Dear baby boy,
Is it weird that you’re still here, to me? Is it unnatural that I still include you in plans, talks with people, like you only went on a trip? Do you think it is bizarre that I still talk about you in the present tense?
According to the scriptures, I’ll be with you, someday, in heaven, but is this why I haven’t truly accepted your obvious absence here?
Tell me how I burst into your favorite songs, with a catch in my throat and a dance on my feet?
Dance.
I remember your favorite steps, have gotten really good at mimicking them, it’s become quite unnerving to your baby girl and my siblings.
How is it that 6 months later, I still enjoy thinking about you, look forward to playing your favorite Don Moen, Ron Kenoly, and Zulu songs from Brenda Fassie, Lady Smith Black Mambazo, and Mariam Makeba, and watching your James Bond, Harrison Ford, et Al, movies?
I hear your voice sometimes when I open my mouth to speak. How am I beginning to sound, react and think just like you? If I were a new born, it might make sense to chalk it up to reincarnation. What’s the rationale in this?
I’ve asked countless times “why can’t I see you in my dreams?”
The answer is always the same. “The dead have no ties with the living”. Some people think it’s crazy that I’d even consider that. But I can’t help it. I go to bed most nights, hoping I get to see you. I want us to discuss and plan, as you always said, “come let’s plan”. We always would dissect the pros and cons before any major, or even minor decision, affecting me, or the general family.
My eyes and head hurt from all the crying as I write this, and I fear that as much as I want to, I may not be able to keep up with the denial for much longer. It’s almost like there isn’t much air left, even above the waters. Everyone will eventually have to see how crumbled I am. The very thought curls my insides; I could never let them see the cracks in my smiles, or know that the weight of expectations is the only thing preventing me from going away for a long, long time.
It’s my birthday in a few days. My first birthday without you. There’s nothing to celebrate-what’s the point in celebrating a life I don’t want?-but, I want to spend it with the people that matter the most to me: the rest of us. Will you be there? Will you wake me up at 6am, with the happy birthday song, followed by prayers, as you did for most years of my life?
No. You won’t.
I do hope that I, at least, get to see you in my dreams.