I hate hospitals. I mean, I’m grateful to all the doctors and nurses for all their hard work; still, I hate hospitals. I spent the better part of my childhood making hospital visits. I think I’ve seen nearly all of my family members on a hospital bed, not to mention the amount of times I’ve had to go to the hospital regarding my own health problems. So, when I had to visit you in hospital, I would always try to put on a smile. If not for you, at least for me. To comfort myself. To remind myself better days would come. How selfish of me.
I still recall the moment I was told you had collapsed, were hospitalized and in a coma. Two days after my birthday, it was 10pm. My thoughts were racing. I felt sick. Nauseous. I couldn’t bring myself to sit down, yet my legs wouldn’t let me remain standing. In shock, I made my way home. I wanted to visit you that same evening…I don’t know what stopped me. Maybe because I knew I wouldn’t be allowed in at such a late time. Maybe because I knew I would be of no help then. Maybe I was just making excuses…nothing should have stopped me from visiting you that evening.
We had seen enough deaths in 2016. Purple rain had left a taste of nostalgia on our tongues as we mourned the passing of the legend Prince. But you were a King, and that’s what made your death even harder to bear. You survived the troubling times in South London, yet this challenge was far greater than any of us could have imagined. But you were right. Only you could have handled such a pain. You were always right. “Mortality salience” become our motto once you woke from your coma. To live a full life despite the “woes of the wavey”. You carried your cross and us on your shoulders. Always uplifting us, always reminding us who we are, always showing us who we could be. Continue reading