The Day I Wore Blue.

The day I wore blue, I came to understand the Yoruba adage "Ayé pé méjì ò kún òkan "— the world has two sides; one can’t be complete without the other.That was also the day I felt a sense of sonder .

Some days, I’m on my knees, almost in tears, whispering to myself that this isn’t fair. Other days, it’s a frantic scribble in my journal, a desperate reach for sanity. Are you still here? Are you not here?

I sit with my back against the wall, staring into space. I had washed my locs earlier, and now the scent of coconut oil and shea butter, massaged into each strand, surrounds me. I can recall everything that happened that day. I pick up my pen and begin weaving words faster than my hand can write.

FRIDAY 25TH OCTOBER,2024: THE DAY I WORE BLUE.

Everybody wants to go to heaven but no one wants to die.

The day I wore blue was a humbling reminder that indeed, the world did not stop for me or my quiet grief. It was a car ride to the hospital on a sunny Friday morning in a bid to get "the death certificate." I looked out the window in amazement that life really did not stop. The sun shone brilliantly today, considering it rained all night the day before. The buses moved with the echoes of "Mushin" and its environs—honking horns and voices weaving through the air. Hawkers called out, parading their goods, while people rushed for seats in the moving buses. It was unapologetically chaotic and so agog with life.

It paled in contrast to the conversation in the car. Father and Mother seemed to speak about everything other than what they were going to the hospital for. Mother was showing Father different routes we could try instead of the one we currently plied, while Father expressed his displeasure at the driving skills of the 'danfo drivers.' It was their wedding anniversary today, yet it was also the day we bid Uncle farewell and returned him to Mother Earth. The experience felt too sober, so I decided to look out the window instead.

I was not afraid to go to the hospital today. I had never fully seen 'THE LUTH' (Lagos University Teaching Hospital) before. As my father walked with wide strides in front of me, I hurried along, taking the time to look at everything around me: people queuing to pay medical bills, doctors in their white coats walking with intent, family members hovering around their sick loved ones, and one family consoling another for the passing of a loved one. It was a world of its own, and I happened to be a passerby.

Somewhere in LUTH.

Would you like to pay your last respects?

I thought time had stopped for us all when we lost Uncle, but Mother still went to work and managed her business. I, too, continued to work and scribbled thoughts in my journal. Everyone who came to bid Uncle farewell had come from work or taken a break from something that occupied their day. The only person for whom life had truly stopped was Uncle.

Have you ever experienced silence so deafening?

The ride to the cemetery was filled with emotions I cannot capture with words. The funeral car led the procession, its siren urging everyone to make room. From the window, I watched people stare at us, each with their own expression.

The cemetery is full of buried gifts and dreams .

I had always imagined the cemetery to be somber, quiet—a place for reflection. Instead, we were greeted by the loud sounds of trumpets as one family triumphantly led their "dead" to rest, while another celebrated the memorial of a loved one. Too much was happening all at once, each group lost in a world of its own. I moved along a sea of graves, each a testament to a life, whether brief or long, lived on earth. This place of "rest" was brimming with life.

Dust to dust Ash to Ash .

I watched as “Uncle” was lowered and the priest giving words of exhortation. I remembered his words: "Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to die." A somber reflection settled over me as I watched Mother burst into tears, with Father comforting her, and everyone else silent, heads bowed low. But I stayed until the entirety was covered.I had chickened out of everything will I do the same now?That was it. Uncle was never to seen again.

The ride home felt heavy, a cloak of sadness draped over my shoulders, one I couldn’t seem to shake off. I should have reached out more, should have made the effort to visit instead of relying on Mother’s updates about Uncle’s welfare. What will I regret if my eyes close in eternal sleep? What will people remember me by? Am I a good person? The things I yearn for so desperately—none of it will follow me in the end. My mind raced with these thoughts.

My hand stills. The voices quieten;I have nothing left to write. The words I couldn’t say, the thoughts that haunted me they drift away, leaving only silence. . I drop my pen down in tears.

For now, this will have to be enough.

If you're struggling with grief or you have someone who is struggling with grief.

If you want to read more of the thoughts that dances in my head .

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If you want to read the prequel of what lead to “The Day I Wore Blue” .”

https://badaoluwanifesimimary.substack.com/p/death-is-a-cycle-of-life