Some say life is good and fair, others say it’s terrible.
But if there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s that life is anything but fair.
It’s not just because of its dynamics and non-observation of fair
play, but also because its dreaded opposite, death, holds as much
partiality, too.
Everyday many of us struggle to better our lives; but out there plenty
more had been unfairly denied the opportunity to enter the track.
Others were brutally hacked off before they could make an impact.
Yes, it’s the inevitable end to every man, the ineluctable transition to
a different world.
I understand.
It’s largely random, though some can accelerate theirs by a terribly
lifestyle.
I understand.
It robs young and promising people of their future, wrecks the
dreams of many, and strips the world of plenty good people while
allowing evil to fester.
True, but I can never understand it.
I haven’t stopped wondering why, though. The only explanation I
could give myself is that it is part of life’s terrible dynamics.
Even at my young age, I’ve lost more friends that I can remember.
Many of them were not just more intelligent than me, but they were
also better-looking and more successful.
They had been cut short in their prime, with the world at their feet,
awaiting them.
I can never understand why.
I can never understand why the likes of Echezona Fredrick Izuorah –
a 25-year-old friend of mine with a masters degree and huge
dreams – and my 15-year-old cousin Nzube Scott would have to die
so fatally, so painfully, and … so young.
Chai!
I can never understand why my favourite aunt Adaobi Okelo (née
Ejimakor), my young uncle Ikechukwu Nwadike, and a host of other
young and vibrant people around the world who lose their lives daily
would have to encounter such disastrous fate.
Before you say God knows best, I have to say that yeah, I know that.
He always does, He knows best, and perhaps we cannot question
Him.
However, it takes nothing away from the impartiality and
callousness of sudden death.
More than five years since I suddenly lost Aunt Adaobi, I can’t say I
have totally recovered from it. I have come to accept it, but when I
consider the life she led, as well as the wonderful lives of other
seemingly-better-but-now-dead friends, I sometimes shudder at the
futility of our struggles here on Earth.
Other times, in my most depressing moments, I consider the odds
that I would not end up in a coffin soon enough, you know, just like
my other dead colleagues. After all, death is the ultimate leveller,
right?
God forbid, you say? Yeah, I hear you, and I can’t say I want that for
myself, either.
As a medical student, I have seen way too many cadavers – corpses,
if you like. I have even dissected and prodded through every part of
them down to their intestines.
And whenever I try to imagine the beauty of their lives moments
before they were destined for the prosection table, awaiting my
surgical blade, I could only shake my head with contempt.
Life couldn’t appear more ephemeral, but the reality of sudden death,
to me, makes every moment I breathe invaluable.
Thank You, Lord, for the gift of life.
I guess the Biblical teachings about leading a holy and godly life
couldn’t have been more accurate.
Now that’s up to me to pursue, because one minute one might be
alive, the next they’re dead.
Just like dodo.
Oh, the futility of life!
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