I Wish It Was All A Dream From Which I Could Wake Up

She completed her first year when I was in my final year in University of Nigeria. In the morning of January, around 4:30, she called on phone and I was convinced she was telling me the truth. I dressed myself carefully, went downstairs and resolved not to be the first to ask her any question. I passed her room very softly thinking that she was pretending but she saw my image reflecting on the windows.

“Did I take much of your time?” I asked. “Do I have one?” The last time she answered my question with question was the day I comically called her my wife. She was speechless not having expected any question from me. I peered deeply into her eyes, seeing in them her sincerity. I glanced at her reading desk, saw a diary and then slowly faced her. Her eyes were filled with sadness. Even though I made effort to smile and to make her smile, I wondered what made her feel sad. I looked into her eyes and she quickly made a figure out of the diary where she wrote all she wanted to tell me.

The diary has a flying page where he did not write anything. Her handwriting was as clear as crystal. I never wanted to read the story but the first line of the story attracted my attention. “I was ten years at the time my parents died and no one told me anything about their death until five year later after a great deal of thought about my starting school and living an independent life”, she continued her story. Both of them died of HIV. Ever since then, I never wanted anything in life but it seems that life wants everything from me.  I felt myself fading away from my heart, and I grew sad and miserable. I did not blame anybody, but blamed my father who they said was the cause of their death. The world for me has been a clash of water in a sea. I felt everyone left me behind until your father decided to sponsor me when I got admission into University. You could only wonder how such good person could spend her time and money to sponsor me and advised me not to make the same mistake my father did, yet it seems as if I failed him. I stopped writing a diary of all sad stories when I came to know your family, but I think I am beginning to write another sad stories. I would have avoided a lot of mistakes and regrets if I had just listened to your father’s advice. I did not know that Love and money are like spirit. I was really deceived and I have discovered that the last is always a heat. My first year in college, I dated an amazing guy who I thought could be my savior, but eventually he deceived me. Years later I began to date many other guys. I regret falling in love with wrong guys that did not love me but rather deceived me. I got so drunk sometimes and I started flirting with my fellow students, and things went way too far. I regret spending so much money on clothes, make ups, trying to appear sexy to guys. I have come to discover that the last is always dangerous. I think the image of life has left me. I wish I could be there with your family and for your family again. See, some of my schools friends look harmless and innocent. All the pieces of advice your father gave me was turned down my school mates. They told me that life has never remained the same and has never been the same. I had conflict within myself but they told me that the plans of life is never complete without conflict. “Life is not about doing the right thing all the time” they said to me.  Life is risk itself. They confused me and I became a shadow, a new being entirely. Life was back as the way my father did. I thought I could go on with my life when I discovered that I have made many mistakes. But yesterday, I made an appointment with my doctor. I just got back from the Doctors office. I had an H I V test done. He told me that I am HIV positive.

I did not want her to continue that story, but for the old time sake, I held out her hand, the sad look passed away from her face, and she said, smiling, "I was wondering if the dead lying in their graves were not happier than I am." "What! You stop that” I exclaimed. She paused as she looked up to the ceiling as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Pulling my gaze from her diary, I looked back into her eyes, her eyes was softening at the sight. Sitting on the table, I held her hand again. I opened my mouth to talk but nothing came out. Giving one last look at her eyes, she turned her head, shivering at the cold, while the dark, frigid winds pounded the manor walls. Suddenly, without warning, the heavy tears that filled her eyes began to drop. Nodding to herself again, she turned to talk to me and was completely disappointed by the sadness she saw on my face and then said, “I wish it was all a nightmare, a bad dream from which I could wake up.”

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A Second before my Death

I arrived with my wife Anne at the International airport in the evening and we learned that a flight to Canary was departing in one-and-a-half hours.  I have never had any worries about flying in commercial airlines but the first time I flew in a small single-engine plane, I swore I would never get into a small plane again. That afternoon, I was lucky, someone gave me his ticket. My final comment as I left my wife indicated that I was looking for a quiet time to unseal the secret and fear which had long hidden in my very inmost heart. My wife and I very rarely quarrel, and when we do, it doesn't last very long. Before Anne left the airport, I observed that she was full of fears and she could not give any reason for that.

Just about six minutes after we took off, everything began to slow down. As a passenger in the back of a plane, I thought nothing was going wrong. So, having nothing else to do, I went through the procedures they taught us to go through in emergencies. “Get off the oxygen mask, release your safety belt, and dump yourself out.” I tried all these but already I knew I would be dead in a second.

Last night, I could remember my last son asking me series of questions, “Dad! What does it feel like to be convinced you're going to die in the next second?” “Dad! How does it feel when you are sure you cannot save yourself?” “Dad! Do people know or feel their death before they die?” All these questions gave me a concern, even when I did not pay attention to him.

Inside the plane, the noise was like the roar of Niagara. The vast sea of human beings seemed to be agitated as if by a storm. Some of the people were singing, others praying, some crying for mercy in the most piteous accents, some were screaming, some were jumping and pushing which made two women to faint while others just stood in shock as the plane began to glide down.  I was neither praying nor crying because, already I knew I would be dead in a second.

Beyond their additional job of providing safety for others, the flight attendants were moving around, smiling and providing hope as though they will not die. They were trying to provide routine services and respond to emergencies to ensure the safety and comfort of airline passengers while I was thinking about the mistakes I have already made. These attendants are trained to deal with a wide variety of emergencies, and are trained in first aid, but when we all die, who will give first aid? They seemed to have considered appearance as one of the most important factors in becoming a female flight attendant. Their uniforms were often formfitting, complete with white gloves and high heels.  

The smile of one of the attendants brought into me the memories of Anne. When I remembered my wife Anne, I was speechless, I felt like crying, but I thought shedding tears, especially now I know I cannot apologize to her is worthless. I did not know what I was losing until now. Anne deserved fidelity, but I denied her such. She was really a good wife and mother, but I never appreciated her. There was a small couch against the wall of my room opposite my bed where a hid all the documents for the landed properties, which I did not inform her. I wish with all my soul I could take her hand, kiss her hand, brush her cheek with my fingers and take her to where I kept those documents. I wish I could tell her how much I regret those dreadful words I had said to her all those years ago. My wife had her own checking and savings account which I am aware and I have mine which she was not aware.

I was married with Anne for ten years and we have three beautiful kids and a stable job and just had bought a house at Kelowna. Before I got married with her, I met this girl who I thought was the love of my life, but I decided to get married with Anne. My ex-girlfriend showed me nothing but faithfulness which made me to cheat on Anne. I now realize that it is too late. I really regret this, and I wish I could apologize to my wife.

Basically, a man should only have good words for his wife. Even when she does badly. A man should call his wife with good words and sweet names. I called my wife some bad names; stupid, useless, slut, ugly and made some accusations which she did not deserve. When I married her, I promised to be with her in good faith, treat her as a wife should be treated, but all these, I never did. She always spoke to me only with gentleness; her words are always carefully chosen, but mine was harsh. I have been so guilty, I cannot think Anne or God would forgive me. I regret not being able to tell her, “I am sorry.”

“…but before I die I would like to make a statement O Lord.” "I am going to confess that you forgive me, and my confession will be my defense, although it will not be sufficient to save me." I said this prayer as though I ever believed in prayer, but only now that I know I can do nothing else to save myself. I thought I could save myself through science, but now I have found out that science has limitation. At one time I used to wear scapular and carry a rosary round in my pocket to save myself a trouble. I am not sure if this was as a result of my personal conviction but because of a story I heard. Anne once told me that I was labeling myself as a religious man, even when I was not. I did not have the rosary because I loved to say it, but because I want people to accept that I was a good man.

The intensity of cry was increasing in the plane, then I gripped onto the chair arms as the plane descended and the flight attendant's safety instructions played through my mind. It felt like the bottom was dropping out of my world. Everything about life was changing. The sins I committed ever since my first reception of the Holy Communion continued to appear.  I thought it was dangerous parachuting out of a plane, so I decided to jump out without parachute.

After falling on the tiles in my bedroom, I did not think much about the fall, but my body felt the coldness of the tiles. The sound it produced might be barely perceptible, that I could not even hear it. I felt pains in my head and then ventured to open my eyes a little wider, and a moment afterwards, a sight met my gaze which stirred my soul to its very self. I opened my eyes and I saw again the dear woman with whom I have prayed to confess to.

It was broad daylight by this time, and such of the familiar features of my room as I could see without stirring my head made me to think of a second before my death. It would be like fifty two years which I have lived. On the other side of the room, was the large altar where my wife prays. I went to the altar, after praying with them, I took an oath in my experience, never shall I go back to my life style again.
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