Our light is snuffed out earlier than we think. The candle wax burns out faster than the time it affords our light to shine. Enjoy yourself it’s later than you think, so we are told. The white stubbled, silver fox. Caesar Handa, gone under.
Yet another funeral service. Yet another stern reminder of the progression of time and the depletion of our lives. “Memento Mori”. Shadows and dust is what we men are.
As my days roll by, the specter of death still surprises me. How can death remain such a mystery when we know it as our sworn destiny? For how long will the certain stir so much uncertainty? It baffles me. But the more I live the more I’m also attuned to the idea that I have it coming. It’s no longer a thought on the back burner.
I purpose to attend funerals. Keeps me rooted, feet firmly planted in the ground. We must not spare ourselves extant truths.
“The man who lies to himself has an enemy within,” Socrates.
Caesar, the deceased, must have had a good innings. The church was packed to the exits, mourners thronging to pay their last respects. Just from the turnout, I could tell that the departed employed a venerable principle in life,
“You can’t take it with you but you can leave it all here.”
Caesar left a shred of his life to every last one who showed up to bid him goodbye. And perhaps that’s the only shot we mortals have at immorality.
I sat at the hind seats, furthest radius from the pulpit constantly peering to catch a glimpse of the final rites. Oh if life isn’t but one big sigh.
I didn’t know the man personally. But we are Africans and you know how these things go. Your father’s friend is your friend. History has always been transferrable through DNA. Plus, I went to primary with one of his sons, Raph, an arrow in Caesar’s quiver. We haven’t spoke in years but the least I could do is show up and console with his stint in grief.
The man of cloth, who in such occasions, seems to be the only person with available and befitting words – put his point across clearly.
Despite delving into the word for the ensuing 45 minutes, the homily for me was captured in his opening sentence.
“We live precariously, die certainly and must prepare accordingly.”
NOTE TO CAESAR,
I was at your funeral service and I’m convinced you lived and died certainly as we all must. About preparing accordingly, I believe you did by the life you led. Your soul was counted in numbers today. I can only imagine how many more in Barchando. Nonetheless, your days on earth have left a trail which we inevitably follow till we meet again. At Calvary.
Signing off,
Paul Nalo.
