Death, Abeg Chill

My earliest memory of loss was when I was in Class 3 (so about 8 years old). A junior ( I believe she was only 6 and in Class 1) whose name I can't even remember had passed.

We weren't friends, but I had seen her enough to consider her one. I attended her funeral and braved my fear of corpses to actually file past her during her wake.

My second sense of loss came when Senam Anku, the coolest person I knew growing up and someone I looked up to, someone who was the best of all of us, passed away after a long illness that stole his youth from him when we all entered senior high school.

My third sense of loss hit much closer to home, my baby ~~cousin~~ sister Fafali, whose arse I had wiped when she was a baby, who was my friend, confidant and pest (as all sisters are meant to be) passed after dealing with illness all her life.

I recall I couldn't cry at her funeral. I was distraught but no tears would fall. Just my red eyes. Many years after that burial, I concluded that death comes for us all and I doubt very much that I'd cry when either my mom or dad pass. I've barely cried over sad things since and mostly only cry over happy scenes. Will I cry when either of my parents pass? That remains to be seen.

People die every day. But gosh has 2026 been rough considering the proximity of death to me. It seems every quarter, there's news of someone's passing who's close to me.

First it was Francis's mom's passing in February after battling illness. Followed by Beatrice's father's passing in March. Then silence, up until Francis' mum's funeral in May, then Beatrice's father's burial in June.

Then July rolled around with her rains, devastation and more news of death. My uncle, Gudzi - Fafali and Klenam's dad - with whom I have lived for most of my time in Accra, whom I called daddy (so Fafali wouldn't confuse daddy and uncle and who also become my second pops) passed away on the 18th after a brief battle with illness. A week later, my mentee, my pride and joy, Nana Ama, lost her dad, (2 years and 3 months after she lost her mum). I found out about Nana Ama's dad's passing just yesterday, the 27th.

Oddly, my high-school friend, Cornelius invited me into a WhatsApp group. I inquired about the purpose and I found out Frank, another high-school friend had also just lost his dad.

That's 3 losses of fathers with some proximity to me within 2 weeks.

I'm not sure how to feel.

I know I should be grateful, for sure - both my mum (60) and dad (70) are alive - and that makes me glad.

But damn, what am I supposed to feel?

How do I comfort my cousin Klenam who's barely in high school? Or Ama who's lost her last parental support? Or Frank? How do I console when Beatrice hasn't quite recovered from the loss of her dad, or Francis, who's thugging it out now, but I know is broken on the inside. How do I console Fafa and Elorm, whose Snapchat status updates often have memories of their dad?

Or Mayfair, who is going through life with her wonderful quirks, but I can't be sure if that's a front her pretty cat-shaped eyes are trying to not betray or if her knee-high boots are her remembering her mum. Or Fatawu, who's just living like it's nothing but I'm here wondering how often he thinks about his mum.

Or Anita, who plays a playlist of her dad's songs as she clings to his memory, or Hillary, whose dad's songs permeate Ghanaian society and she has constant reminders, or Christabel, who breaks into tears because the memory of her mother's passing is still so fresh, her birthday and mother's day happening within the same month no less!

I dunno why I'm writing this. I dunno what the end goal of this is. I just know I'm not okay. I just know I doubt I'll cry at the news of my parents' deaths.

Death comes for us all but abeg, can you take a chill pill?

Update: July 29, I called my pal, Derk to inform him about Frank's dad and then he drops another bombshell, Ruth, a mutual friend also lost her pops 2 weeks ago.

Hmm. E go be chale.

Cover image generated with AI (ChatGPT Images 2.0) to visually represent absence, grief and the quiet aftermath of a funeral. It is not a photograph from a real funeral.