I should have written this over a month ago but I had the thought that somehow some way, I would be exploiting moments truly meant to be used observing the actual grief. I lost a dear Uncle over a month ago and I am still processing what this truly means. Alongside the realisation that a person who I genuinely regarded and who played a significant role in my life is no more, this moment managed to uncover old wounds I thought were healed and covered in scabs of acknowledgement and scars made up of memories when the feeling of that absence came to the fore.
Even my own mortality stared back at me momentarily as I realised I had lost a loved one who seemed spritely and fit when I was a young boy. Now, as I still cling to the last threads of youth, as I gradually spy the grey in my crown, I accept that time has started to read differently to me. It is no longer something I can dismissively describe as abstract. It is real and apparent in all I do and don’t do. I recall telling my girlfriend recently that a phrase that now rings in my head constantly is, ‘every second counts’.
What sits with me now is grief, as I come slowly to the realisation that my emotions turn and twist as if they were in motion, revealing facets and drawing out of me feelings I would otherwise dismiss on other occasions. I am sat here, contending with feelings ebbing and flowing, tainted with hues my mind is casting upon them.
As each emotion that encapsulates my grief passes, I begin to associate them with colours; the black for the realisation that a loved one is lost to the ether, never to hear them speak or walk or do anything in my lifetime anymore, the blue, representing a reminder that we must renew our love of life as those who have gone before us live on through us and the off-springs that we birth, white meaning the numbness of the initial feeling. The reeling and dizziness that accompanies the breaking of the news. If you have loved a loved one you might surely know this feeling.
I have had quite the experience with managing loss, and I can tell you it isn’t something someone gets used to, which is why I can’t say I have coped with this one better. I haven’t been sleeping well and find myself replaying scenarios from the past where I think I could have done things differently with him.
He was a great lawyer, and an exemplary father and husband. As the head of the family (olori ebi) my mother was from he led with an unspoken dignity that I will always admire. I realise now that I didn’t talk to him as much as I should have, even though he made a lot of effort to reach out to me simply to check on me and how I was faring.
In the hues of orange the emotions of caution and restraint envelope my thoughts. I think about the impulsive feeling of reaching out to every aging relative who played an important role in my growing years but the restraints I mentioned tell me not to give in. Yes, it is important to reach out, but intentionality is much more important than giving in to the impulses that overcome me at such a time.
Like Daniel Bedingfield said, “I gotta get through this.”
Rest in peace Uncle Ariyo.
Rest in peace Mohbad.
I managed to co-opt chatGPT to assist me with curating a pop-based playlist about dealing with loss.
Take care, and love yourself.
I’m so sorry for your loss