Lingering Connections.

This is a moody week for me. It’s the week our mzee left the WhatsApp group of the living and rested. It’s been four years now since he breathed his last. And since 2021, every first week of May, I find myself in a long, sad state. I’m not very productive, and I seem to slow down. It’s strange how our spirits remain connected even when one is not present in the body. It’s more of a separation than a severance.

It’s like the Wi-Fi connection remains on even when we discontinue the service. Reminds me of how my internet service provider at my old house is still looking for me. We moved and chose another service provider. They are still calling me because they don’t want to lose the business. That may be a weird comparison, but that’s how it feels this week. Like my mzee is still sending reminders of his presence and impact in my life. At least he’s not asking me to pay for it, kama the wifi company hehe.

I often see folks remembering their loved ones fondly, many years after they have passed and wonder why they haven’t moved on. I’m beginning to get it now. Do those who have gone before us still have lessons or interactions they’d like to have with us? I may be sounding superstitious, but I’m leaning toward seeing my moody week as a form of missing my dad. Even my mind and spirit have reminded me of Mzee this time of the year for the last four years. It is like my heart and brain saved the date he died and made it a recurring calendar event.

Initially, I thought there was something I should do about it, like maybe have a memorial or find a way to honour him. However, I believe my motivation was to keep busy and outwardly show that I’m thinking of him. If I look a bit deeper, I may have been seeking a distraction from the discomfort of his absence until I became comfortable with it. The void is not filled, and I doubt it ever will be. I’m not sure if time heals or whether we just grow around our pain. Perhaps both.

I feel that memorials or anniversaries of this kind are best observed when we allow ourselves to reflect quietly on the dearly departed. What they did, who they were, and how they made us feel, especially. Maya Angelou says that people will forget what we said or did, but never how we made them feel. How did my dad make me feel? Well, in his African man version, he made me feel like he valued my opinion. He made me feel seen and sometimes heard, but above all, he made me feel valued because he was proud of me. He communicated that pride by seeking my counsel and always availed himself to me when I needed to chat with him. He would often brag about his kids to his other wazee pals. That made me feel nice and seen.

I remember the times we would catch up, and he would break into laughter until he cried (I mean machozi kidogo tu, of joy). I get my humour from him. He was also very warm to my pals, both new and not-so-new. He was keen to know them and make them feel comfortable. I still tell some new friends who never met my dad that if they did, I’d risk losing them to him. He was cool like that. Such warm memories make me want to linger in this zone for a while as I celebrate him still. But they also make the void he left feel bigger.

I also have some regrets about losing my dad. Like me, he loved peace and preferred to avoid confrontations. He also tried hard not to be a burden on his family, so when his illness came, he wrestled with it privately. He didn’t want to trouble us, so he allowed us to carry on, oblivious of the weight he was shouldering by himself. His silence kept us from doing more before it was too late, and I still feel somewhat guilty about that

I recently did a saboteur assessment on positive intelligence by Shirzard Chamine. It’s an exercise that helps you know your various saboteurs and to what degree. It describes them and offers some tips on how to overcome them to live better lives. I didn’t like what was confirmed: that I am a pleaser. It was one of my top three saboteurs. My dad was the same way. He preferred not to rock the boat. I hate that I find myself doing that sometimes — not speaking when I should and regretting it later. The only peace we earn is for the other person, and we are left paying the price for maintaining a fake peace.

The sage (how to deal with the saboteur) in that assessment gave an antidote. The sage encourages pleasers to continuously consider what would please them and follow through. So, I’m now asking myself more, what would please Lucas? Feels kidogo weird because my brain processes it as selfish and almost a form of maringo. But this week I have also felt the need to work harder on this pleasing saboteur, both for me and for my mzee, in a way. If I get better at raising my voice and confronting my private struggles, then I will live and lead a better life, and his passing will not have been in vain.

Maybe I’m still looking for validation from him, even though we were on good terms when he breathed his last. That’s another thing that has helped me, sana to deal with life in Mzee’s absence.  I wasn’t left with unresolved issues, things I wish I had said to him. It has made the difference between remembering him while drowning in guilt and regret, and using memories of him to catapult me forward in the fight to be a better man, and to support my son to be even greater than I.

Folks, this life is indeed unpredictable, so it would serve us well to travel light. How do we do that? By continuously emptying our inbox of necessary conversations and leaving as much business as possible finished. Then, when times of remembrance like this come, we will look back and, while still feeling sad, be encouraged to make our remaining days count. Keep resting, Mzee. I will strive not to waste the lessons from your life.

Oh, and I walked in your shoes today that you got me for our last Christmas together. You’re still showing me the way.