Lessons from my dad 

The ancient Egyptians believed that once your name is erased from all writing or is no longer in people’s memories, you die once more.

The thought of being erased from history saddens me. I lost my father in May 2020, and the world has never been the same for me.

You see, he was not only a parent to me, but he was also my mentor and a great friend.
As time passes, everyone shares with me bite-sized stories of impactful things that he said to them, that they believe has shaped them to who they are today. 

I have a million things that I could share about the different lessons I learnt from him in the 38 years I had the honour of sharing with him. The biggest lesson for me right now is one of acceptance and progress.

Twelve years ago, my dad told me that the education policy he had taken for me had matured. He asked me to accompany him to the insurance company so that he could have it transferred to my name. We drove to the destination, as usual laughing and talking about life and things that mattered to us.

We arrived at the location only to find out that we could only park the car at the bottom of a hill and walk up about one kilometre to the main building.

Conversation about death 

At this point, my dad had begun to experience complications with his hip joint as a result of a car accident he had in his youth. He was no longer able to walk fast or walk much as compared to those his age.

I wondered if he would be able to make the walk, but he convinced me that it was much-needed exercise and we would both be better for it once we finished the errand.

I have always felt that walking slowly up a hill is more strenuous to my body than walking quickly so much as I tried to keep pace with my father, he could tell that I was straining. 

I told him how I felt, and he smiled at me.

I remember he stopped and looked me in the eye and asked me to listen to him. 

He said, “Honey, you do not have to walk at my pace to get up the hill, walk at your pace and we’ll meet up there.” 

I felt terrible and guilty for sharing the thought, but he was not fazed by it. He took it as a teaching opportunity for me.

He said, “Not only up this hill love. I need you to walk at your pace in life, if you want to run, run, if you want to take it slow, take it slow. Every once in a while, look behind, and you will find me there, one day, you will look behind, and I will no longer be there, but I need you to keep walking, don’t stop”. 

I did not expect that conversation to take that turn and the stark reality of my dad’s imminent mortality slapped me across the face.

I asked him why he would speak of death, and he reminded me that it would happen to all of us, he just needed me to be ready for it.

I asked him, “What if I miss you?”

He said, “Then miss me, but keep going”.

I asked, “What if I can’t?”

He said, “You will. You see, I have lived my life, I have accomplished amazing things, I have not worked this hard to prepare you for life, for you to stop, keep going.”

I stared at him. His face softened. He kissed me on my forehead and said: “Let us leave that, now, start walking, I will meet you up there.”

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