My First Heartbreak..... 10 Years later

Every year since 2012, without fail, from the start of the second week of March, I start to feel off. My sleep, moods and general psyche are off-centre, just enough to notice; not enough to halt things. But I’m left in no doubt that something is wrong. Then I look at the date and I remember.

I remember waking up after staying up all night and just closing my eyes for a few minutes, to the text from my brother that Daddy was gone. I remember looking at the date on 14th March 2012 and recognising that that date, that 3.14 pie day, won’t ever be the same for me. I remember feeling rudderless knowing I couldn’t just pick up my phone, call him and introduce myself again. Yes I had to tell him who it was each time because the guy won’t look at his caller ID when his phone rang. All we had was a “Hello DOI Ikpoki here” regardless of who was calling. He had all our numbers written down in his diary and would consult that book when he initiated those calls. Those calls I knew were never coming after March 14th 2012. I remember going through the motions of organising a funeral, saying “thanks” every time someone offered their condolences, smiling with no teeth every time someone told us what a great man he was, nodding and humming an Amen every time someone said “It is well”, wondering what life would look like when the noise had quieted down and I was simply a girl who had lost her father. I remember realising when the dust eventually settled that I had to forge a new reality for myself, one where I had to function in a world that kept going on, where I had to ignore the ache in my heart and nod with a humble unassuming shrug when people told me how strong I was.

Every 2nd week of March, I remember it all. I can’t help it. One of my friends calls me an elephant because of my impressive memory, but even without it, these memories are hardcoded into my psyche.

Now, 10 years later, and with more experience, I choose to remember even more. I choose to remember the ones that our subconscious tries to brush off as mundane. But oh have they kept me going these 10 years!

I remember our last conversation; we laughed and teased each other (as usual).

I remember his made-up stories and our arguments where he insisted they were real even after I was an adult.

I remember him humouring me and pleading as an 8-year old who packed a small suitcase and sat outside in a huff, threatening to move out because “they” weren’t letting me have my way; never pointing out that my drama was precisely timed to align with his return from work.

I remember that less than 2 weeks before he died, he did what he loved, he played golf.

I remember how my names (oh the many ridiculous nicknames he called me) were like a song on his lips.

Oh I remember the annoyance of being summoned to his room upstairs where he lay in bed, only to be told to shut the door, yes the door that was right there!

I remember having him call my name multiple times and finally getting to him only to find out he didn’t need anything. He just wanted to call me. I still hear that voice today. I sometimes use it on myself when I need to get my feet back on the ground.

I remember how even walking me down the aisle toward the man he had wholeheartedly approved of and accepted into our family, we managed to find space to joke and goof around.

I remember his compliments, especially the ones he’d say to other people and end with “and that’s even my youngest!” as if to say, “don’t get me started on the other achievers I raised!”

I remember how losing him braced me for another terrible loss in 2012, one that I will perhaps be able to properly articulate maybe in 2032.

I remember everyone describing him as incorruptible, funny, a great golfer, true sportsman, wise counsel, family man, humble, but the most recurring word was “GOOD”. On March 14th 2012, I had no idea what role the words “my father was a good man” would play in my life. But these words have pulled me out of temptation, given me solitude from depression, cemented my faith, motivated my passion, kept me on the straight and narrow, and them being so true, have blessed me with so much good will.

And these memories of the man he was, the man he remains, have made me the woman I am, and the one I’m trying to be.

Losing my dad opened the door to my vulnerability. Before that date, I had mastered the art of appearing like an open book while giving nothing away. But I remember a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, who left us in no doubt that we were important, who loved with what he had in the way he knew, who inspired my sense of humour, humility, ability to think critically, realism, prudence, propensity to not take myself seriously, and my inspiration for what a functional family looks like. And that was the seed he planted, that’s bearing fruit today. Yes, even these words I’m writing now.

Whatever you know of me today was kickstarted on that day. So in the pain, I celebrate my Daddy today. While he continues to rest in peace, I will do my best to continue to do his name justice.

Never mind condolences. Say a prayer for us today, if you can 🙏 Do something good in his name - Sir Chief David O. Ikpoki (1937-2012) Mae’s Daddy.

And yes I just might make a pie on this pie day in 2022!