On Grief.

I was sitting in the bathroom, going through my messages while getting ready to say my morning prayers. I saw a message on Snapchat from you and remembered that I had fallen asleep mid-conversation. I felt quite guilty and immediately opened it to pick up where we left off. I read the message: “Mirianne is dead.” I read it several times, hoping that maybe on the 10th read, the words would be different from what I had seen before, or maybe I’d realize I was still asleep and having a bad dream.

I stood up and walked out of the bathroom. I went into the kitchen where my mom was and said to her, “Mummy, Ene is dead.” As those words left my mouth, my knees began to give way, and I quickly descended to the floor. It was as though saying it out loud made it real, leaving me feeling disembodied. I sprawled on the floor, breathing heavily and screaming in disbelief. My mom was at a loss for words, fighting a battle between grieving herself and comforting me in my grief. Everyone woke up to my loud wails.

I spent the entire day going in and out of crying episodes, trying to comfort your family, trying not to beat myself up for falling asleep, and trying just to exist. I had a 9-to-5 job to show up to that day, along with several meetings. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I hated that I couldn’t take a break from the world for your sake.

In the months that followed, I had random episodes of grief that made me disconnect from the world. I would read through our messages, feeling grateful for all the times I told you I loved you, wishing I had said it even more. I would try to listen to your voice notes because I missed hearing you say, “Ibinabo,” and I missed your laugh. But I would break down in tears after the first five seconds because living in a world where you no longer exist makes no sense.

I miss eating spaghetti and mangoes with you, sharing a dates addiction because you had one, taking long walks in my estate, listening to you rant over the phone at 2 a.m., dreaming with zero limits, and going on random, meaningless adventures that meant the world to me because we did them together. I would go out, see someone, visit a place, say something, or do something, and I’d be dying to tell you because I knew exactly how you’d react to it. Sadly, “I have to tell Ene,” was always met with the jarring reality that I couldn’t, in fact, tell Ene.

But you know what? I’m grateful that I get to grieve, that I get to carry you in my heart, and that your love and friendship will forever be a part of what made me who I am.

I have tried to write about you so many times and failed terribly because my vision gets intensely foggy from the tears, and my motor skills rapidly deteriorate. This doesn’t even come close to explaining how much I miss you and love you. The tears are too strong for me to continue.

I miss you so much, and I love you forever.