His Final Gift of Reassurance
Fed"It's been three days since Grandpa passed, and you haven't eaten anything," Uzo said to her cousin, Nene. She could see a tiny teardrop fall down her cheeks as she struggled to mutter a word in response. Nothing had been the same since that night of his death. The house, which was often decorated with the happy faces of visitors, had now taken on an atmosphere of gloom.
She moved closer to the bed where Nene sat and reached for her hand.
"You look really pale. And look at your eyes, I find no spark in them. Please, eat something at least," she pleaded.
"How? How can I have a spoonful of soup without it tasting like grief?" Nene finally replied.
These words cut through Uzo's chest like a blade, making her unable to give a befitting response.
Nene's eyes twitched, and she was taken back to that night before he passed. They had a brief back and forth over her decision to move to a new country for further studies. Ale wanted her to be in Europe, where she had some relatives. But she had chosen to go to the States, where she knew no one except her estranged parents.
She believed his request was because he hadn't accepted that she was grown enough to take care of herself, an impression she found annoying. On the other hand, he cared too much to have her take the risk of starting life again without the kind of physical support he had given her all through her life.
In the middle of this, he let out a loud scream and held onto his chest while struggling for breath. Nene was terrified because he had been living with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy even before she was born. They eventually made it to the hospital but, unfortunately, the only man who didn't abandon her as a child born with the sickle cell disease didn't survive.
She desperately wished she could hear his voice one last time, telling her he was proud of her life and at peace with her decision to move to the States. But if wishes were horses, beggars would truly ride.
Uzo, on the other hand, was relentless as she finally made breakfast and fed her a few spoons of her favourite rice dish.
"How do you feel? Do you like it?" Uzo asked with raised eyebrows.
"It didn’t taste like the pain I've felt these past days. Surprisingly."
They both squeezed out a short smile.
Uzo prepared a bath for her and walked to the kitchen to do some cleaning before the church members would arrive for the evening condolence visit.
Nene finally struggled to get up and, immediately, her grandfather's phone beeped with a message notification. She had feared turning it off since his death because that would be a way of accepting that she had to move on. Her eyes fixated on the drawer where it lay, and she could hear a thousand echoes of thoughts in her head.
She walked swiftly to the drawer, picked up the phone, and saw it was a warm message from an old friend of his whom she believed hadn't heard of his passing.
"I may be part of the reasons Ale can't speak to you today or ever. I wish we never had that argument," she said quietly to herself, with tears filling her eyes again.
As she tried to return the phone to the drawer, a reminder popped up with a note that read, "Confirm special email sent to my Nene by 10am."
Her eyes grew wide, and deep down, her heart broke again because she was certain he had written long paragraphs of texts explaining why going to the States wasn't a great decision.
She swiped to the drafts and found an item titled "I love you so much in spite of your risky (surely not to you) immigration decision."
That opening text was all she had longed for these past days. He had already agreed with her decision before their last argument. He just thought he could try convincing her one more time because of her health condition, and also to buy more time with his favourite grandchild.
For the first time since that night, her heart leapt with joy. All the guilt began to wither away. Her smile was returning, and she knew her grandfather was at peace with her.
She realized the email was scheduled to be sent on the morning of her visa appointment at the immigration office, when he would already be with his physiotherapist. That morning was today.
And that was Ale for you. Considerate, deeply intentional, and protective of his own.
"There will never be another Ale," she said quietly to herself as she pressed the phone against her chest and said a kind prayer for his soul with a genuine smile on her lips.