Lifted

Chapter One - Let's Die

       I had just lost my wife to cancer. That was so selfish of her to die, leaving behind three kids to Carter for. Life was unfair and I found many reasons why I should end mine. My kids were my only hope, my only joy, my strength and my weakness. I was 32 years old when she died. I am 36 years old yet 4 years still seems like yesterday. My kids, they will forever ask about their mother,  "what happened to her?" "How and where did she go to?"

   I always prepared myself for such impromptu questions. I didn't want them to grow up believing that their mum had abandoned them. Jennifer was her name. The woman I married. Life was all happy and jolly during our early stage of marriage. She was beautiful with a heart of gold. She was the most cheerful person I had ever encountered in my life. Maybe that's why I married her, maybe that's why I chose her among other women I knew. Now all those memories were behind.The tears in my heart kept getting bigger. I couldn't carry the burdens anymore. My elder sister from Germany had come to console me and also take of the kids while I was away at work. She took a vacation to Nigeria after she learnt of my wife's demise. My mum was late and my dad stayed in the village. An old man in his early ninety's. He was a man of few words. When he learnt of my loss, he called me aside one day into his room in the village and spoke to me. He told me words I never even believed could come out from him. He said "My son, I know how you are feeling right now, but you have to be strong. You see, life has a way of cheating us, robbing us of the very things we cherish the most. You have to be strong, you have to be a man and take care of yourself including your kids. Don't let this loss rob you of the joy you can spend with your kids. Teaching them all your wife could have thought them and guiding them in the right path. Be strong my son, be strong". That was the last time I spoke to him. Life could be so unfair you know.

"Daddy daddy daddy!", my first daughter Isabella ran into the sitting room where I stood adjusting the curtains which got tangled between the hooks. She was 4 years old. My sister had just brought them back from school. Isabella, Kennedy and Micheal. Kennedy was 2 years old while Micheal was 8 months. Yes, that was the most painful part when my wife died; leaving a baby behind. How was I going to take care of him alone?, I remember asking myself a day after her burial.

"Johnson, how are you?", I am fine. Good afternoon sister, I responded to her question. "Isa's teacher complained about her today" , she continued. "He told me that she barely participated in school activities with other kids. You really need to talk to her, you should talk to her" , my sister concluded with a serious look on her face. I knew it was very serious because my sister only spoke in that manner whenever she wanted to prove a point. I knew I had to do something, and do it quickly. Isabella Nnajiofor come here! I sounded furious as I called her name. She immediately knew something was wrong. I raised her up and carried her in my arms as I gently spoke to her. It was a short speech though. As she nodded her head while I spoke. Kennedy sat down and stared at us while Sister Augusta kept Micheal in his cradle. I had missed work that day because I had decided to stay back at home in other to sort out some office files.

        I worked in a petroleum industry. I was the branch manager in Port Harcourt. After my studies abroad; United States to be precise, I moved over to London for a master's degree in Business and field management. After 3 years in London, I finally moved down to Nigeria to establish myself having been away for so long. Of course I had to come back. I had other personal plans which occupied my mind. I couldn't stay away from my country, Nigeria. I remember my late mum talking to me one Sunday night in my early years before I left Nigeria, "Nedu nwa mu, please don't ever forget where you come from. No matter where you go, always remember that you are from Africa, from Nigeria inugo". My mum was my teacher, mentor, spiritual leader, friend, anything you can think of. I admired and loved her so much. She had breast cancer. She discovered it late when treatment would be futile. I remember crying and praying to God to heal her. I promised to do 'anything' for God provided He kept my mum alive. Sadly, she died 4 months after I left Nigeria to the U.S. The early morning phone call from my uncle woke me up from sleep. He broke the news to me even though I found it very difficult to believe. It was like a bad dream ; a horrible nightmare. I cried my hearts out and questioned God. I never believed I could question God. Well, His ways are different from ours isn't it?. My dad was quiet when the news was broken to him. He had accompanied her to the hospital before returning back to the village few days later. She died two weeks after. It was a sad period for the Nnajiofor's family. A heart breaking  moment for all of us. I booked my flight for the burial  earlier when tickets were still  cheap. I spent a week in Nigeria before returning back to the U.S.

           Schooling in America was a fun experience for me. The environment was different, the lectures were excellent although the lifestyle was a little bit challenging at first. I had learned how to write and speak like an American. I also picked up slangs and vernacular which I heard. I was living the American dream (in my own way). My two best friends, Sarah and Anthony introduced me to alot of stuffs which I had no idea about. They were both whites. A male and female. We had met on different occasions in college. We did almost everything together. The former lived with her abusive parents while the later stayed with his mom who was separated from his dad. I also had friends from other places too but I wasn't as close to them as my two friends.