The Metaphor of Life, Death and Everything in Between ❤️

Hi my favourite people in the world!

It’s me again. Your favourite runaway writer. Firstly, I want to say thank you for the constant love, check ins and bullying. I know it seems like I introduced you to a vibe I cannot maintain. The truth is, I have been on a journey. One of feeling less bleak and trying to rediscover my love of writing and penning down my thoughts for people to read them. Until then, I’d be sporadic here. I have a backlog that I am yet to get around publishing. Maybe I’ll work on doing just that first. Well, here is today’s unsolicited amebo….

Before my uncle died, I would have said “not so much” if you asked me if I was close to him. Since his passing, I have spent a lot of moments reflecting on our relationship and I have come to realise how much I took our relationship for granted.

I saw my uncle Deji every week of my life except when one of us was on vacation. There was no one that upset me that I did not report to him except my partners. I knew his friends and he knew mine. I went out with him to events as his plus one. We went on walks together. I billed him when I didn’t have money. He dropped me off at my dates sometimes. He shopped for me when he travelled. He called me when he needed help with things as I was his go to on a lot of things. We stayed on the phone talking about politics, music and what not. He was the one person that people could meet when they had offended me and be rest assured he would bring a resolution to the issue as I always listened to him. He was a lot of things to me. My uncle, my father, my cheerleader and my gist partner just to name a few.

It has been 444 days since he left me and inside my head, it feels like he is just on a journey. Sometimes,  I wonder what is taking him so long to return. It is at this point I realise that there would never be a return, at least not until the trump of God. Then the waterworks start. Heart wrenching sobs that further break my heart because no person should experience this much pain and heartbreak.

On some days, his death feels like a betrayal. He could have at least prepared me with some cryptic words or hugged me so tight the Sunday we last saw (mere days before his passing). However, he led me to believe May 3, 2024 was like any other with me waking up to my usual message from him that I almost never responded to. Then I found myself holding his hand, taking him to the morgue, reading embalming documents and wondering how to hold my family together. Other times, it’s a quiet comfort knowing that he is not dealing with this Tinubu regime and the jagidijagan that comes with it. Most times however, it’s a disbelief that leads to a quiet rage in my spirit that death indeed stole from me and went scot free. Regardless of whatever emotion the day brings, it is yet another day that I have to navigate without Deji Soneye’s presence, quiet strength and strong belief in me. Another day I live as a girl with one less uncle and father. Another day of pain.

It’s been 444 days since I last understood myself nd I currently feel like a toddler learning she has toes as she tries to eat them. I have discovered a new version of me that borderlines on sadness and quiet understanding of how unfair the world is. I am learning to treat her with the kindness she deserves rather than my former abruptness. She has lost an integral part of her and it’s okay for her to not feel like herself and struggle with everything.

Grief has become my new best friend but he has no home training. He doesn’t care about my feelings, plans, outfits or health. He will bring things to my remembrance just because while using his usual tools of familiarity- a scent, memory, food, item, word, picture or song. Anything or everything is at his disposal and then I find myself clutching my chest and willing the pain to stop because it feels like I might pass out from its intensity. I spend so much time wondering, as I coat my facial skin with moisture and soak my pillows, when the rivers would run dry and I’ll feel like myself once again. I keep wondering when I’d be strong enough to bear the weight that keeps threatening to crush me or at best, push it away.

For so long, I’ve abstained from writing because I didn’t want grief to become my identity. I had lost a huge part of me but I didn’t want that to be all I write about. Well, I guess I’m done fighting it. It might not be the material the stone is made from but it is now the chisel life has used to shape me.

Cheers to this new dispensation 🥂

P.S: The edit of this picture accurately reflects the state of my heart and worldview.