I came home first from work like I always do. It was around 6pm when I got home. I put on the light in the bedroom and it didn’t turn on. I thought it was a light off but Fiifi, our four-year-old boy reminded me that the light in the hall was on so it couldn’t be a light off. It meant the bulb was dead and we needed a replacement. I called my husband, “John, where are you? Try getting some light bulb before coming home. The bedroom light is dead.” He even made a joke out of it. “How can it be dead when we left it alive in the morning? Was it made in China?” 

He came home around 7pm. I was in the kitchen putting something together when he slapped my ass and walked away. He liked doing that. It was his way of telling me he was home or some form of greeting when he had been away for so long. He took off his dress and called Fiifi to bring him a kitchen stool. I asked, “Can you get to the ceiling while standing on this thing? Isn’t it too short?” He screamed back, “Just watch me. There’s always a way to get a result.” 

I was still in the kitchen when Fiifi came to tell me, “Ma, come and see something. Dad has fallen down.” He was laughing and it made me laugh too. I thought I heard the sound of his fall so I screamed, “John, so that sound was you falling down?” He didn’t say anything back. I laughed while putting a fish in the oil. My son went back to the bedroom and came back to the kitchen telling me dad was still on the floor. He pulled my hand and I followed him to the bedroom. My husband was sprawled on the floor with his head at the edge of the wooden frame of the bed while the kitchen stool was lying on its side on the bed. The room was still dark. I called out his name and he didn’t respond. I turned on the light on my phone and saw his tongue sticking out. 

My heart skipped several beats. I screamed, “John, stop it if it’s a joke.” I slapped his cheek and his head fell off the edge of the bed. “My husband is dying,” I screamed. I couldn’t lift him off the ground so I kept screaming until my co-tenants came to help. We put him in his car and drove him straight to the hospital. My boy was sitting next to me on the passenger’s side while the tenant drove the car. I was crying. I was calling out his name. I was asking him not to do anything silly. I was praying for him. I was asking God not to give me a nightmare. We got to the hospital and he was rushed into the emergency room. We were not allowed inside until the doctors checked on him and put a mask on his face. They said it wasn’t looking good so they had to refer him to Korlebu the next morning. 

We stayed with him until around 10pm when my boy started dozing off. I called his parents. I called my parents and told them what had happened. They all said they’ll come to the hospital in the morning. My husband was still in a coma when I left the hospital around 10pm. I didn’t want to leave but I couldn’t stay there with my son. I usually don’t drive at night but the co-tenant had left so I was forced to drive. My son was sitting next to me at the passenger’s side asking me questions. “Why are we leaving John there? He would come home when he wakes up?” “There’s something on his face, how can he eat his food when he wakes up? When he wakes up and we are not there can he come home alone?” When we got to the entrance of the hospital and he saw the hospital sign, he said to me, “H stands for a heart but why is this ‘H’ so big?” My mind was far away thinking about the worse yet hoping for the best.

I didn’t sleep that night. The images of the night filled my mind. Even when I tried to slumber off, I got bad dreams and I woke up. I couldn’t wait for the darkness to fade away so I could go back to the hospital again. I was tossing and turning in bed until around 5am. I woke up, prepared something for Fifii and later took him to school. When I was leaving him he said, “Bring Dady home before you come for me.” I nodded and tears started flowing. I didn’t know why I was crying. All of a sudden, I started shaking vehemently as if something bad just happened. His parents called to tell me they were on their way to the hospital and I told them I was on my way too. 

I got there, went to the ward he was kept and he wasn’t there. I asked the nurse on duty where they had taken my husband and she asked me, “Who did you come with?” I couldn’t get it. I should come with someone before they tell me where my husband is? I told her, “I came alone but his parents are almost here.” While explaining to her, my phone rang. It was my father-in-law. I went out to meet them and came back to see the nurse. She took us to the doctor and he told us what happened: “He couldn’t make it. The hit was too hard on his cord and even if he made it, he would have been paralyzed or something worse. I’m sorry for your loss. We tried.” 

It was like a movie. “How? He was only fixing a light bulb when he fell. It wasn’t even from a great height. How could that kill him? No, he’s not dead. Or you guys don’t know who we are talking about. He’s John. My husband. We brought him here only last night.” I said all these while crying like a baby. His mother was crying and his father had left the room trying to hide his tears from us. The doctor kept reminding us of how sorry he was but his sorry meant nothing to me. We started making calls, telling who we had to tell. It was a tragedy and my heart was burning. 

We nearly didn’t get married because my parents didn’t like our relationship. They didn’t see John while we were dating. They didn’t hear anything about him. They didn’t even know that I had a boyfriend until one day I confessed to them that I was pregnant. My dad nearly threw me out of the house. My mom kept asking who the man was. I answered, “He’s John and he works where I’m doing my national service.” You could see the disappointment written all over the face of my parents. I’m their only child and that was not how the script they had in their heads read. To them, I was going to finish service, get a good job and later find a worthy man to marry. My mom screamed, “Go and do national service, you instead went there to get yourself serviced?”

They saw John and the seven-year age gap between us and felt like he took advantage of me. That was when the acrimony started. My dad didn’t want to see his face and my mom kept insulting him anytime he came around. John told them, “I’m sorry it happened this way. I understand why you’re angry, please forgive me. I’m not going to leave her like that. I would like to marry her as soon as possible.” That statement got my parents more infuriated. They didn’t agree to the marriage. They fought vehemently against it until I gave birth to Fiifi. He came to name and claim him. When Fiifi was two years old, he came for him every weekend and brought him back on Monday morning before he went to work. 

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He was learning to talk but he would tell me the stories of all the places they went. I loved that…I loved that a father was building a relationship with his son. Fiifi was three years old when my parents finally agreed that we could get married. There was nothing they could do to stop us so they gave us their blessings. We got married and just two years later, the man I married was gone. Dead. Life is hard but being a widow at the dawn of your youth makes life more painful. It’s OK when you’re single but married and single again makes you question the purpose of life, love, tears and everything about this life. 

My husband was gone but I couldn’t find a way to tell my son that he was dead and wasn’t going to come back. He would wake up every morning and ask me, “When is daddy coming back home?” He would tell me, “We took him to where that big H is. Let’s go and bring him back home.” I told him, “When we took him there, he died. It means he’s not coming back again.” He called me a liar. He said, “You wait and see, he’ll wake up and take that thing off his nose and walk home. Dad is strong like superman.” I’ll turn away and cry so he doesn’t see me crying. 

During his burial, I held Fiifi’s hand and walked past the body. I was crying and asking who he left us with. I kept screaming, “Your son has been asking of you. He doesn’t believe you’re gone. What should I tell him? Talk to me, John. What should I tell him?”

Fiifi asked, “Why are you calling him John? This is not my dad. This is not where we left him. This one is someone’s dad.” The body looked different. I could understand why he didn’t believe it was his dad. It’s been a year already but this boy still believes his dad was left at the hospital. He doesn’t want to let go and doesn’t want to believe his dad is gone forever. Maybe it’s the concept of forever that he doesn’t understand. We drive through town and everything reminds him of his father. He saw the KFC and told me, “Dad could be there, let’s go and check. That’s where he buys his favourite chicken.” He sees the hospital sign and goes like, “That’s the big ‘H’ let’s go and see if dad is up. He misses us, let’s go and visit him. 

I want to move on. All these memories make me cry endlessly but Fiifi won’t let them go. The memories of kids fade somewhere along the line, I can’t wait to cross that line where everything will fade into black and white so the two of us can move on. 

He came back from school recently and asked me, “Do you know heaven?” I nodded my head. He told me, “My teacher said people who die go to heaven. If you know there, then let’s go and bring dad. That’s where he is.” 

Would You Allow Your Partner To Go Through Your Phone?–Beads Media

Hmmmm it’s going to be very tough to move on. Maybe I’m the one who’s trying to move on quickly when it’s not time to move on. Maybe, it’s his father’s way of filling my days with the thought of him until the final hours when Fifi’s memory will fade. It’s hard to forget but I must admit, some of the things he says about his father also make me smile. Maybe I should rather enjoy it while it lasts because a day will come when both of us will move on completely and take on a new life. I may marry again, I’m still young. He will have a new father and I pray he makes him a good father like the one we left at the big H.

–Felicity

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