Just because you don’t want it to happen, never meant that it won’t. And when it happens, there’s the heart wrenching pain of realising why you never wanted it to happen. That’s as much as I can say about losing a parent.
I met my mother last Sunday. After having been ostracized after 4 years for reasons she would most likely have a hazy and varied recollection of, if at all, I met up with her again at a family wedding. Word was delivered through a Caucasian relative that she wanted to see me at the end of the proceedings. After having established that it was at her own personal behest, I got to her fuss free only hesitating to part the stream of departing guests. When I got to her, all I could do was hug her and kiss her and just hold on to her hand while just gazing at her without bothering to think of words to say. Even if there were any words said, it wouldn’t have registered for as long as I was in the shade of her countenance. If there was any dialogue it was with our smiles. But as we parted we acknowledged my dad’s absence from the proceedings. She requested that I see him. All I had in reply was a smile. And a nod.