I have had a very sour week since hearing of the passing of your dear son, Nkanu. The circumstances make it even more difficult to deal with. A child goes into a hospital where care is expected, and someone trusted by both the child and parents is casual about his responsibilities to his patient, leading to a fatality (at least that is what we hear and know firsthand from the parents of the child). While investigations are going on, we wait with bated breath.
My greatest heroes are doctors and pilots because they are entrusted with people’s lives on a daily basis. But our greatest heroes outside professional spaces are our children. These little persons who strum our heart’s strings are the ones who always seem like an extension of ourselves. These are persons God gave us to care for, to bring up, and to watch over. Our children give us enormous joy, and when they are small, like Nkanu, they give us reason to go. What’s wrong with you, Mummy? They read us like a book. They demand we tell them the truth. They bring you juice even when you didn’t ask for one, and they are ready to fight when anyone mentions their parents’ names in a negative way. Their protective nature applies to family, friends, and strangers. “Don’t talk about my mummy like that,” to a friend. “Leave my mummy alone,” to Daddy, if they feel any tension. More importantly, they want to share their spit-covered gummies or sweets straight out of their mouths, sticky and slimy. Their love is big, as they offer it to Mummy.
In addition to all of that, they want to help. Their tiny hands are helping with a shoe buckle or a zipper. “Mum, go lower so I can zip your dress.” And they run errands around the home for you. They run to bring your car keys and volunteer to bring your book from upstairs.
My heart is broken from the pain of your loss, and my tears are real as I join so many well-meaning Nigerians in consoling you and your husband. The pain of the loss of a child is indescribable. We console your husband, Dr Ivara Esege, whose befuddlement on this travesty must be overwhelming. No one can feel it more than you both. No one can begin to fathom the pain, the throbbing pain that Nkanu would never be there to bring you an apple again. That emptiness that grief brings, that place that we do not wish on our worst enemies.
You have brought joy, humour, perspective, and laughter to many through your writings, and at this time of your loss, we are all rallying around you. Your readers from Tokyo to Lagos, from Abuja to Mexico City, from London to Paris, from Enugu to Accra, and all around the world are standing by you.
The galaxies do not explain to us when things like this happen. Coming from grieving your parents, you lose your cherished son. But we know where our loved ones go. Your faith and the love of your family around you must be your anchor to steady you, to support you, while the rest of us around the world give our outpouring of love to envelope you.
Medical practitioners all over the world must, as a matter of urgency, rededicate themselves to the profession they swore to in the Hippocratic oath. And to stand in that space of protection, assurances, healing, cure, help, advisory and ultimately their duty to protect lives. In Nigeria, for example, there are rising cases of medical negligence.
As you and I know, there are many good doctors, but one bad apple often opens up the floodgate of pain for families who encounter them. According to Julie Herbert, “May there be comfort in knowing that someone so special will never be forgotten.”
While you have severely proven that you are stronger than whatever is thrown at you, in this case, it’s not yet time; you will heal from this as God lives in time. I am not going to ask you to be strong because strength is relative, and while grieving, strength is incomprehensible. I am not going to ask you not to cry, because truly, the tears take no permission before they come cascading down your cheeks. It is okay to be vulnerable at this time. You will interrogate yourself and your decisions. You will dwell on self-blame. But be assured that none of this was your fault. It was out of your and your husband’s hands. Believe me, you did what any mum and dad needed to do. Some inefficiency somewhere did the damage. All is not lost. There would be justice, and there would be memories. Nkanu’s smile, his words, his warm hugs, and his very essence will remain with you for the rest of your life.
As Africans and believers, be assured that his spirit will always be around you and will speak to you. Sometimes in a dream. Sometimes in moments, only you and his dad would understand. Grab the book Chicken Soup for Grieving Souls and be open to comfort and healing. Our collective hugs embrace you today and always to let you know that we have got you in this difficult journey.
A lot of words would be said, and most of them would sound like a blur. Clarity would take time, but know that millions of people around the world are in your corner right now. We see you! We hear you! We sit with you. On those empty mornings when the sun seems shy and those lonely evenings when the nights are never-ending. Those countless days when sleep evades you. We stand with you.
Nkanu’s passing remains a sad testimony to healthcare management in Nigeria. It is, therefore, a call to action for hospital managements across the country to streamline and improve their services, putting in the necessary checks and balances.
We feel the shattering around you and that hollow feeling of a gathering. This is when you must hold firm to Nkanu’s siblings. They need you now more than ever before. May God bless and keep them for you. Amen. May the peace of the Lord be upon you and your husband and the rest of the family…Amen. Our thoughts and prayers are with you at this time.
As I said earlier, no words can suffice, but we take solace in the good book, which says… “The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Ps 34:18
Let me share, as I close this letter to you, a powerful piece from John Donne… “Death, be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; for those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow die not, poor death— one short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more.”
May Nkanu’s gentle soul rest, and may God give you and Dr Esege the fortitude to bear this loss. AMEN.
Written by Eugenia Abu
