12 December, 2013
I can’t believe I’m writing this letter. Two years ago, I could have sworn that this day would not come. This day, as in, the second year of our wedding anniversary and third year of being together.
I woke up this morning and kept pinching myself. It’s still so unbelievable – like a dream- that you chose me. I was that guy that, at the age of 22, still started love letters with ‘I pick my pen from the basket of love’.
I remember the first love letter I gave you. You smiled all through as you read it. When you finished, you said ‘what did you then do with the pen?’ I replied with a shaky voice ‘What pen?’ You said ‘The pen you picked from the basket of love. I see you typed this letter. The pen wasn’t working?’ And you laughed. And I laughed. It was the first time someone was actually laughing with me and not at me.
I remember the second love letter I gave you – typed. You asked me why I never wrote the letters in my own handwriting. I stuttered and said ‘My – my handwriting is like a Chicken’s scrawling’. You laughed and laughed and looked at me with amusement. Then you said ‘That’s so cool. I mean, who doesn’t like chickens? Chickens are extremely delicious. Anyone who doesn’t like chickens and their scrawling should be slain. Right?’ And you laughed again. And I laughed.
Your being in my life is the best thing that can ever happen to me. I understand, better, what musicians sing when they sing about love. You spin my head right round. Not literally, of course. But sometimes, I actually feel dizzy in love with you. Like my head is spinning fast. Or the world is. Or my world is. Because of you.
I can associate better and understand addicts because I’m addicted to you. Your laughter alone intoxicates me. You’re such a beauty. Even as I watch you sleeping. So peaceful. I can’t wait to see you smile as you read this letter. I hope you find it before the surprise breakfast.
And it’s so weird because we’ve known each other for about 3 and a half years now. One would think I should be worn out. Right? Or that by now I should know of a certain flaw of yours that disgusts me. But no… with you, it only gets better.
And I can’t wait for us to start having children. I’m scared that the world would not be able to handle the higher level of your awesomeness that would be our children.
I don’t know why you chose me. I don’t know what you saw in me. But I am very grateful that you did. In case I have never told you, or I have and you’ve forgotten, or I have and you are forgetting, or I have and you might doubt it one day, or I have and you doubt it today, I LOVE YOU AND I ALWAYS WILL.’
Your extremely privileged husband.
25 February, 2014
I can’t believe I’m writing this letter. This place is so depressing. It’s all white. Everything. Can you imagine that? Even the doctor is white. Before now, I didn’t know there were rehabilitation centres in Nigeria.
They say I’m suicidal and homicidal.
Why would I not be suicidal? When the only person I love. In the whole world. Is gone. Dead. I don’t define it as suicide. I see it as taking a journey to meet my wife and only friend. What’s wrong with that?
And homicidal? Why? Daniella’s househelp raped her daughter and they were still doing process-process. Telling him to confess and bringing in a police officer. I ran into the kitchen and got a knife to stab him because those are the kind of people that deserve to die. Not you babe. Not you.
You did not even get to read my anniversary letter. All that time I was writing it. You were smiling down at me from heaven. I know you were smiling.
I could not bring myself to write this letter all through December and January an even early February. It was like I was a shadow of myself. It was like someone else possessed my body and was feeding, clothing, bathing me. It seemed so surreal. I could not accept the fact that you really died in your sleep.
Now, sometimes, I still feel like this is all a big joke or a bad dream. But the absence of your laughter, the beauty of your smile, the warmth in your jokes, the rolling of your eyes, the tenderness of your lips, that little crooked tooth that makes you even more beautiful, the fullness of your afro, your soft whisperings when you sleep… the absence of these things jolt me to reality. You’re gone.
I’m getting help from these people here. They are helping me ‘face reality’, because sometimes, I can’t help but have conversations with you. You are a part of me still and I miss you. We didn’t get around to scaring the world with our children. 🙂
But anyway… In case you didn’t hear me the first time, or you heard and you’ve forgotten, or you heard and you are forgetting, or you heard and you might doubt it one day, or you heard and you doubt it today, I LOVE YOU AND I ALWAYS WILL.’