By Laura Cenge
“It is well, I will be fine with my daughter.” Those were my father’s last words to me before he was taken to the hospital on Friday 26th September,2021, at 10:00 pm.
One day we shall all die. That’s obvious. Recognition of death reminds us that each waking day on earth is a blessing.
As you read this version that I have tried to write 12 times, somewhere someone is mourning. I’m still grieving the loss of my father six months after he passed away. In mid-March, I can’t accept that he is no longer at my side. I often trick my mind to believe he is gone on safari and is coming back even with his voice still in my head.
It’s not like I haven’t experienced death before. In a span of one year, I lost a number of relatives and loved ones including my grandmother from whom I get my surname. The World Health Organization puts the global average life expectancy at 73.4 years – 10 years more than the average for Uganda.
But statistics don’t serve to fill the hole of loneliness when your first best friend, advisor, counselor – my 60-year-old father – is no longer breathing above ground.
The late Remigious Obomba Okoku was a legend to many, he taught and interacted with people and still got phone calls to do a quick check up on how they have progressed in life. Basically, it was more of a check-on-you kind of relationship.
To me, of course, he was so much more than a journalism role model; a father. I recall at the age of six, I would sit with him in his study corner. I always told him I wanted to do journalism. I would get one of his books and try to write like him as I was just getting used to holding a pen, since at school I used a pencil. On other occasions, I would ask him to pull out his video camera so that I may sing my nursery rhymes and other songs I learnt from school. When he asked me why I always wanted to record myself, I said I wanted to build my confidence. I wouldn’t be a confident journalist without those days and nights of practice with my father.
My older brother held my father’s hand as he took his final breath, but I held his heart and love with my spirit.
These happier times are where I should put my focus instead of the last image of a lifeless body in a coffin. On the day we organized a requiem service at Uganda Christian University, father’s former workplace, I gave a speech on behalf of my family.
Aside from being in my father’s class, which was a bit awkward at that time, my family chose me to give the speech because I was so close to my dad. When I got to the stage, and saw his coffin right in front of me from the podium, I lost it. My speech that was supposed to take 10 minutes ended up taking close to 30 minutes. I cried and cried but luckily, I had my classmates standing next to me with my family to give me comfort, together with the large audience that clapped or sang whenever I broke down while giving my speech.
While it is difficult when grieving, it is important for each day of our lives to be meaningful after accepting that death has fallen upon your house.
My father’s death took the whole family by surprise. He was a very jolly man and, on the day, he was being rushed to the hospital, he was smiling and laughing, but one thing that surprised me more is, with the smile and laughter, he kept repeating, “My daughter, I think I am going to die.”
I wonder now if life and death are different when people know their time on earth has ended.
Those who have lost people they love know the emptiness left behind. Sometimes, you forget and shout their names or maybe even run to their bedroom or their favorite place around the house. Night time can be the worst as sleep doesn’t come well and when it does, it is filled with my father still living amongst us — both physically and spiritually.
My dad had nicknames for many. He called me “Yuku”. I wish for him to say it one more time and to listen and help me make decisions. My questioning of God was a true cry for help. I researched and learned I was in the stage of pain, anger and depression.
With my quest to find answers, I sought out a doctor and found a friend in music even if the melodies cause additional tears.
Shortly before my father died, I was working with the UCU Africa Policy Center as a graduate intern. After the burial, I tried unsuccessfully to return to work but that my father was no longer working in this place was unbearable. I could see and hear him everywhere I turned. I had to quit.
When my father was alive, he told us to live our lives to the maximum. He taught us to hope for the best. With all the tears shed, one may think you are sending a curse but, tears may be a sign of hope or relief from accepting the fact that someone you love will no longer be with you physically but in spirit. It is part of the healing process in a nutshell.
Around 14th March, I was told an employee on campus recently lost his brother. My American mentor reading this story lost her mother in 2021. I felt less alone.
As a family, we appreciate the friends, relatives and organizations that came in to support us while we were in that trying moment, especially the UCU fraternity who were with us at that trying stage in time. Thank you all for your support. Rest in Peace Dad.
