Cyrus and I met in a bizarre way. We met at a prayer camp. I was there with my mom to meet the leader of the camp. He was there to visit a friend who had suffered a stroke a day before his thirtieth birthday. We sat on the same bench waiting for our turn. The two of us looked different. We looked young, energetic and not sick. He asked, “Those who come here, do they get healed?” I answered, “It’s my first time here. I’ll give you an answer someday.”

He left with my number. He said goodbye and promised to call me one day. He called that night and the two of us couldn’t say goodbye. It felt like I needed someone like him to talk to. It was our first day but we had a lot to talk about. I fell asleep while he was on the phone talking about something. I heard angels. I heard prayers. His words were disjointed. I was too sleepy to grasp what he was saying. I heard him saying goodbye. It was faint. It sounded like whispers. I tried saying something but it came out muffled.

He called the next morning and we picked it up from where we left off. He asked about my mom often. He asked if she was getting her healing. When I told him I was on my way to the camp, he asked me to extend his greetings to his friend.

One of those nights when we were on the phone talking he proposed to me. We had talked for hours and had gone silent, obviously with nothing left to say. He whispered, “I love you.”  “What did you say?” I asked. He said he wasn’t going to repeat it. I told him, “Then swallow your love and let it bear fruits in your stomach.”

We laughed. We talked about love. I was in love with him too so I agreed to date him.

Every night he would call and we would talk until I slept on the phone or he slept. It became a challenge to see who would yawn first, who’d doze off first or who’d finally succumb to sleep. One night, we both were determined not to be the ones who first yawned. We talked until the cock crowed. The night faded. The sun started shuffling in. We both won. Our love for each other grew larger and stronger because communication is the water that irrigates the root of all things love.

His friend was no longer at the camp but he went there with me whenever he had the chance. He would come with provisions and sometimes money for my mom. My mom called him “Serious,” a corrupt version of his name, Cyrus. A year later, when my mom was completely healed, his father died. He wasn’t sick. The night before he died, he was bubbly. He even made plans for the morning. He died in his sleep. He was fifty-nine.

Cyrus was broken but I didn’t know how to fix what was broken so instead of being his calm, I complained about him not having time for us. I nagged about the fact that he had changed. We were no longer talking until the sun came up. I used it against him. One day it turned into a quarrel and the quarrel generated into verbal war. I said hurtful things to a heart that was already hurting. We didn’t talk for days. A week before his father’s funeral, he called and broke up with me.

When I told my mom about it, she screamed, “That’s serious.” I said, “Yeah, Cyrus.” She retorted, “I’m not mentioning his name. I’m saying it’s a serious situation.”

A year later, my mom died. Guess who called, Cyrus. I was broken. He had experienced how it felt to be broken so he came with a lot of empathy. He came with a shoulder to cry on. He called in the night and we talked until one of us slept. It was mostly me. I called him one late night when I couldn’t sleep. “Talk to me,” I said. He did until I snored away.

We were back together but not as lovers. He didn’t ask about my love life and I didn’t ask about his. I had a guy in my life but if Cyrus made a move, I would have let the guy go. Somehow, he got to know about the guy in my life. He met him twice at my house. I broke up with the guy because he couldn’t stand the idea of me and Cyrus.

When another guy was coming close, I told Cyrus about it. He asked me to send photos of him and I did. He said, “He looks too serious. You both might not go far.”

It was like a curse. It festered into the fabric of our relationship and broke us apart in six months. Cyrus being around gave me hope that one day, things will work out. We would fall back in love and not go our separate ways again.

I wished he called to tell me but he didn’t. He sent me a photo of his wedding invitation on a night when we ought to have talked until the sun came up. I thought it was a joke but I cried anyway. When he waited for hours and didn’t see my message, he called. I pretended I was happy for him but was still hoping he would tell me it was a lie. He said, “I didn’t know how to tell you. She’s in Holland. She’s coming home after her study. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

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I was at the wedding. I’d learned to let go but it was hard. After the wedding, I went to congratulate them and left the premises. The times we talked shrunk until there was no talking time between us. I wondered about him. I went around looking for him in the men I met.

I woke up one morning and saw eleven missed calls from friends who hadn’t called me in ages. They all called around midnight when I was asleep. I went on WhatsApp only to see Cyrus’s photos on their statuses wishing him rest in peace. I said, “What kind of eerie joke is that?” But my body quivered and my skin flashed with goosebumps, like somebody walked on my grave.

The first thing I did was dial Cyrus’s number. The person who picked up the call was crying. I hung up and started crying too. “So it’s true? Cyrus?” He had been married for only eight months.

His father was bubbly on the eve of his death. Same with Cyrus. He wasn’t sick for a minute. It was his heart that collapsed on him on a night when he was peacefully sleeping.

I blamed everyone including his wife. “She married my Cyrus just to kill him. Why would she marry someone she doesn’t know how to take care of? I knew his heart, perhaps I would have known when it was shutting down.”

Many days of tears couldn’t bring him back. The regrets, the blame, the pain, the sorrows. None could bring him back. At his funeral when everyone was eulogizing him, I felt this sense of gratitude for knowing him and having the opportunity to experience him in a special way. All those singing his praises didn’t know him the way I did and that made me feel special. I gave up the pain and replaced it with gratitude.

Two years after his burial, I married the man who came into my life to console me when Cyrus died. His understanding of my situation and his natural willingness to help me recover from the pain made me love him more. He’s the only one I didn’t look to see Cyrus in him.

We Met At El-Classico Match | Rich & Derby

When I let go, a great man entered but I haven’t forgotten about Cyrus. The day of his death is printed in my memory. I pray for him when the year turns around. I show gratitude and thank his spirit for letting me know him. Anytime I see the morning sun, I think of him and think of the time when we talked from the night until the sun came up.

—Sheila

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