Daddy’s dead. Two hours ago. I wonder as I write if this is who I am. One who seeks the solidity of words, as though they can anchor me here more than any person could. Words are safer and music safest.
My Mother is a rock of course, her faith wrapped firmly around her with every step. While I am struggling to make sense of it. On the one hand I know death is an illusion and his essence still here. Then there’s this feeling I can really place just yet. And tears stuck on my throat. They can wait and will wait until my family is sorted.
Death is a weird business. Everything is so silent and everyone serious. I kept offering everyone tea, even the police officers. I opted to keep the door open and joked with them and said, ‘The door’s open. I don’t want you to feel like you are being kept hostage. ‘ I worry about my brother who is silent and my sister arrives soon.
The last conversation we had was about his brother, my uncle. My father thought my uncle was braver that he could ever be. Daddy wanted to be a pilot but in order to do so he would have to leave and study in Zimbabwe. Daddy said he lacked courage while his brother didn’t. Somehow he always felt that he has to take the second best option. So he kept working, never standing still, always eager to learn. Secretly I thought I am so glad I am a musician, my life’s dream. He never saw me sing….but that’s okay also.
Thank goodness for the lockdown. We got to spend almost two months together as a family. Cooking, laughing, a house filled with kids and love. We drank your Cuban rum a few months before your death Daddy. I am sure you understand eh?
The rest, this grief business? I will get through it. I have words. I have music. The rest is just fluff.