Of Two Men and Grief

Sunday, the 25^th day of June 2017 has proved to be in-erasable from my memory with an almost 100% remembrance of everything that happened. First, it’s the day my Dad breathed his last breathe at the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) at Komarock Modern Hospital in Utawala Nairobi. Secondly, which is very key to this article, because fate brought together two men who were totally broken down by life’s circumstances and were ready to run to Timbuktu and back would it help make their circumstances better.

At about mid night, I noticed a man sitting at the lounge of the Hospital with a pretty little girl in his arms. The girl was now crying and seemed to be in so much pain. It then occurred to me that I had actually been staring at them for quite a while now; only that it had not registered in my mind until the girl started crying. Then I realized I had been lost in sorrow and thoughts about my Dad who had just passed on about three hours earlier.

We had done all we could by transferring him from Kijabe Hospital to Utawala about 9 hours earlier. I had rode with him in the ambulance for about 85KM at a neck breaking speed and helplessly watched as the attendants tirelessly did what they do best in such circumstances. A few hours at the High Dependency Unit (HDU) with Dad at Kijabe Hospital had helped me acquaint myself with some key medical terms mostly used in the HDU and ICU. This had helped me strike a somewhat tense conversation with the attendant about Dad’s progress.

The ambulance had arrived at the hospital (to our relief) barely before the attendant had answered my third question which I highly suspect had been similar to the first two. Dad had been admitted at the ICU and a majority of my family had come to share some pleasant moments with him, really doing our best to be all positive in the midst of despair (apparently because people in a coma can still hear conversations close-by) up until 7pm when we had left the ward. We had been called about 3 hours later with the information that Dad had passed on.

On viewing and touching the very warm but lifeless body, I remember shading gallons of tears uncontrollably but that was it. The curtains had fallen on the man I called Dad and he was gone, it was not a dream. The body was before my naked eyes.

Come on, I was meant to be talking about……let us call him Allan. I stared at Allan as he fed the young girl in his arms but still preoccupied with the above thoughts about earlier events of the day. My tears were still rolling in full defiance of my desire to stay sober for my family. The body was just due to be taken for preservation once the morgue van arrived.

This young girl’s cry woke me up to the present and for a second I wondered why she was crying and what they were doing there at that time then it occurred to me we were in a hospital. Allan’s facial expressions communicated this sharp frequent pain every time the girl screamed. He literally seemed to feel the pain the girl felt. After feeding her he now started to swing her gently on his lap probably hoping that a few hours’ sleep would relieve her off some pain.

As I faced my very own fresh grief, I wondered what was going through Allan’s mind. There was not so much difference with where I had been hours before we met. What was he thinking……As he fed her. As he not only felt her pain but also expressed it through his face. As he desperately tried to get her to sleep. What was in his mind? Did he feel the weight of the situation like I had felt earlier? Was it too much for him like it almost crushed me down? So much crossed my mind in a very short time.

Finally! The girl seemed to be relieved off some pain as she started dozing off. In a short and concise meeting in my head I debated on what I could do for Allan to help out. After arriving at a conclusion I stood up from my seat, made for where Allan was sitting and sat next to him. We exchanged greetings and our eyes met; He paused for a few seconds as we maintained the eye contact.

In an even deeper voice than the greetings’, he relayed his condolences. I quickly acknowledged and strategically shifted the topic by asking about the young girl in his arms. He stared at her and told me she was his daughter and that she was sick (I can't seem to remember the condition). We had a conversation for a few minutes and I learnt that he had to juggle between a job during the day and taking care of the young beauty during the night. From the conversation I could estimate Allan’s age to be about 35 years. He also had this ‘macho’ eye contact conspicuously evident in 35-year old males who know their thing.

We ended up with each other’s arm on our shoulders praying together and broke down in the midst of the prayer. We uncontrollably let the tears flow as we held on to the last source of hope in our lives; God. We called on to Him for various reasons; we didn’t know what to do in both of our situations, and even if we did, it had proven to be too much for us. This was a scene of two strange men crying together. Men who knew nothing about each other until about an hour earlier. Faced with almost similar yet totally different challenges, we resorted to literally cry out our hearts to God.

After the prayers we quickly exchanged pleasantries and wished each other the best as I hurried away, the morgue van had arrived ready to take my Dad’s body to be preserved. Coming back to the lounge Allan was not there. I wished I had taken his number before I left. My family and I left the hospital at about 1:30 am but I thought about Allan all through. In the midst of the challenges he showed what true fatherhood is by living it. I had lost a father and here was a man fighting against all odds to see his daughter live through the scare of ill health.

Allan is the epitome of fatherhood, the definition of a providing and selflessly sacrificial father. A man who finds pride in the higher calling of fatherhood. A man who fulfills the role, hence worthy of the title. I saw in Allan a genuine desperation that directs some of  us (men) to God when we are faced with situations that are beyond our control. Sadly, this can only happen to the few who actually understand that they can depend on a Higher authority; that they need to call on God. Allan, as we have called you here, I really hope your daughter is well and that one day we shall meet. Baraka (Bessings).