are all males. They were too far away from my dad to extend any meaningful hands to help him. They paid a maid to help but my dad didn’t open up. Anytime I visited him and helped out, his health got better. He told me, “Seeing you is enough. You remind me of your mother and I think that’s all I need.”

My mom had been dead for seven years. He had been doing life all alone, walking through the ages and facing sickness along the way. Each time I left my marriage and spent days with him, I would go back and see my marriage worse off than I left it. “How could a marriage this young, only for years old, be this bad?” I asked myself always.

I woke up one dawn and saw my husband already up and seated in the bed. He was thinking. I got up to urinate. When I came back he said, “I want a divorce.” I answered, “OK, where do we start from?”

Months later, we were over. I left the house with our child and went to live with my dad. The house I grew up in was ready to welcome me as if I never left. All the memories of growing up, my mom screaming through the walls, the family portraits of when we used to be young. They were all there saying “Welcome home” from a failed marriage.

Weeks later, my dad’s health took a bad turn and was admitted to the hospital. I was with him day and night. I took leave from work just to ensure he had someone around him every day. He called me Bee but I’m Esmeralda. Bee is my mother’s name.

I was feeding him when a new patient was brought in. The nurse needed help so I tried to help. Just when I got there, a gentleman walked in. He said, “That’s ok. I will take it from here.” They lifted the new patient from the wheelchair and placed him on the patient’s bed. He was an old man. I told my dad, “You have a mate.”

The Gentleman I saw visited every afternoon. He looked like a busy man. He didn’t stay for long. Later we got to know he was the son of the sick man.

I was feeding my dad when he walked in. My dad signalled him to come and this guy walked close to us. My dad said, “This is my daughter. She looks at you anytime you walk in. Maybe she’s shy to say it but I think she wants to be your friend.”

I was so shocked I couldn’t close my mouth several seconds after he had said that. The man smiled shyly. He said, “That’s not a problem. My name is Benjie and you’re?” His hand was already stretched so I put the spoon in my hand down and took it in, “I’m Esmeralda. Nice to meet you but my dad is lying. Don’t take him seriously.”

After that introduction, anytime I saw him around, I tried to hide. I studied the time he came around and ensured I wouldn’t be in the ward. One day, he was leaving while I was walking in. We bumped into each other and we talked. It happened again the next day so he took my number. The day I gave him my number, his father died. A day afterwards, my dad was discharged.

I wanted to give him my condolences but he hadn’t called me so I didn’t have his number. My dad wouldn’t let it go. Each day he asked if he had called. He said, “Men of these days are no longer men. In our time, we would have been married by now. This one can’t bite, forget him. I will get you another man. You deserve to be taken care of.”

“Daaad! I don’t want another man. I’ve been through a lot. I will take it from here all by myself.”

Three months later, Benjie called; “I’m Benjie, do you remember me?”

“Benjie? The man at the hospital? Of course, I do. What happened to you?”

Days later we met. His father had been buried but the sadness in his soul wasn’t buried. He spoke fondly of his dad and who he was. It made me think about the death of my own father. Three dates later, he proposed. He used my dad’s introduction as the reason for his proposal and that made me feel some way. I told him, “I haven’t told you half of the story about me. I’m a divorcée with a child. My marriage was four years old before it collapsed. I’ve walked through the valley of the shadow of death barefoot. I don’t think love is for me.”

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He said he didn’t mind. He’s a staunch believer of the universe. According to him, everything happens for a reason and there was a reason my dad introduced us. He wanted to know what that reason was so he was ready to go all the way. I asked him to be patient but he didn’t know what patient meant. He pushed until I finally accepted.

I told my dad and he said, “Oh, I thought he couldn’t bite. He has bitten and even chewed it.”

Days later, Dad was back at the hospital. The same hospital, the same ward and in the same bed but this time around the sickness wasn’t the same. I got scared. He was sixty seven and anything at all could happen. Anytime I was with him, he asked of Benjie so I brought Benjie to visit the same ward his dad died. He cried. I understood him.

I was spending the nights at the hospital so he came around one night. We were in his car making out while my dad was struggling to breathe through the oxygen mask. It didn’t feel right. I told him, “I’m praying to God for healing while sinning. Can we take a break until he gets better?” He said No.

Dad got better and was sent home. His health was steady for months. His eyes glowed and could walk like he used to. While he walked steadily, our relationship began to fly. It was like a free-spirited child playing on a large prairie.

Eleven months later, he proposed marriage.

“Are you serious? No, you can’t be.”

He was serious so he came to tell my dad about it. My dad told me, “I’m happy where this is going. If tomorrow I’m not around, at least, there’s someone to take care of you. I will rest in perfect peace.”

I wished he could live longer to witness everything but he couldn’t wait. He picked the date for our wedding but decided to die a week before our wedding. It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch. Death touched the centre of everything I loved when it took Dad away.

How could we mourn and cheer at the same time? We had to choose one. We chose to mourn and reserve joy for the morning. We postponed our wedding but on the date we were supposed to have the wedding, while my dad was at the mortuary, Benjie took me to a garden and said, “Everyone is here. Just imagine we are getting married. The priest is here, your father’s soul is on the front row. He’s looking at us. What will you say?”

“I do. That’s what I will say.”

“Great. The priest says I should kiss the bride.”

Just when he drew closer, I pulled away. “I don’t like this rehearsal. Let’s wait for the day.”

We buried my dad in May. In November, I stripped my black dress off and walked into a white gown. My father’s brother walked me to Benjie. I said I do and he said the same too. When it got to, “You may kiss the bride,” I broke down in tears. “Dad should have been here,” I thought to myself. “He should have been here to see me do it for the second time. The one I chose failed. He chose this one for me. What if…”

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We’ve already done four years. Exactly the point where the first one failed but there is no crack in this wall. The foundations still stand because we are deliberate in everything we do. So far, my dad is resting in peace. Or playing in the prairie, where free-spirited children would love to play because they are at peace.  

—Esmeralda

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