The sky cried when you died, so did I. I haven’t had the strength to write since you passed. I have become a confused man hiding behind a fragile smile. I did a little math on our ages. I was born when your life had just begun. I didn’t get to see a lot of your glorious moments; it hurts. I would have loved to witness all your feats, my clap would have been the loudest on the awards you received for the missions you accomplished and be the hand to hold when you were all alone.
I loved you. I don’t remember telling you this; the African in me didn’t let me. I hope my actions showed it. Our Sunday morning conversations when the rest of the family had gone to church was priceless. It is quite a pain to know we couldn’t finish. You knew so much, I couldn’t grasp all the knowledge locked up in your grey hair. I still have so many unanswered questions, but I would have to live and learn for myself now since you wouldn’t be here to share your experiences with me.
This write up doesn’t befit a good writer like yourself, forgive me. I may have to get all the scrolls in the world in writing your eulogy. I now see the world through your eyes like you have always wanted me to. I pray ‘she‘ sees the world through mine. I am waiting on God to change the rules so the living can talk to the dead, even if it is for a second.
God bless your soul M.K Poku!