Tears at a funeral. 


There he stood staring into the shadows of what used to be a promising tomorrow and even though he was surrounded by hundreds of persons, he felt alone. For the first time in his life, he felt alone. Although he tried to imagine what his new future would look like considering the fact that without him, the already perfect picture in his head wouldn’t be complete, like a puzzle with missing pieces, it just wouldn’t make any sense. He tried to picture what his new future would look like without him, but all he could see was sweet empty darkness and no, it wasn’t because of the hundreds of persons dressed in black casting their shadows all over him like an amateur painter carelessly swiping his brush all over his canvas, no, it was because in that glass coffin laid a part of him, the part of him that held the candle of his soul. it was because a part of him was about to be buried six feet underneath the ground and gone forever. It was because a part of him would never be seen again. And even though they say that men don’t cry, he just couldn’t hold back his tears but who could blame him, he was his father, the only one he would ever have and this was his funeral. But who could blame him, standing before this grave is a sixteen-year-old boy who would never get to say the word ‘dad’ ever again. So, yes, it was a funeral and just like rainfall in July, the tears would pour.
‘What’s a future without you? This was not part of the deal, I thought you said you would never leave, I thought you said you would fight for me, for us.. you said you would always be there for me, you joked about being there when I got my first girlfriend and stare at me with that proud look on your face with tears in your eyes as I present to you my graduation certificate, the one with the big DOCTOR written all over it. This wasn’t part of the deal, we were supposed to do this together, you were the reason I even wrote Jamb in the first place, dad. WHERE ARE YOU???’ He screamed, pacing up and down, punching the walls till his hands bled and shouting at the cold silent night, hoping to get an answer, any answer, even if it was just a sign, a prove that there was truly a reason for all this, that God had a masterplan, one that required the death of the only friend he ever had. But no, he got nothing, there was no sign, no burning bush, no bright star shinning in the east to follow and no handwriting on the wall. All he got was the sound of crocking frogs, chirping crickets and echoes, echoes of the words he screamed, echoes of his sobs, echoes of what used to be the sound of melodies in his heart. And every year he would remember this day, he would remember this funeral and the tears he cried.  
  

Although he knew that this day would come, he knew his dad had done the best he could, he knew dad was strong but the cancer was stronger and the harder he fought, the farther he drifted away. He was a soldier, a brave and strong one, he fought to the death and died at his post, this was how he choose to remember him. This was how he would be remembered, he would not be remembered by how the cancer slowly ate him up from inside out or how his hair slowly fell apart, falling in one and twos till there was nothing left or how he slowly lost his voice, pointing and waving, forced to use his fingers to communicate. No, he would not even be remembered by his heavy breathing or how he had to lie on that bed for months. No, rather he would be remembered by his charming laughter, by his sweet words and kind heart. He would be remembered by the prayers he said, how he would call his children to his room and teach them about love, about his love for them and God’s love too and why everyone should love their neighbours. He would be remembered as the soldier he was and how he battled cancer for more than two years because of the ones he loved. He would be remember by his favourite quote, ‘ Love is God’s greatest gift to us, it’s a light that must be used to brighten up our cold dark world’ These were his favourite words. 
This is how he would be remembered and one day, when the time is right, these tears shed at this funeral would be tears of joy, joy that you are in a better place, a place filled with hope where you would no longer have to fight this wicked disease anymore and these tears would be tears of hope, hope that one day we would get to see again. 


So for now, he  would bask in the thoughts of him, he would look at the stars and think of him, listening to his words in the sound of the roaring thunder and in the whispers of the wind and whenever he  shows love to someone and put a smile on the face of a total stranger, he knows that dad would smile too, because this right here, this is not a sad story.
#Tears at a funeral #Written by His_Storyteller.

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