Handling Grief

Chapter One

Imagine you wake up one morning, feeling so sure that today, you're going to live your dreams. You get out of bed whistling or humming a tune because you can't compose words to sing. It is the joy of a bright day coursing through your body. You even get a new funky dance. You get ready for work.

And that's when you meet a queue of bad luck waiting for you!

Uh oh!

First, it begins to rain and you are forced to stay under a shade until the rain stops. This inevitably delays you. When the rain eventually stops, you march into the road with high hopes that you might still get to work early. But then get splashed with mud water from a moving car! Next, you enter a bus but are delayed by heavy traffic. You finally get to work...

You know how those things happen.

With the way life has treated me, I've come to realize that happy beginnings don't always end well and bad beginnings could get better or worse. We are like pawns in Fate's hand, made to move here and there and anywhere against our will. Or maybe it is our will that makes us move here and there. Our will, our decisions, our reactions, our judgments, our conclusions and our intentions can define our beginning and our ending.

Yes, we can write our story. It may get ugly. In fact, it will get ugly. We just get broken and shocked because of our high expectations for this world.

I had high expectations.

My name is Mirabel. Mirabel Udoh. I'm a Nigerian from Imo state. I promise you, I am fictional. I am just a fragment of the author's reflection on choices. I was born into an average family. We weren't rich. We weren't poor. We were average.

My dad, Collins was his name, was a gateman and had the meanest boss in the whole world. This man was rude, proud and harsh. I have seen him speak rudely to my dad.

My dad shouldn't have been working as a gateman. He was a graduate but the work force ignored him, just like other graduates in my country. Dad told me it was because they felt they wouldn't be able to compensate his qualifications.

He met my mom jobless. Proposed to her jobless. Had to manage the gateman post just to raise enough money to marry my mom. Mom helped him pay her bride price. She worked as a secretary at Cayley college, Lagos. She was the one putting food on the table.

Mom told me I was the home's blessing because when I came, Dad's salary increased to twelve thousand naira and that was when Mom was promoted. I was loved by God, decorated by nature, taken care of by my parents, lusted after by men, envied by women and admired by children.

I grew healthy and strong. In fact, I grew faster than my age. At thirteen, my breasts, curves, hips and buttocks became well defined and enhanced. I was scared at the sudden change. I thought I was swelling. To make matter even worse, I kept seeing blood stains in my underwear.

I am definitely sick!

I complained to my mother, "Mom, I don't think I'm well"

Concerned, my mom began to touch my body to check my temperature.

She frowned, "You look fine to me"

"I'm not, Mom" I whined, "Look at me" I pointed to my body.

"What's wrong, sweet heart?"

"I'm swelling and I'm bleeding from my privates"

My mom shone her eyes. It looked like she was shocked with these "symptoms". I guessed wrong. She was just realizing.

"Oh my dear, it's nothing. You have gotten to the stage where..."

Blah, blah, blah!

She began the lectures on puberty and your - body - begins - to - change and you - are - now - a - woman and be - careful - around - boys and keep - your - virginity - till - your - wedding and all of those lectures that I'm sure you know.

Mom helped me learn about personal hygiene. During my adolescent stage we were so close. She was my best friend.

I attended her school so we went home together after school all the time. One Friday, we both got home and began the necessary chores to be done before cooking dinner. As we did this, we started a conversation and began to chat.

"Mom, am I wrong when I feel attracted to Austin?" I asked my mom. She was slicing onions while I was selecting beans.

"Oh darling, you're not wrong. It's human to feel that way," she took a pause then continued, "remember what I told you during our puberty talk? I told you that at this stage of your life, you begin to get attracted to various things. Not just boys or girls but fashion and trend..."

The buzzing sound emanating from the vibrating sink interrupted her. Her phone was ringing. She dropped the knife in her hands into the small plate, rubbed her eyes with the back of her left hand and took the phone in her right.

She didn't pick yet. She had to check the number. She was very cautious about unknown numbers because of those voice notes on WhatsApp. She didn't pick the call. The number was unknown.

"...as I was saying..." she resumed but was interrupted again by the buzz from the cabinet she had kept her phone.

Now her face looked concerned. Unknown numbers don't call twice. Even Airtel!

This was the omen!

She decided to pick the call.

"Hello" she whispered, sounding afraid.

Few seconds passed, then...

"Yes, I am Janet. Please, who am I speaking with?"

Now she sounded worried.

Few minutes later, I heard the clash of the knife hitting the floor. My mom's face instantly became as white as snow.

When she regained herself, she screamed with wide tear filled eyes, "What!"

I was getting seriously uncomfortable that I had to stand up from the wooden kitchen stool and draw closer to my mom.

"Where are you now?" my mom asked, agitated.

The voice on the other end was faint but I recognized the gender of the owner. It was masculine.

"Alright, I'm...I mean we're on our way" she told the man and ended the call.

She turned her tear stained face to me and told me, "Your dad is dying!"

***
Wow! I may not have heard the exact same line but I know how the hurt these dropped bombs feel when they are dropped.
How do you see this chapter?
Did I introduce the story well?
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Read on and enjoy Handling Grief from black_booker.