When I first heard the death of a friend. I was shocked. he was young and healthy, and I did not expect to receive this news about his untimely death. His housemate told me that after his migraine attacks were unberable, he wanted to be taken home to his hometown.
A home where he grew up, a home where he spent his innocent age before he left home to venture life and progressed.
It was as if he knew he was not going to make it and wanted to spend his final days at home. He was coming home to die, to be surrounded by familiar faces and amicable environment before he was laid to rest in peace.
The same thing happened to my late grandfather 23 years ago. He was hospitalised and did not show any sign of recovering and he had had it in the hospital. He wanted to rest at home and we brought him home and he passed on a few days later.
When my grandmother was sick, she was taken care by my aunty at my aunty’s house. A few days before she passed away, she wanted to be taken home, to the same house where my grandfather had passed away.
No matter how far we go, no matter how free it seemed to be away from home, when the time comes to say goodbye, our final stopover will be at home. A home where we cherish our love, remembering our childhood memories and finding peace with the sweet-sour relationship with lthe oved ones.
Emak and Abah ( I called my grandfather and grandmother as I was living in a extended family environment) wanted to be home to reminisce their memory for one last time before their final journey. Not many people have the opportunit of coming home to say goodbye. Some will die in road accidents or in an operating theatre but eventually the body would taken home.
PS: After 16 years of being away from home I recently came home to recollect and to relive my own memories of this home and family, besides mending my broken spirit. I was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy.
