Yesterday, early Sunday morning, I got a call from New York. A childhood relative died. We ran the village paths together as boys — laughing, silly, our voices cracking the walls of corrugated homes. We were Ushi boys. We dreamed of nothing but those moments. He later became a Naval officer. Yesterday, he completed his mission on earth.
I THOUGHT I’d age like a fine stallion — gracefully, slowly, as time meandered through the creeks of my life. I believed my genes were shielded from vicious infections and grave illness. I wished for a long life, maybe slowed by age, but unbroken. Until 2020.
That year changed the world, and shattered my pride in my health. Suddenly, a new plague was upon us: Covid-19. Scientists named the deadly disease that swept the planet. By early 2020 it was ravaging the earth. I became its victim.
Three weeks in the ICU. When I was finally discharged, my sense of smell was gone. Six years later, it still hasn’t returned. I can’t smell anything.
Two years after that, I needed a total hip replacement. The steroids that saved my lungs when they collapsed during Covid had destroyed my right hip.
As I settled into a new hip and managed recovery, doctors caught prostate cancer early. Surgery followed. Five months into healing, my first child — my amazing daughter, only 31 — was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. She began aggressive treatment. Young, fierce, fighting.
Just as the season turned bright and humid, a terrible auto crash nearly killed my son, my daughter, and me. The kids suffered broken arms and legs. I tore my heart muscle and broke six ribs. We spent last summer, fall, and early winter cycling through ICU, rehab, and wheelchairs before we clawed our way back to recovery.
Our reprieve was brief. By January, my prostate cancer returned — stage four, aggressive, spread to the bone. My oncologists prescribed 35 days of radiation and new, harsher treatments. Survival continues.
“I’ve seen sunny days I thought would never end in rain.”
I don’t know how much time I have left on this earth. But it’s been an incredible 65-year ride. I made it through this morning.
Yesterday, early Sunday morning, I got a call from New York. A childhood relative died. We ran the village paths together as boys — laughing, silly, our voices cracking the walls of corrugated homes. We were Ushi boys. We dreamed of nothing but those moments. He later became a Naval officer. Yesterday, he completed his mission on earth.
Yesterday was the eve of my 65th birthday. Yesterday was the birthplace of today.
May Onyekwe, Austin Diei’s soul, be granted eternal rest.
Today is for reflection.
Azukajebose
