Just yesterday you visited Akokwa with your mother to help your grandmother prepare a meal for me, your uncle.
The other day you graduated in English and French and were ready to go to France, but today you moved on to a higher calling: to be with the angels. For more than two weeks we have been mourning and grieving.
How wrong we were, assuming that you would be with us for decades and decades, until we were too old to walk the journey of a lifetime. Like the speedy young woman that you were, in just twenty-one years she completed her journey and went home.
We just still want you to stay with us, to listen to your voice and hug and kiss. Our anguish has no end. Our regret is endless.
If he hadn’t gone to Benue State to serve Nigeria, maybe he would still be here with us. If he hadn’t taken that fatal journey to get back home and see his family over Easter, maybe he’d still be here.
If I had been there with you, if your grandmother had been looking out for you, we would have fought hard to protect you, to protect you, and to bring you home.
Oh dear, why did you take my niece?
‘Don’t cry,’ says the Bible, ‘like people without hope.’ However, we cannot help but continue to mourn. Because it hurts so much, the heart hurts so much and the eyes fill with tears.
When my tears dry, I will comfort my sister and your father, but it seems my tears will never stop.
You are gone, carried away by death without a goodbye, without hugs and kisses from those who loved you so much, who cannot do without you, who will suffer forever, who will never sleep the same way again.
Oh darling, our pain is endless and our tears are like a flood that will never dry. Nothing has been able to calm our aching hearts.
But why, mother, why? What is my sister going to do for this loss, this unbearable loss?
Didn’t I tell you? For a long time I have said: ‘Mother told us’, neither men nor women have the strength; we are all at the mercy of God. All power belongs to God.
But mother, what are we supposed to do now that Mmesoma is gone?
“Nothing, nothing,” Mother repeated, “nothing but surrender to the majestic power of the Creator.”
How can that be an appropriate response for a grieving uncle? I needed to go to Boston to see my older sister, Olive. There, we would cry together and cry together over the loss of our niece.
We did more than cry. We talked about how special our niece was and how she had this weird “can do it now” mentality. For her, anything was possible and needed to be taken care of now.
On one occasion when we visited Onitsha, my sister remembered how my mother, in her usual way of shortening the names of those she loved so much, had said ‘Mmemee, how about a bitter leaf soup today?’ Immediately my niece got dressed, hung her bag over her chest and hurried to the market, then returned and minutes later the family had plenty to eat.
“Action” is a word to describe my niece. I wish I had spent more time with her. But that’s okay. Grandmothers and aunts and uncles, friends and family knew her very well.
“God,” Olive said, “wants children like Mmesoma to join the angels in heaven.”
I believe. Go on, girl, march with the angels, sing with them and pose with them as you did on earth.
The people who attended my niece’s funeral gave testimony about the life she lived, the lives she touched, and the footprints she left. The mourners bowed shoulder to shoulder and holding hands as they stood, nervous but firm, to bid farewell to a very special young lady.
Although death took away his physical presence from us, his aura is still here with us and with me, bigger, stronger and clearer than ever.
As we have in the past, enduring the loss of favorite sons, daughters, uncles, in-laws, and fathers, we will try to endure this heartbreak.
If it were fruitful for us to mourn forever, we would do it. But it would be harmful to cry for a long time. There comes a time when every grieving person has to let go, make the best of loss, and begin to face the daily challenges of life.
Of our loss, the light should shine as a reminder to show the ideals of a young girl, an ambitious who lived, enthusiastic, willing and very open, for her family and her country. In my heart, in the hearts of those who love you so much, you go on living.