Sharing true human connection is the deepest of human communication. It is the best feeling a human being can ever hope for. It is the true essence of happiness. Yet it is so rare. If you get the opportunity to feel this connection, you have lived. And you should be at peace. It is the closest taste of heaven, me thinks.
I am sitting here. Remembering you. Reminiscing about the times we spent together. Recalling the great moments that we shared. Regretting the photograph not taken, but which photograph is etched permanently in my memory and which I still see clearly in my mind’s eye.
I still feel your love. I can hear your laughter. I can still see that shine in your eyes anytime you are happy. Anytime you saw me. Anytime we spent time together. You were always happy to see me.
You know, my sister complained about how you and I hugged each other anytime we met – because of how happy we looked, and how we could really be absorbed in each other’s presence. She said she felt left out.
Baba, you know, I first learnt about you from Dad. Dad always talked fondly of you. He told me how you loved him and Mum. Anytime Dad talked about you, he had this deep smile which exuded happiness, love, contentment and deep fondness. We longed to meet you then – myself, Paschal, Paula, Jeromina and Tony.
Dad would travel, and would come back with presents for us and Mum. He told us they were from you. I would write to you to thank you for the presents. I always started my salutation with “Dear Uncle” – well because Dad said you were his brother. Later, my brother would inform me that you did not particularly like the salutation ‘Uncle’ because you were not my uncle, but that you were my ‘father’. He explained to me that in our culture, we did not have ‘uncles’. And that a father’s brother was not one’s uncle but rather, he was one’s ‘father’.
I never addressed you as ‘uncle’ thenceforth. Just Baba.
We eventually met you when I visited you. And we clicked right away. I saw the love in your eyes. It was in the way you hugged me. It was in your smile and in your voice. You were always so proud of me.
You told me that when you saw me, you were comforted because you knew your Mum was not dead but lived. You said I looked exactly like your Mum (my grandmother). I saw the tenderness in your eyes. I laughed and told you, “Wait till you see my sister, Paula. She is the one that looks exactly like your Mum. Everyone says so, and Dad talks about it often”. You would laugh sceptically.
You eventually met my sister. And you would tell me: “I have met your sister, and yes, I was right. It still is you that looks almost exactly like our Mum, save that our mother was fairer in complexion and taller”. I would laugh sceptically.
Baba, do you recall when you came to visit us when Clem, my son, was but a toddler? You and Clem would play and laugh. Clem would sulk and you would tease him. I saw how it made you so happy to play with your grandson. Clem would make a face and say sulkily, “Grandpa….”. You looked so happy, and it was so beautiful. That is one of the photographs I did not take, but which is etched permanently in my memory.
Baba, I probably didn’t tell you this. But you know, Dad and I had our tiffs, and sometimes, our relationship was frosty. Quite frosty. During those fights, the only thing that made me not question whether Dad was my dad, was you – because you believed I looked exactly like your Mum (my grandmother) and you loved me so much!
Dad was a flawed man. Well, who isn’t? Really? But you loved him. Deeply. Dad loved you too. You were the only one who hardly saw the flaws in Dad. You just loved him. Very deeply. I was always awed by the strong bond of love between you and Dad. And I can still see how happy you looked when you were with our flawed family.
You always took my side in our sibling fights, even without asking for my side of the story – well, I never reported any of the fights to you. But when the fights got reported to you, you always exonerated me of wrongdoing, without asking me for my side of the story.
Baba, when Dad passed, you seemed to understand how lost we felt, even without us voicing it. You were our anchor. You gave us strength to cry, and we gave you strength to mourn the death of a brother you loved very deeply.
The last time I visited, I came home with Clem, your grandson. Age had caught up with you. Clem was holding you, helping you to make your steps. It was raining. The sight of you and Clem was so beautiful. I wanted to take a picture. But didn’t. I will always regret not taking that photograph. But that memory of you will forever stay in my memory. I will always regret this photograph not taken.
Baba, we shared secrets. We shared dreams. Some of those dreams were never realised, but they will always stay in my mind.
The greatest feeling in the world, is love. It is the highest form of human communication. Thank you, Baba, for the opportunity to love you and to be loved by you. Some of our happiest moments were spent with you. I will always carry you in my heart.
On behalf of myself, Paschal, Paula, Jeromina, Tony and Clem, I say forever in our hearts.
