If tears could bring back the dead, then I wouldn’t still be lying in this wooden box on this wet August afternoon in this overcrowded community church.
“Why?” and “What a cruel world!” was on everyone’s lips as they wiped away their tears and blew their running noses. “He was just so young,” others said. I was indeed still young at twenty-nine; too young to die just when things were going on smoothly.
“We are gathered here today to mourn the death of one of our beloved sons.” The minister said. It was Reverend Peter. The reverend was a friend of the people and saw to it that church services were exalting and interesting. He was probably just a few years older than me and married to a pretty woman too. That was why I didn’t understand when my betrothed, Tinuke, told me the pastor made advances towards her when she went to see him for counselling.
I met the reverend that night as he was about leaving the church and confronted him, hoping he would say it was all a big misunderstanding. Instead, with a somber expression, he said he was sorry and didn’t know why he did that. He said I should tell Sister Tinuke he was sorry. Confronted with such honesty, I told him it was alright but the next time such happened, I would not only tell his wife, but the church too, then I left. I hadn’t walked too far when I heard a car coming from behind me. I looked back to see the pastor’s car coming at full speed. I thought he was going to stop and offer me a ride but by the time I realised he wasn’t, it was too late to avoid the impact. The last thing I saw as everything grew dark around me was the Reverend standing over me, making a sign of the cross and hurriedly getting back into his car and driving off.
“The only comfort we have is in knowing he has gone to be with the Lord where there is no more sorrow or pain.” The Reverend concluded.