The mirror challenges me.
My bones, they ache
From weaknesses
My back, painfully arched
To carry the pains. And the dots
There are dots all over my neck, my chest
On my hands.
My chest is heavy. With painful seeds.
I quiver, as I run my hands through my forsaken body
************
Final year creeped up on me.
Not a day passed by, without hearing the word exam. It made me sick. Because now that I thought this would be a year where people studied their lives out, but my classmates didn't look all too caring about it.
I studied until I was sure that I knew every word I wrote in my notes. I guessed that reading was a way to help me get out this trauma. Back home, stocks were still low, but my parents didn't act like they were too bothered.
Mum changed churches. This new one we went to was owned by one of her step brothers. I liked it personally because the service was shorter, the other one took about a whole day. Mostly 8:45am to about 2pm.
As a matter of fact there was a day that a send off was conducted for one of the pastors that was going on a missionary journey at Rwanda.
You do not want to know how long it took. I think dusk was setting in at the time
More things occurred at home. On one of the weekends Mariah called and told me that my parents may be getting divorced.
"It's dad again" She said, tiredly. "Now he went to buy a car for some girl at Lagos and the girl's coming to tell mummy to get a HIV test cause she's positive"
"So what about mum"
"We're at Aunt Margaret's place for now. I think they're getting divorced. I'm going back to school tomorrow. I don't want to be here in the midst of this"
That day I slept, heart bitter and bursting with hatred. What is wrong with my father. Why can't he just respect himself.
The thought of my parents no longer being together wasn't so shocking, because now I can't remember the last time I saw love between them, or the last time they slept in a bedroom together. They're like roommates.
It burned but I borrowed my sorrows in my books.
********
There are five stages, of grief, or loss. I recognise these stages just watching my mother.
Denial. I heard her ask questions that are seasoned with denial.
"No it isn't true"
"It cannot be"
"My husband would never do this to me"
Anger. She was quick to anger. Any small comment could blow her off. She threw a shoe at me just because I brought a tray of food for me
Bargaining. A question of if only
"If only I wasn't too busy"
"I should have yielded to the warning signs"
"If I, if I had listened"
Depression. I could say that she was on this level now. Finding comfort in Church. Sinking in her own pain. Not the woman I had known as a mother. She has not been the same
