THE PAIN OF LOSING A FATHER

He’d sit at the corner of the house on his favourite chair, the Father Chair. It had earned the name. No one else would dare seat on it. Completedaysrelax loevenichhut andcamiciesaldi blundstoneprezzi borsalamilanesa von-dutch geoxoutlet chilloutshut marellaabiti marellaabiti moorecains tatascarpe chilloutshut fracominaabiti gigasportoutfitdamen with a recliner and leg rest, the seat had a view of the entire living room.

They often argued as to why it had to be put at the corner, but the only sensible reason seemed to be the vantage point. From that angle, papa bear could see everything that happened in the house. Including people walking in from the gate too. He was protective that man!

Evenings were never complete in his absence. The periodic (and very intentional) clearing of the throat had a way of restoring sanity in the house. He’d always do it when someone was proving to be a pain on the backend. Mostly the kids. Then they’d all calm down and the house would cease playing asylum. He had a way of doing things in silence.

And it amazed everyone.

At times, if the house got too silent for his liking, he’d start a very controversial debate which would go all the way into the wee hours of the night. His favourite topic? Addiction to social media. Predictable much!

His was a great heart. Always putting other people’s needs before his and making sure that everyone got nothing but the best. He gave the kids quality education, took his wife and lovely daughter on random shopping sprees, and taught the young man how to drive and even fish. Those camping trips were probably the most anticipated father-son moments the young man ever had.

His little girl

Daddy’s little girl was never left out. Every weekend shed get the royal treatment from his highness, and as much as mama bear thought it was often unnecessary, papa did it anyway. He always insisted on setting the bar too high for anyone who wanted to be in his little girl’s life.

“You deserve it princess.” He’d always say every time they walked out of the house, away from the ranting lady of the house. Then they’d laugh and high five as he held the passenger door open for his little girl to hop in. If traffic wasn’t bad, he’d let her sit on his laps and steer the car while he handled the pedals which were too far away from her tiny feet.

His wife

She’d watch them from the kitchen and shake her head. They were too rebellious but it always tickled her fancy. She loved them so much and wanted nothing but the best for her little girl, but being the typical African mother she was, moderation was always her slogan. Her mantra even. But every time she talked to her young daughter about it, the young one would boomerang the entire issue and make it clear that she wasn’t the only one who got spoilt by her father. She had a way of recounting all the times mama and papa had gone out leaving them home alone at the mercy of her bully brother. And the lady knew kiddo was right.

She had by her side the best man ever, and loved him with all she had. A life without him seemed impossible.

I am my father’s son

His son was just like him. A silent observer. He’d watch the ladies wreak havoc in the house over a bar of chocolate and shake his head in disbelief. Understanding why they fussed so much over milk, sugar and cocoa was totally out of his scope.

What baffled him even more was why the main man would bring just a single bar knowing too well he had a pair of chocolate fanatics in the house. But that was none of his business though! He knew pops always had a reason and so he worried less.

On Saturdays, they’d drive to some wild destination to have some father-son time as he got survival lessons from the old man. He did not like the manly advice as much but he’d survive through it knowing to well what ensued after all the wisdom transfer. Fishing time.

He always wanted to be like him, and adored him so much

That evening, the house was eerily quiet. Even the ever noisy TV set couldn’t beat it. Everyone sat in the seats, with mama sprawled on the sofa seemingly tired. But the Father Chair was empty. Nothing out of the ordinary since he’d periodically get home late. The dogs howled in response to an owl’s cry. The usually light early night breeze was weirdly strong as it cut through tree branches and hit the tent flaps that hang on the sides of the gazebo, making scary noises.

The ringing phone startled everyone. It was from a strange number. As is the norm, no calls were to be received past 9pm in the house. Especially not from strange numbers. But mama picked it anyway.

“Hello”

“Hello, my name is Doctor Burt. I am calling from MP Shah Hospital. I’d love to have a word with Mr. Nelson’s wife.”

“This is her speaking. How may I help you?” she replied, fear creeping into her voice.

“I got your number from your husband’s emergency contacts. You are needed at the hospital as soon as possible”

“Why? What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

“He is fine. Do not panic.”

She hang up, flew off the seat, grabbed her car keys and yelled at the kids to follow her and get in the car. She had a feeling the doctor was lying. And the kids were getting scared.

30 minutes later, they were at the hospital having a chat with Dr. Burt.

The old man had been involved in an accident but was in stable condition. So they asked to see him.

He lay on the hospital bed covered in bandages, visibly in pain but with his signature smile on his face. They surrounded his bed, all with tears in their eyes.

The children wondering why their father was in a hospital bed, his wife feeling his pain.

Then he held out his hands to his wife and kids. And they offered theirs in return. But before his tight grip was complemented by words that were struggling to leave his mouth, the life support machine shrieked. Warning on an impending calamity. Then it went steady. And his grip became limp.

He was no more.