As I stand to check on my dad again, my mum stands, smiles, and tells me to focus on finishing the lecture note. I protest, and she tells me he is fine, and reminds me it will be my first lecture. “You check on him, then.” She walks to his bedside and I continue typing. Suddenly, chilly breeze starts filtering into the room. I make the last slide and turn to her. “Feel it?” She nods, tears streaming down. “Stop Mum, he will be fine,” I say as I wipe her tears. “No . . . ” she cries. “your dad passed hours ago.”
Meredith Asuru/MAC Petercan is a writer and epidemiologist in Nigeria still wowed by the serenity words etched on paper offer. Facebook, Instagram, and X: @mcasuru.