It was Oliver Wendell Holmes who said, “A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions”. It has been 60 days since the death of my father and I've often wondered since then just how much that tragic event have changed my behaviour? The following are the few scary observations that has been made.
Firstly, I've discovered that nothing seems to matter that much to me anymore! I go through my daily life without really letting it go through me. I now experience life only in a frenzy; like going through the motions of life but been lost in it's meaning; as though I'm present without really being present. Like a spectator in my own show.
Also, I find that my decisions and actions are becoming more reckless by the day. In certain areas of life that I used to be more cautious I now exhibit a negligence and carefree attitude that is otherwise allien to my choleric personality. This I admit to my shame.
Another observation I've made during this period of my life is this feeling of utter despondency that I can't quite shake-off. Yes, I still smile and laugh every now and then, but deep inside I just feel terribly sad... all the time.
As black males living in Africa, we often tend to underestimate the power and importance of therapy and counseling after a tragic event. We believe in bottling it all inside as sharing of ones problems and pains is seen as a sign of weakness and vulnerability.
That been said, please don't misconstrue this as a cry for help or a pathetic need for sympathy. Rather, this is just my own way of grieving, my own therapy — to simply write.
So, feel free to just read and pass-by without saying a word. However, if you really would like to help, just drop the smiling emoji in the comment section, because it's all too dark and gloomy over here.
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