I Call it Love.

Coming Alive

I'm not a stranger to life's agonizing dealing. Through every ordeal that I faced, I had to spare enough breath to cushion me from the traded aftereffects; a practice that worked well for me through countless moments of despair and days of unprecedented, yet extended distress. In my thoughts, I prided in the assumption that perhaps I was one among mortals 'chosen' by gods and bequeathed the proverbial nine lives of a cat; even though in the emotional context.
Any time I sat to reflect on the promises that I made to myself, I flirted with the idea that perhaps I was special. I compared a number of upsetting setbacks that sprang at each of my attempts to have a happy life. The latter enjoyed unsung victories that allowed me to have a peace of mind against all odds. I thought of myself as the contemporary Shaka the Zulu warrior or the great Luanda Magere; in my battles against life's ordained opponents of bad luck along my path. However, in all the selective consolation was my conviction that my strength hinged on my hope for restitution besides my will to endure the challenge.
Each new day presented new possibilities after a long night, save for the fact that the fattest mosquitoes would always spoil a potentially peaceful night by either humming lazily next to my ears, or mercilessly sinking a bite on my sorry face. For months, I had lived a blend of long nights, short nights, warm nights, cold nights and weird nights. The stark difference was that others were darker too. Despite this, all days were beautiful. Sunny Mornings, rainy mornings and calm mornings: The beauty after darkness.
On this beautiful Sunday morning, I opened my to a familiar beautiful face. "Good morning daddy." It was my daughter Chantel; she wore beautiful smile, stroking my arm gently, and standing next to the seat that had hosted me through the night. "Good morning Ma," I responded with a shy smile as she joyfully jumped around asking many questions at once. I was delighted to set my eyes on my girl; my reminder of why I traded everything else in my then life for hope. I saw every bit of joy in her wellness as I struggled to catch up with at least a query from her end. On to my lap, she jumped within a second before the door opened wider; and there stood Shantel's Grandma. Her contagious smile could only match the sun rays that slid their way into the hospital room through the blinders on the window. "Arise and shine my boy, the birds have sang praises and now it is your turn." I lifted myself from the seat, uncoiling every inch of my body like a snake. "Welcome Mama." This is a beautiful day. Shantel held my hand as I walked to pick my bag at the opposite end of the hospital room while going on and on about how well she had outrun her grandma to find me first. The conversation went back and forth from school, to her grandma's until it came to reality when she asked me about when the doctor would possibly let her Mum come home with us.
For a moment, my smile faded. I didn't realize that Shantel was growing up fast, and that the months of her mother's absence had made her adapt to a lifestyle that she was almost questioning. At that moment, I understood that it was another normal day.
My wife Tamara lay on that hospital bed in obvious struggle with every breath she took. I had learnt to look at her in different ways whenever I was around her. However, whenever I lay my eyes on her as the mother of my child, the love of my life and my best friend, my heart suffered the feeling of a hot knife cutting through butter. I couldn't stop my eyes from clouding with tears. Each second of her life added as a blessing to mine. It was a shield against my fear of losing my daughter to lifelong pain.
"Daddy...Daddy..." My daughter was still there with me. Apparently, I got lost in the moment of hope. I stood there for a minute, hoping that Tamara would open her eyes, smile at us and walk home with us. That, I thought for a second, would be the best explanation of what a miracle ought to be. I smiled as I reached down to lift Shantel up. Her grandmother went on about her business of following up with the nurse on duty to perhaps get a dose of hope from a positive review of her only daughter's progress.
My daughter's innocence gave me comfort despite her growing concern over her mother's dwelling in a hospital; or why I preferred an uncomfortable chair for my nights prior to her Sunday morning visits to the hospital. She gave me a reason to stay strong. I excused myself from Shantel's grandma as I left for my periodic ritual at our house. The place had since become a simple stop over for changing into fresh clothes and watching a little television while momentarily evading the reality of the pain that surrounded me before heading back to the hospital.
For a year, Tamara had suffered renal failure. In spite of the urgency of the problem, I was in a regretful position financially. The initial stages of the treatment were bearable until it was evident that much more had to be done. I sold my assets including my car to raise enough funds to last us through the treatment period; or so I thought.
In an unprecedented twist of events, I declined a transfer on promotion within my company: One I had applied for and vowed to take at all costs. Ironically, all costs meant dropping the ambition. By then, taking up more responsibility would only make my struggle more exhausting, and I needed Tamara in my life, at least for Shantel's happiness too. My family health insurance policy was my hope and all my finances had a purpose. I was willing to give all I had for my wife's sake.
When I reached the house, I took time looking through most of my old stuff. I looked at every photograph with a smile as I remembered the promise that life had fulfilled by giving me Tamara and Shantel. I questioned whether her state in the hospital bed was part of the promise, but as it would be, no answer was forthcoming. I relived the painful moments whenever she could open her eyes. Weary from sleep, her pain and weakness made me experience the worst of my fears. Her smile to our little Shantel gave me more hope on her willingness to stay alive for her sake, and for that, I vowed never to give up looking for help. "One day we will go home" I could remind myself.
I took my time researching about the very much needed organ transplant. However, there wasn't a suitable match from among our closest family and friends. I wished that Tamara's Father were around to save her daughter. Yes, I wished. In my perverted wisdom, his untimely demise two years earlier was a design by nature to deal me the odd cards in life. I was devastated as I did my best to be the mother and father to our daughter. I wished I could get a good sign. I needed one; perhaps a miracle. I wanted Tamara to come back home.
I had resigned to the fact that I could not afford further pain. My hope was flying away, and my resilience was melting. My strength was getting cold. I could find joy no more.
Late that afternoon I sat in front of my computer, worn out from heavyweight thinking. I had made a choice; a choice that I would never regret. One last time, I prayed for strength to communicate my acquiescence to Grandma.
As I prepared to leave for the hospital to spend another night, I checked through my communication for the day. I noticed one email that I had ignored on the in mail for about a month. It was mail from one Ivy; my ex-girlfriend on whom I had not set eyes for seven years.
I was uncomfortable with the idea of re-establishing contact with her owing to my personal reservations at the time. I was afraid of the thought that my ill wife had stirred in my mind about Ivy. According to one of her aunts, she reportedly had a half-sister whom her father adored. I could not help my imagination from assuming that her look-alike and foe ex-girlfriend could have been the one. I wished it were easier than it was to me, and all I could do was avoiding the thought.
Ivy and I went as far back as my college days where we met, and established a relationship that we had then fervently vowed to keep. I was fond of her and dedication to make the relationship work. At the time, however, Tamara was my classmate in college. This circumstance gave us a lot of academic and social time together: Time that earned her Ivy's rivalry.
In a fashion that eluded my thinking, the rivalry grew to a point that both Ivy and Tamara were rumored to have come forth as my legitimate inamoratas. My decorum dictated that I stand by Ivy as my choice in full awareness of her civility to handle such stress.
In an extraordinary turn of events, Ivy opted to celebrate her perceived triumph over Tamara by thrashing her in her residence. Tamara's gentleness back then was grossly abused by Ivy's sudden outburst of madness. She broke Tamara's arm, and the Campus security committee determined that I was at fault by not taking charge of the situation as it were. Ivy showed no remorse at all and ended the relationship citing my inability to act tough. For a while, it was the worst experience in my life, until I connected with Tamara and established a fruitful relationship. At the time of my graduation, Tamara was carrying my baby. We had started a journey that we hoped would be full of smiles, until the illness came along.
Ivy's email contained a pleasant surprise. She was apologetic for her action way back in college. She shared a bit about her endeavors and that she was within the city. The journey down memory lane revived my strength to fight for Tamara once more. I left hurriedly for the hospital so that I could catch a brief moment with Tamara before she went back to sleep.
Against my remotest of expectations, I entered the hospital room only to find Ivy next to my wife having an oddly nice chat. Her eyes were teary, I suppose from crying. "So she wasn't lying about being in the city." I thought to myself. She hurriedly kept away some papers that were in her hand as though intentionally hiding them from me. However, I saw a familiar photo in Tamara's hand, and it was from her father's obituary. Nonetheless, my focus was on how different Ivy had turned out; judging from her look and demeanor.
My Tamara lay there smiling. Her joy was evident from the radiant look that she extended to me. Her gentleness still evident, I felt my strength whisper in the room as though to say "I am here for you darling."
After a short while, I moved to the side to catch up with Ivy. Tamara had opted to rest some more awaiting further medication.
"Your pain is too much, isn't it?" She began, as though we had spoken over it. Her genuine look made me nod my head in acknowledgement.
"It is the fourth month now." I answered. "Tamara has been away from home for four months" This reality was hard to accept.
Just then, Shantel came into the room and ran to me upon realizing that I was back. Her grandma stood at the door, flashing yet another smile of hope. The smile was the only communication that naturally flowed from her. "Meet my daughter..." I introduced Shantel to Ivy who gladly picked her up for a short moment. I went ahead and introduced her grandma as well. They shared a brief moment in a discussion that left me perplexed about how they could possibly be familiar with each other. That, however, did not bother me for long because for a second, I felt as though Ivy's urge to help us was genuine. I didn't know what to think anyway.
As evening approached, we took a drive into the city to grab an evening meal. At this time, I was preparing to drop Shantel and her Grandma back at her place so that she could prepare for school the next day. As we drove around, I learned that my plea had got the attention of many people. She advised me to make it on myself by easy by signing consent papers for the hospital and leaving them open just in case any help could come by. I gave in but expected no miracle just yet despite the surprises that came in her talks. "She will have her mum back." She reassured me while holding Shantel by the hand leading us to her car which she gladly allowed me to use in escorting and dropping the child and her grandma at their residence. Her willingness to help was beyond question and I felt comfortable accepting her help.
The next morning, as I prepared to rush to the hospital on my way to work, I rushed to grandmas to pick up my girl. As I waited for her to get ready for school, I looked through my email. My inbox had an email communication from the hospital and one from Ivy. My wife had got a donor! Yes. I read it again and it was the case. Tamara had found a donor and was recovering from a surgery and not her sickness as before. Ivy's mail instructed me to check for a letter on her car's back seat. It was a copy of certification that she was a perfect match and her accent to an operation with no compensation.
I broke into tears as I looked at my innocent baby to whom Ivy had fulfilled her promise. I lifted her high in utmost joy making her re-live the sweet gone days when such play was part of her daily life. "All is well Baby" I kept repeating to her as I ushered her into the car. For that day, School could wait. We had a life lesson to catch at the hospital.
Part of Ivy's letter to me read, "I took note of your pain and my love for you had never been bitter. I may not put it any better, but I know what makes you happy. I will give her back to you. You and Shantel deserve more than my love in words."
I knew from that moment that my life would never be the same again.
At the hospital, my visit was to the recovery unit, and not my regular private nursing wing. Two angels lay side by side fighting the same battle. The bitter rivalry had ended in a courageous and selfless show of love. I found love in love.