I ran out of our room to the reception with a piece of towel covering half of my body, and soapy foam covering the other half.
“My husband oh. My husband.” I cried as I ran down the stairs, jumping multiple cases at once like the actors of Hollywood movies do.
Once I was at the reception, I saw a congregation already gathered. My wailing must have summoned them. I grab the nearest man to me by his tie, and lead him to our room, where he saw my husband lumped like a lifeless fowl.
He lifted Davis’ arm high and leave it to fall on its own. The manner at which Davis’ hand fell ignited a roar of pity from the crowd that had followed me upstairs.
“Eeya… so this man is dead. Chai” I heard someone say.
“Ewoo… this fine man. Oh death.” Another said.
My brain began a war against me. I lifted my both hands to hold me head – to ensure it doesn’t fall off. I was in deep agony.
I have never appreciated crying in my life. I got to realize feeling bad and having hot tears flow down one’s eye is a gift when I needed tears to mourn my husband but it disappointed me. I sent several invitations to it, but did it come? Silence became my mourning tune.
December 23rd, 2016 marked the end of my husband, the end of my joy, the end of my laughter, the end of my day. I have been locked in an estate of eternal night and the keys thrown into the ocean of obscurity.
The dreaded death has dragged Davis from me. Was I told he would not make it to 2017? Oh Abasi ‘mi (my God), why was I not taken with him? Three days into the new year now. What am I still doing?
“I want to die. O death, where art thee?” I cried
“No Eniobong, you will not die.” Susan, my cousin said. She moved in immediately Davis left me.
“Then what am I going to do? How will I stroll the cruel world without my Davis?” a lump of mucus made its way into my mouth.
“remember what the doctor said. Don’t stress yourself please. At least for the baby in your womb.” She scolded with a strong face. Susan has seen more of death than I. after her marriage five years ago, she has had two miscarriages. And just last year, she lost her one month old daughter.
Yes I do. I must live for my unborn child. I thought to myself. This dot of joy in my womb shall keep me going. I wish Davis lived to see the fruit of our tireless labour to be parents: a child!
At least I have something to live for. This child is my hope, my joy, my future. It shall be the dot of light that will dispel the darkness in my world. It will find the key and unlock me from my fear estate, the castle of dungeons.
My comforter comes!