Rest In Peace, Uncle Andrew Ezimora

I woke up yesterday morning to a text from my cousin, Ngozi, in London, “Uncle Andy is dead.” And so many things ran through my mind. How did he die? When did he die? Was he ill? What happened? What about Iyke (his son)? And how is my dad, his younger brother doing?

I don’t do New Year Resolutions, but I made a list of things to do in 2014, and the second thing on my list is to build or mend relationships with family. I come from a large extended family, especially on my dad’s part. My dad is the 9th of 10 children, and I am younger than most of my cousins.  I even call someone of then Uncle and Aunty, and they call my dad, their uncle, by his name because they’re closer in age to him than they are to me. For the most part, my relationship with them isn’t broken, it’s just non-existent. We know each other as abstracts. I wouldn’t recognize most of them, if I saw them on the street.

I did not shed a tear when I read the text about Uncle Andy’s death. I wasn’t very close to him, and we only spoke occasionally on the phone. I was closer to his late wife, Furo, and even closer to their only son, my cousin, Iyke. I texted back and forth with Ngozi for a while before I left for work. It was a solemn breakfast.

But while alone and driving to work, I burst into tears. And in my office, I barely spoke. And while I backed my office mate, I cried quietly. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I went into the bathroom and did more crying. I should have called him more. I should have established a relationship with him. I should have cared more. There are lots of things I should have done that I didn’t do, and I’ll never, ever get the chance to do them. I was too busy, and was it all worth it?

It’s so much easier to read and write deep clichés telling everyone to love while there’s life, but doing it is the difficult part. And I have failed miserably. I grew up as an only child and was never too close to any relative, except a few like Ngozi in London. It doesn’t help that there’s some tension between my mother and my dad’s relatives. Typical. But where do I stand in all this?

Some months ago, my dad lost his sister. I did not like her. I did not like her because of the way she treated my mom. It’s been decades, but there is that one incident that still plays in my head. And I never forgave her. When she died, I was more angry that I didn’t get to tell her how angry I was at her than I was about her death. And what does that say about me? I’m supposed to be a child of God. I’m supposed to forgive.

Yesterday, I spoke to my other cousin, Martins in Michigan; he called me to tell me of Uncle Andy’s death. I told him I had heard already. His mother is my dad’s older sister, but I call him Uncle because he is much older than me. He looks a lot like our uncle, Andy. People always thought they were dad and son or brothers. It’s been a while since I last spoke to Martins. But yesterday, he spoke so lovingly to me, and reminded me about the need to say I love you right now to the people we love because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed to anyone.

I haven’t seen Uncle Andy in years, and I don’t have a picture of him to include in this post. I haven’t called Iyke, his son. I don’t know what to tell him. He’s now an orphan. He’s not a child (he’s older than me and married with kids), but one never gets too old to want his parents alive. I’m gonna need a lot of wisdom to make these calls.

Rest in peace, Uncle Andrew.  Send my love to Aunt Furo when you see her.