Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

I am mesmerized by the impact of death. How it’s sting lingers even as years go by? Nearly 15 years ago today, my dearest Papa became my ancestor. Whenever this day appears yearly, we are transported to that very moment when death became our friend. I call it a friend because when you have lost someone so close, the experience will remain close to your heart. I was visiting Rhonda Belue that evening while my Papa was departing from this earth. It was her daughter’s birthday and we were out celebrating life, while unknown to my, the one that gave me life, was departing his own. I left my cell-phone in the car and so I didn’t know that my world was crumbling fast until after dinner as I began to drive home. When I picked up my phone, there were several missed calls. Several from my brother who insisted that I call him first and fast. Others came as text, asking where I was and the same thing, call them now. So while driving, I called my brother and in the background, I could hear another brother crying and asking Papa not to leave, that he was here now. Before I could ask what what going on, I knew.

I don’t know how I made it home that day, but I somehow did and called my PhD advisor to let him know that I just got the news that my Papa has passed on. He drove immediately to my apartment and somehow dragged me in my dark state to his home where his wife and son proceeded to comfort me through this most horrifying experience of my life to date. I had known death before. I was there when my grandmother passed on. But something about knowing your own father is dead stings deeply. I spent the next week in his home. Visitors, stopped by to give me comfort. I didn’t leave to Michigan where my family was slowly gathering because my mother was rushed to the hospital that same moment my dad was declared dead. In fact, we were watching and wondering whether we were going to bury two parents at the same time. My dissertation exam was also scheduled the following week and my advisor noted that I should stay behind and finish it up before leaving to join my family. I somehow agreed, somehow did the exam requirements and a week later, joined my family in a state of disbelief that our Papa, as everyone called him was no longer with us. It’s been 15 years to the date and his death still stings like it was today. He is still so missed and I pray he is looking down on me, forever proud, that his Isioma, lived up to her name. Love you Papa. Sleep well.