The mystery surrounding "death" has always kept me mute. When I lost my dad, this mystery became more vague and hard to accept. As if this wasn't enough, I watch those who are so dear to me being consumed by the same mystery, yet I couldn't do anything but wonder. A wonder that always moves me to tears, a wonder that I guess no one could explain. I still watch people pass on today, people who have what it takes to live forever, people who are learned, those blessed with all manner of good things; those if it were to be possible could have bought death itself. Yet all these cannot envelop this mystery, these were also consumed by the mystery called death. Over the years I watch people grow old, become weak and die, but today death comes to us differently, old and young take their turns and die. This experience will one day be my lot. An experience that sucks my will power and leaves me with a feeling of nostalgia. The fact that I must die one day makes me sick and fragile, but that I (we) must die is a necessity. However, it remains striking to ask what kind of death is destined for me? This question could only be answered after I might have accepted the fact that I will soon die, but for now death remains a mystery that is yet to unfold.
Leonard Okpechi
A reflection on death.
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