It was exactly two months past John's first birthday. So, we thought to throw him a belated birthday party. We had not come around to celebrating his birthday, as it had been really difficult getting the band back together.

Everyone was here now anyway; Uncles, Loveth, Grace, Mum, Grandma, My Brothers, and of course the birthday boy.

There was Jollof rice, drinks, fried chicken and a lot of small talk.

Although we couldn’t get a cake, as it was a Sunday, It was fun all the way. But that was a week ago, today I feel a lot differently.

I just got news that John's dad was involved in an accident; Occupational hazard, Critical condition, Internal bleeding, Broken pelvic, and of course a torn up butt.

This on it’s own, is bad news but it’s not the worst.

The worst thing is where my mind takes me. The possibilities, of what might happen, the ripple effect of those possibilities, and this dejavu feeling in my gut like we’ve been here before. Maybe, I’ve been here before.

I remember when my elder brother was diagnosed with cerebrospinal condition, He was in a coma for eight months, and even though he showed no signs of getting up soon, my parents thought it was a good idea for 13-year old me to talk to him, offer some moral slash emotional support. Dad was his usual expressionless self, but we all knew he was hurting inside. He was glorious and strong, and he told us; “everything was going to be okay”. I saw then why I looked up to him, why I wanted to be just like him. He is my Father, I am my Father’s son. Mom obviously was trying her very best to keep it together. I could see in her eyes that she had been crying a lot. She had lost a lot of weight. I couldn’t imagine the pain she must have felt all this while. It was too hard to imagine. I cried for her, I cried because it was all I could do. I cried so she could be strong.

At least then it was easy to cry, I was a child.

I cried because, I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to. I was ashamed. A deep sense of shame. My brother was in a coma, with a tube sticking out his nose, and the best I could do was talk to him. I was afraid he would die. I wanted to take his place. I wanted to lay on his sick bed and endure his pain. I wanted to cry his tears, and slowly fade into his coma.

Six years later. As I stood over my Father’s open casket. And even though, he looked at peace. I still had the same mixed feelings of shame and guilt, and fear of the possibilities, and their ripple effects. I still wanted to take his place. I would gladly lay in his open casket, and drift into nothingness. I cried for the first time in years. I just stood there, oblivious of time and space. I just stood there, as the tears rolled down my cheeks, and dropped on his shoes. Mom again, was trying to keep it together. Trying to hold back the tears. I saw her out of the corner of my eyes, as I tried to focus through the blur and that was my tears. I could see she was in pain. It broke my heart.

Dejavu; I’ve been here before.

It was then I realised, I’m actually terrified. I’m terrified, of not being able to protect the people I love. I’m terrified of being helpless, of playing the waiting game, and leaving everything in the hands of fate. I’m terrified of the unknown and their infinite possibilities. Yes!

I’m terrified of all these things, but No!

I am not afraid to die.

http://legalgossips.com/mind-travel/