Should I die, this is my will to the woman I love

[Ab-Titchaz]

Should I die, this is my will to the woman I love

If ever I should not make it home, but instead make it “home”, here’s my will and testament for my wife …ILLUSTRATION/NGARI .

By JOSAYA WASONGA

[h=3]In Summary[/h]

• Let go off the handles of my casket and put those cute manicured hands on your steering wheel. Ditch that black mourning sackcloth and rock your little black dress. Move forward.
• Don’t stop dreaming. Ever. Feeling it’s useless for you to chase that dream because I’m gone? Sometimes feelings tell untruths, especially when angst’s in the cocktail. Go on, already.
• irl, forgiveness will heave off humongous weights off your chest. Plus, you’re doing it for you. Do it whenever, sans preconditions. It’s going to cost you guts, yet gain you priceless release.

Bullets. Grenades. Road accidents. These are some of the things that have caused the life expectancy of Kenyan fathers to plummet.

Returning home safely, even from random mall-crawling, is godsend.

If ever I should not make it home, but instead make it “home”, here’s my will and testament for my wife …

You’ve got to be strong

Right now, I know you’re feeling done and out. Feeling like giving up. And it’s perfectly alright to feel that way. Feel weak and feel like giving up for as long as you’re supposed to. However, don’t overstay your “welcome” in the dumps.

You can do this, baby. Find the strength to move on. I’m dead certain about this: what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.

You’ve got to keep the faith

I know you feel like God has dealt you a raw deal. Baby, don’t blame whoever is responsible. It’ll only make you bitter. Don’t regret or rationalise. Don’t take it out on God: but take that burden to Him. After such transitions, things change. Family and friends change. Your financial situation may change. In everything, keep the faith. It’s the difference between sinking lower and soaring higher.

You’ve got to keep moving

Let go off the handles of my casket and put those cute manicured hands on your steering wheel. Ditch that black mourning sackcloth and rock your little black dress. Move forward. Don’t be a sitting duck. Do that, and grief will gladly take potshots at you. Move on. Live your life. Look, mourners are already doing their thing. Roll on, lover. A rolling sweetie gathers no moroseness.

You’ve got to hope

Hope, baby. Hope against hope and against all insurmountable odds. Hope, because God’s got you. Hope that this too shall end, although it seems like you’ve reached your end. Hope doesn’t come with an automatic activation device. Hope won’t pop open when you pass a particular altitude (and attitude) at high speed, freefalling to your death. You’ll have to work it baby, for it to work for you.

You’ve got to dream

Don’t stop dreaming. Ever. Feeling it’s useless for you to chase that dream because I’m gone? Sometimes feelings tell untruths, especially when angst’s in the cocktail. Go on, already. Take this rodeo to the next level. The world’s your oyster, baby. Show folks who thought you were hitchhiking on the wind beneath my wings that you’ve got what it takes. That you can dream bigger. And. Then. Some.

You’ve got to live

Please don’t hit the pause button and stop living even for one second because I’m, ahem, living elsewhere. I have lived my life to the full. Do likewise. There’s living and existing. Delete the latter from your vocabulary. If there’s one thing you shouldn’t do now or ever – for me or anyone – it is going through the motions. Like Maya Angelou said, “Life loves the liver of it”.

You’ve got to laugh

We had “those” days. But we were also blessed with laughter. Remember our “inside” jokes and laugh, because that’s remedy. I won’t be around to tickle you, or do parodies, or make you laugh in church, smack in the middle of a sermon. But life’s full of light moments. You don’t need a laugh track. If need be, tickle yourself, do your parodies, have yourself some holy laughter.

You’ve got to love again

Don’t be afraid to fall in love again. There’s romance after widowhood, although, unfortunately, it usually comes at the price of bad press. Sorry. This you’ll have to deal with.

Get back your groove. I’m serious, baby. Dead serious. You’ve got a great heart. Which you shouldn’t let go to waste. Don’t be stuck on what we had so much untill you can’t think outside my casket.

You’ve got to forgive

Please, let go of all the real and perceived wrongs you think you committed. Forgive yours truly, posthumously, for all his impenitent wrongs. Thanks, dear. I needed that. Now I can stop turning in my grave.

Girl, forgiveness will heave off humongous weights off your chest. Plus, you’re doing it for you. Do it whenever, sans preconditions. It’s going to cost you guts, yet gain you priceless release.

You’ve got to let go

For you to love again, you’ve got to let go of me. Closure will give you the license to open your heart. You’re not betraying me. I’m ecstatic for you, girl.

You can’t savour two misters, one who’s MIA. Check out Graca Machel. Sounds like a Greek tragedy, but letting go of one hero led her to another. But the second time round, methinks, was “something else”.

For you to love again, you’ve got to let go of me. Closure will give you the license to open your heart. You’re not betraying me. I’m ecstatic for you, girl.

Should I die, this is my will to the woman I love - Living - nation.co.ke