…At best, each of us is but a breath.” (Psalm 39:5b, NLT).

“The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.” – Marcus Cisero

The quote above sums up a lot of the thoughts that occupied my mind over the last one week. Less than an hour after I published my last blogpost on Sunday, I received the news that my dad had passed away. I remember just standing at the spot, shocked. Although he had been unwell for a while, I had hoped he would be around for a bit longer, as I wanted to travel for a visit during the Easter holidays. Alas, life, or should I say death, had other plans.

To think that I will never hear my dad’s voice on the phone, or see him again when I visit my family home still feels unreal. Even though the last couple of years have been challenging to say the least, I hoped things would be different.

The past week has been hard, and honestly, I have found the days exhausting. I have been going through memory lane, trying to hold on to good memories, while also trying to resist the pointlessness of “if onlys”. That in itself is challenging, as even good memories are now tinged with sadness, knowing that death has closed, locked, bolted the door on ever making any more of such memories.

Still, those memories are what’s left, and I want to share a few to hold on to, and to remember him by.

I remember travelling with my dad and kids during one of my recent trips to my home country. During the trip, we stopped on the way and I came out of the car. Long story short, a group of young men gathered around me and accused me of doing something I hadn’t done. At the time this happened, my dad was already in his seventies and was using a walking stick. That did not stop him from coming out of the car and threatening to beat up these entire group of young strong men, warning them to never come near his daughter again! A bit of back and forth ensued. I have to say, I was worried for my dad, and I was trying to get him to take it easy, but he wasn’t having it. Eventually the men that had gathered realised I had not done what they had accused me of, so they apologised and ended up joking and laughing with my dad. He was very protective, sometimes to a fault.

I remember the many times he pushed me to do better, because he believed in me. Maybe a bit too much to be honest. While trying to juggle all I was juggling, he would still ask me when I was going to do my PhD. Ha! With which energy? But then I understood that he wanted the best from all of us and for all of us.

I remember coming home from school at the end of term and my dad will go through my report card line by line. If for any reason I had fallen below what he expected, I had to explain myself. Looking back, I don’t recall him actually punishing us if we had fallen below standard (and I should add, his standard was HIGH), but his bark was worse than his bite. However, I do remember that when Chemistry was being a pain in my neck during my final year of senior secondary school (after having whizzed through it in earlier years, even being the best student in Chemistry at one point), he took swift action. He set up our blackboard in the landing room of our house and personally taught me Chemistry throughout that holiday (he was an engineer and had a Master’s degree, so Mathematics, Further Maths, Physics, Chemistry et al were his bread and butter).

And that wasn’t the first time that blackboard was put to use, far from it. It was a regular throughout primary school, for me and my brothers, and even secondary school, as in the above period. I remember him coming home from work some days and pretty much straight away, he was by the blackboard to teach us whatever subject we needed help with. While the sciences were his specialty, he seemed to know all subjects, because he would go through our exam papers and make sure we knew what the correct answer was for any questions we had gotten wrong. I honestly used to find it annoying as a child, but now I realise that he did not want us to just treat exams as something to get over and done with, but opportunities to learn from.

That said, he was always the proudest of all my academic achievements, awards and qualifications. However, even though he was very keen on us as his kids doing well academically and in other areas, he taught me a valuable lesson very early on in life regarding my academics and motive. One day, back in primary school, I was supposed to be preparing for my common entrance exam (this was an exam done at the end of primary school, which determined admission into federal secondary schools in my country, so it was a pretty important exam). And what was I doing? I was outside playing.

I should add that my dad was not against us playing outside, in fact he wanted us to participate in (and win!) all the races and sports activities we took part in. Anyway, that was the day he decided to come home from work early. I heard his car horn at the gate, and decided that if I liked myself, I needed to find my way to my study table pronto. The field I was playing in was on the right, our house was on the left, and in the middle was the driveway. So it would have been folly to run across then, as you could see inside the compound from the gate. Anyway, as soon as the gate was opened, he drove in to the compound. When I figured his car had driven to the point where he hopefully couldn’t see me, I ran across the driveway to the house. And then my older brother decided to lock the door so that my dad would meet me outside. Lord have mercy! I pleaded with him, and even had to bribe him. Finally he let me in.

I ran up the stairs, sat at my study table, which in the house we lived in, was in a small space on the upstairs landing. Then I proceeded to act as if I had been studying for ages, even though my heart was pounding from all the running. I heard my dad’s footsteps coming up the stairs after a few minutes, greeted him, and pretended to continue studying. I was hoping he would just go to his room so I could get my act together, but he stopped at the table for the longest time. Surprisingly he didn’t shout or do anything. But what he said in that moment is something I never forgot even till this day. He said, “you think you’re doing this for me? You think you’re studying for me? You’re not. I’ve finished my schooling, I’ve done all my exams, so it’s not me you’re studying for. It’s for yourself. So don’t deceive yourself because you’re not deceiving me.” I should have known better that to think he wouldn’t notice. But that was my first lesson into examining my motives for why I do what I do.

Saying that, I do recall one day in University when I was at home, preparing for an exam the next day. I shut myself away in a room with all my books on a table in front of me, with the intention of not going anywhere until I had finished my planned reading and was ready for my exam. He must have been looking for me, because he suddenly came into the room, took one look at me and the table full of books, and ordered me to go out, take a walk and get some fresh air! I tried to protest, explaining that I had an exam the next day and I wasn’t fully prepared, but he wasn’t having it. I could not believe that this was the same person that continuously pushed us to study all through school. However, that day I learnt a lesson about balance and self-care.

Growing up, we had devotional time every Saturday morning and Sunday evening. I remember the songs he liked to sing, and the Psalms he liked to read. Again and again, again and again. At the time, I wondered why, and quite possibly sighed at having to read Psalm 37, Psalm 77 and a couple of others for the hundredth time. But now, I realise just how much comfort I get from the Psalms, and I understand a bit better.

I remember him taking us out for lunches and dinners as a family lots of times. My dad was big on celebrations. Not just Easter, Christmas, New Year, Birthdays, which we usually had a traditional meal for, but our achievements. He usually marked key events and achievements by taking us out to dinner to fancy restaurants. Going for lunches and dinners with my dad were the only times I didn’t bother looking at the prices on the menu (haha). I remember the times when he picked me up from school and I would stay in his office until it was time to go home. While in his office, I would usually be given copious amounts of biscuits and milk, and the largest plate of food from his office cafeteria. If we went for an event together, he would make sure I got food before he did. He was always the one person who would worry about whether or not I was eating enough.

He still wanted to celebrate my achievements even when we were not in the same country. When I got my accounting qualification, he promised we would celebrate it together. Surgery, recovery and lockdown meant I was unable to travel for a while, but the next time I travelled, even though it was about three years after I received the qualification, he still kept his promise, and took us out to celebrate.

Back when we were growing up, even while I was in university, when he returned from trips, my wardrobe inevitably benefitted from some lovely additions. I remember someone once complimenting me on a dress I was wearing in a photo, and being surprised that it was my dad that bought me that dress. They couldn’t believe my dad had such good taste in clothes! I still have some of the dresses he bought me years ago, they are still in great condition, and thankfully they still fit.

And of course, books! Not only did he have A LOT OF BOOKS, he was also the one who bought all the books we needed every school year throughout school. Not to mention that we never had to worry about school fees being paid, which as I got to university, I realised was indeed a privilege.

So many other things come to mind. I still have a memory of him giving me my first ever school bag and me posing in it on the eve of my first day of primary school, while he took a photo of me and my older brother (with his own near-identical bag). Then there’s the mini-keyboard he bought for me many years ago when I was in primary school, my first ever keyboard. Believe it or not, it is still working. That spurred me on to learn to play the piano, and while I am no Mozart, I still enjoy learning and playing, and now so does my son. I remember the tradition of us receiving generous ‘Christmas envelopes’ from him in the lead up to Christmas, which we could spend on whatever we wanted.

And when my son suffered from really bad eczema as a toddler, it was my dad who came up with the concoction of oils he wanted me to try on my son’s skin. I was reluctant, as the smell almost put me off. But, nothing else seemed to be working so I gave it a go. My mum helped make it, I used it and it worked. His skin became so beautiful afterwards, people would actually stop us and comment on the difference.

There was so much I learnt from him, lessons which I find valuable even to this day. He was not perfect by any means, but I believe he did his best. He was like the typical ‘African parent’ in so many ways, and we had our clashes. I did not always agree with some of the things he said and did. But one of the things that helped me, especially as I grew older and hopefully more mature, was to remember the environment he grew up in, and how much it would have obviously shaped him, his outlook and his opinions. I realised too, that he gave us far more opportunities than he would have ever received from his own parents. I have learnt, or rather I am learning, from his strengths as well as his weaknesses. Which is vital as I share a few of both. He used to say that he didn’t want me to make the same mistakes he made, and I’ve tried not to, which I fully acknowledge is only possible because of God’s abundant grace.

Sadly, thanks to dementia, his decline in the last couple of years was painful to watch, and he was not the easiest person to be around. I did try to visit, but living in a different continent meant it was not as often as I would have liked. Sadly with each trip, the decline was even more obvious.

It was hard to see my very intelligent dad struggle to do simple calculations, or to navigate a journey he had taken hundreds of times. Watching the movie “The Father” (featuring Anthony Hopkins) gave me an idea of how hard it can be for someone with dementia. But I know it would have been even harder for my mum, and for those who got to see and manage the day to day struggles and challenges.

I remember the last time I travelled with him. I had to use Google Maps to navigate when I realised he could not remember the route anymore. During that trip, he wanted to pass a certain route. It was late at the time and honestly, I thought he was taking a wrong turn as google was giving me a different route, so I wasn’t keen. In the end, I went along with his route and I realised he wanted to show me where his old secondary school was. I’m grateful we went on that trip, and I’m grateful he wanted to still share some memories with me, even though his memory was failing him desperately.

And so, that’s what I’ve found myself doing, thinking back to those memories, reflecting on them, sharing a few of them. Because his life was important to me and I want to keep those memories alive. As is said, “to live in the hearts of those you love is not to die.”

And in these memories, and in my heart, my dad lives. I am grateful for his life, for the person he was, for all he taught us, and for the person I am today because of him. For the men and women his children are today. He always wanted his children to be better than him, and so I pray that his desire comes to pass, and that we can honour his life by living a full life, in line with God’s will, marked by God’s grace. I continue to take comfort in this verse in Psalm 68:5 (ESV), “Father of the fatherless and protector of widows, is God in his holy habitation.”

Thank you Papa, for the sacrifices you made for me, for us, for the lessons you taught us, for the gifts you gave us, for you. I wish I could have one more celebration with you, with a table full of food, drink, chatter, and laughter, but alas, the memories will have to do for now. I love you and I will miss you, ‘til Heaven.