If there is one thing that’ll get me writing, it is sorrow. Pure joy usually has me skipping and rushing about in glee. I can never settle down to write, I much prefer to chat. Which is why I’m here- one month after my last post to write about Nonso’s death. I’m almost too frightened to carry on, I don’t want to speak about him in the past tense, especially as he is so alive in my heart. If you’ve ever lost someone dear to you you’ll know what I mean. I can hear his voice, I see his smile, I don’t think he was capable of talking without smiling, it’s just the way God made him.
As this isn’t intended to be a eulogy, I won’t tell you about how much of an avid reader he was, or how he had such a way with words. As I didn’t ask his permission I can’t share any of his writings from a blog he used to keep years ago. I once begged him to get back into blogging, he said that his blog was dead, old news. How such talented writing could be described as old news is beyond me.
After less than a year of fighting one of our generation’s greatest enemy, he lost the battle to cancer. I refuse to give that ugly disease any glory by saying more than that.
He went to be with the Lord yesterday (and I thank God I am not using it as a cliché). All day long I was in shock, but also glad that his suffering was finally over. It wasn’t until the evening when I looked on his facebook page and saw evidence that the news had started to filter out. Each line I read was like a hammer that forcibly drove home the news- in case I dared to forget that I will never see Nonso again, or hear his voice or see his smile on this side of life. I’ve been back on his page today and a few people possibly who didn’t know he had been ill are begging for “this sick facebook joke to be stopped”. I can understand where they are coming from as he was not even 30.
It’s funny how life has a wicked way of going on when the world stops for you. I was on the phone to someone last night as she lamented that there was no room for her biscuits and margarine. She was preparing for her next day trip to Nigeria. You should have heard the lament, like it was the end of the world, “What do I do now, ehn? Where am I expected to put my biscuits? everyone keeps asking me to take stuff to their folks, but when you turn them down they get mad at you. I really don’t know what to do”. I didn’t interrupt her bliss by telling her my sad news. No doubt when I hung up she broke into a fresh bout of tears, a result of having to make the difficult decision to leave behind not one but two packs of digestive biscuits. Talk about someone needing a paradigm shift.
Where am I going with this? I tend to bring my write ups full circle by making a point at the end of it. Not this time. I have no point, it all doesn’t make sense to me.
Thanks so much for reading, do come back.