There must be more to life than sitting idly in front of a computer waiting for the guy from the Chinese restaurant to make a delivery. I have looked at the date and it is NOT Thursday. It is still Monday. No, I refuse to believe that this holiday is going to be harder to take than I previously thought. I’m going to gain more weight for sure. Maybe. It is definitely not going to be easy to keep my mind functioning without deadlines to meet, students to teach, to grade, and classes to attend. I had considered going with Ben and Mafoya for a Burlesque show in St. Louis two days ago, but I had fallen asleep before it was time to leave, and Ben had refused to wake me up. In any case, I doubt that semi-naked women could have made that much of a lasting impression. Sour grapes, I know. There is always a next time.
My grandmother is dead. The news got to me in a text message on Wednesday the 16th from my sister. I don’t know how old she is, and neither does she, but from the age of her children, I would say that she was over ninety. In some culture in Nigeria, the saying is “Don’t worry about it. You have no more grandmother to lose now.” In my case, it is not totally true. My dead grandmother is actually a step-grandmother. My non-step grandmother is alive but not as strong as she used to be. And she doesn’t know that the other woman, her co-wife, is dead. She mustn’t know or it would be too hard to take, considering how long they’ve both lived together under the same roof with the husband, my last grandfather, who is still alive and strong.
My friend Olumide lost his mother in the same week as I lost my grandmother. But unlike my own (albeit also unexpected) loss, his own was not inevitable, and it came too suddenly. I met her for the first and last time in the University during her son’s convocation ceremony not too long ago, and she was fun, warm and jovial. Her death has made me reflect on the meaning of life, and what it’s all worth when it’s spent and done. I wish Loomnie the strength to bear the loss.
I’m writing a new poem on the theme of loss, distance and changes, but I’ve become stuck after the sixth line.
I’ve never received so many cards and gifts in my adult life as I did during this Christmas season. The last time I felt this special, I think I was really very young. Reham bought me a very cool branded shirt. Yvonne a professor sharing my office got me a cordless mouse. At the office party last week, Professor Doug Simms gave me a very thoughtful Christmas card and a surprise monetary gift, among the many other things received from friends and colleagues in the mail. Yesterday, I received a chapbook from Richard Berengarten whose poem Volta I translated into Yoruba in November, along with other Christmas cards.
